FROM TASHILHUNPO TO YAMDO SAMDING, AND THENCE TO LHASA.
On Wednesday, April 26, 1882, being the eighth day of the third moon of
the water-horse year of the Tibetan cycle, I left Tashilhunpo for
Dongtse, there to make my final arrangements for the journey to Lhasa.
The cook, Dao-sring, nicknamed Aku chya-rog, or “Uncle Daw,” on account
of the dirt and soot which always covered his face, now turned out with
well-washed face and hands, in new leather boots and fur cap, and
helped me to mount my pony.
Tsering-tashi, who had been designated to accompany me, had procured
all that was necessary for a long journey—butter, meat, pounded dry
mutton, spices, rice, a copper kettle, an iron pan, flint stones,
tinder, and a bellows, and the Tung-chen had presented me with tsamba,
chura, and pea-flour for the use of the servants, and peas for the
ponies. Of all the articles Tsering-tashi had brought, the one which he
valued the most was a bamboo tea-churn, [194] which he thought the most
beautiful and useful of all our belongings.
I tied up my medicine-case in one of my saddle-bags, and in the other I
put my clothes, and at 2 o’clock we started. There were five of us in
the party, all mounted, and riding in single file: first came the
Tung-chen, then I, then came Tsering-tashi, and the cook and a groom
brought up the rear. We followed the same road I had already gone over
on several occasions, and stopped the first night at Chyang-chu, where
we put up in the house of our friend the Deba Shikha.
April 27.—About two inches of snow had fallen in the night, and there
was a slight fog when we got up in the morning. In front of the house I
noticed some men and women digged a kind of root called rampa. This
underground grass acquires, in some places, a length of five or six
feet, and in the early spring, when vegetables and forage are scarce,
it is dug up. The people know where to dig for it by the little shoots
which rise above the ground. [195]
We were detained at Chyang-chu all day, waiting for Tsering-tashi, who
had been obliged to stop over at Tashi-gyantsa to make some purchases.
In the evening tea was served by Po-ka-chan, a grey-haired monk who
works on the estates of the minister at Tanag. He had travelled much in
Kongpo, Naga, and among the Mishmis, and in Tsari. He related how the
savage Lhokabra [196] harassed the Tibetan pilgrims, and how the
Tsang-po river entered the country of defiles in Eastern Bhutan,
rushing in a tremendous waterfall over the top of a gigantic precipice
called the “Lion’s Face,” or Sing-dong.
April 28.—The villagers had all assembled to bid us farewell, and the
Tung-chen’s sister presented me with a “scarf for good luck” (tashi
khatag). We saw as we rode along numerous flocks of cranes (tontong),
and brown ducks with red necks were swimming in the river and the
irrigation ditches. We stopped for the night at Pishi Mani lhakhang,
where Angputti received us with the same kindness she had shown us on
my former visits. Snow fell during the night, but our hostess’s
servants watched over our ponies, and stabled them under the roof of
the okhang, [197] or godown, on the ground floor.
We reached Dongtse at 4 p.m. on the 29th, and took up our lodgings in
the Choide; but in the evening the Deba Chola came and invited us to
put up at the castle, where the minister was still staying.
The Tung-chen took an early opportunity to inform the minister that his
presence was anxiously expected at Tashilhunpo, where hundreds of lamas
were awaiting his return to be ordained gelong (priests). He also told
him that the Mirkan Pandita, a Mongol Kutuketu who had come to Tibet
for the sole purpose of studying under the minister, now intended
coming to Dongtse, and had begged that arrangements might be made for
his accommodation in the minister’s residence. While the minister
recognized the necessity for his returning to Tashilhunpo, he said he
could not leave until the services for the propitiation of the Lord of
death, Dorje jig-je, to be undertaken for the recovery of the Dahpon’s
wife, were finished.
May 2.—The monks of Dongtse, headed by a learned old lama named Punlo,
arrived at the castle to commence reading the Kahgyur. Arrangements
were made in the nyihok for the worship of Dorje jig-je. Torma
offerings [198] were placed on the terrace on the top of the castle,
and rugs were spread on the floor of the little glazed room (nyihok) on
it for the accommodation of the lamas. In the house was a raised seat
for the minister, and in a corner of the room a little chapel, with all
the necessary church furniture, among which the tsegi bumba, or “bowl
of life,” of Tse-pamed was conspicuous. [199] This propitiatory
ceremony occupied three days.
May 8.—News arrived to-day that small-pox was raging at Lhasa and other
places of Central Tibet. Several persons had also died of it at
Gyantse, and three or four localities between that town and Lhasa were
infected. The Lhacham was in so great dread of the disease that she
confined herself to her sitting-room, refusing to see any one.
On May 9 the Lhacham left for Lhasa, after confiding to the minister’s
care Ane, her third son, a boy of ten, who was destined for the Church.
The Lhacham and her two other sons, Lhasre [200] and Kundi, made their
devotions at the different chapels of the castle, which it took them
nearly an hour to accomplish, and then returned to the fifth story of
the building to receive the minister’s blessing, after which they took
their leave.
At the foot of the ladder in the courtyard a white pony, with handsome
housings of embroidered cloth and a Tartar saddle, awaited the Lhacham.
With her pearl-studded headdress, her gold and ruby charm-boxes, her
necklaces of coral and amber, and her clothes of satin and kinkab, she
looked like a heroine of romance or a goddess.
On the following day I went with the minister and the Kusho Ane, and
took up my residence in the Dongtse Choide. Here I witnessed the
opening ceremonies connected with the Kalachakra mandala worship. The
Om-dse, [201] or high priest of the Choide, with the help of two
assistants, had described with coloured tsamba a circle about 20 feet
in diameter on the floor of the northern room on the third floor of the
Tsug-la khang. Within this mandala were drawn the entrance, spires,
doors, and domes of the Kalachakra mansion. The presiding deity was
tall, many-armed, and had several heads; his attendants were of the
tantrik order of deities, and all these paintings were made in coloured
powders and tsamba. [202] The minister highly praised the work, and
gave as a gratuity to each of the eighty monks of the monastery half a
tanka, and an entertainment of tea and tsamba.
May 11.—A messenger arrived to-day to inform us that the Lhacham would
leave Gyantse the next morning, and that we would do well to see her at
Gyankhar before she started; so, though I was feeling very poorly, I
made up my mind to start at once.
My ponies were brought inside the monastery by Pador, a stalwart young
fellow who had been several times to Lhasa, and who had been chosen by
the Chyag-dso-pa [203] to accompany me, and I got ready to leave early
on the morrow.
At an early hour the next day I went with Tsering-tashi to see the
minister, ask his protection (kyab ju), and beg to be favoured with his
advice as to the conduct of our journey, or sung-ta, as it is called.
As is usual on such occasions, each of us presented him with a khatag,
in the corner of which were tied up a few tankas in a bit of paper, on
which was written our request.
After a hurried breakfast, while the servants were engaged in saddling
the ponies and packing, I went and kotowed to the Buddha in the temple,
placed khatag on the sacred images, and distributed alms to the monks
assembled in the courtyard to offer prayers for my safe journey. Then I
returned to my room, picked out the handsomest khatag I possessed, and
presented it to the minister. His holiness graciously touched my head
with his palms, and in solemn tones said, “Sarat Chandra, Lhasa is not
a good place. The people there are not like those you meet here. The
Lhasa people are suspicious and insincere. You do not know, and, in
fact, you cannot read their character. I advise you not to stay long in
one place there. The Lhacham Kusho is a powerful personage in Lhasa;
she will protect you, but you should so behave as rarely to require her
protection. Stay not long in the vicinity of the Dabung or Sera
monasteries. If you intend to make a long stay at Lhasa, choose your
residence in a garden or village in the suburbs. You have chosen a very
bad time for your pilgrimage, as small-pox is raging all over Central
Tibet; but you will return safely, though the journey will be trying
and fraught with immense difficulties.” [204] Then, turning to
Tsering-tashi, around whose neck the minister’s page put a khatag, he
said to him, “Tsing-ta, I believe you know whom you are accompanying.
You should serve him as you would serve me; your relations with him
must be those of a son with his parents.”
After saying good-bye to the members of the minister’s household,
presenting and receiving khatag and various other little presents, and
drinking tea, I mounted my pony and set out for Gyantse. Thus did I
start on a journey to a hostile, inhospitable, and unknown country with
only two men as my companions, and they strangers to me.
At a huge willow stump I waited a while for Tsering-tashi to join me,
for Pador, with the pack-pony, had gone to his home to get his lance.
As Tsering-tashi came up, he was delighted to see water flowing from a
pool in the direction we were to follow; this he took for a most
auspicious sign. On reaching chorten, about a mile from the town, we
alighted and waited for Pador, who shortly after made his appearance
with a lance full 12 feet long in his hand.
By noon we reached Gyantse, and, passing rapidly through the
market-place, where I feared to be recognized, we entered the Gyankhar,
or castle of Gyantse.
At 1 p.m. the Lhacham and her sons started for Lhasa, and as she passed
by me she told me to meet her at Gobshi that evening.
I was now surrounded by the Chyag-dso-pa and his family, all curious to
see the Indian physician of whom they had heard so much of late. From
what the Chyag-dso-pa told me, I concluded he had chronic bronchitis,
which might end in consumption. I gave him a few grains of quinine and
some doses of elixir of paregoric, and directed him also as to his
diet.
After partaking of some gyatug, rice, and boiled mutton with the
family, I asked permission to leave, and was escorted to the gate,
where, mounting my pony, I bade them farewell.
The Lhasa high-road I found very similar to a rough Indian cross-road;
in some places it is more than 20 feet wide, in others a mere trail,
while in many places, where it runs between fields, it is also made to
serve the purpose of an irrigation ditch. The Tibetan Government pays
very little, if any, attention to road-making, though, in such a dry
climate, it would be easy to construct good ones, and it would be
little trouble to keep them in repair. Thus far on my travels in Tibet
I had seen no wheeled conveyances, and I now learnt that such things
are unknown throughout the country.
Shortly after starting it began snowing heavily. As we rode on along
the bank of the Nyang chu, Tsering-tashi pointed out to me the road to
Phagri, the monastery of Na-ning, the ruins of Gyang-to, both formerly
places of importance. Then we entered the rong, or defiles, [205] where
used to live three tribes of herdsmen, the Gyangro, Ning-ro, and
Gang-ro, who carried on a thriving trade in yak-tails (chowries), felt
hats, felt, and blankets.
Crossing the river at Kudung zampa, we reached by dusk the village of
Gobshi, [206] where the Lhacham had only preceded us a little. I found
her very gloomy, for she had just learnt that there were in the house
where she was now stopping five small-pox patients. I was asked to
vaccinate her and her whole party; but, unfortunately, the lymph which
I had asked for in India had not reached me before leaving Tashilhunpo;
it was still at the Lachan barrier with Ugyen-gyatso.
May 13.—Gobshi, or “four gates,” is a large village of about fifty
houses, half of it belonging to the Lhacham’s father-in-law. There are
a few poplar and pollard willow trees growing in front of the village,
and terraced fields planted with barley extend along the river banks. A
little to the east of the village, in the hills beyond the confluence
of the Nyang and Niro chu, there is a very ancient Bonbo lamasery,
called Khyung-nag, or “Black Eagle” monastery, which in the fifteenth
century was a place of pilgrimage famous throughout Tibet.
After leaving Gobshi, we passed by Kavo gomba, a Ningma religious
establishment, and Tsering-tashi called my attention to the blue and
red bands painted on the walls of the temple and dwellings of the
lamas, telling me that these coloured stripes are characteristic of
this sect.
Pushing on through a number of small villages, the road in some places
extremely difficult and even dangerous, we forded the Nyang chu at
Shetoi, [207] took a short cut to the Ralung zamba, and by 3 p.m.
reached the village of Ralung chong-doi, crossing once more the river
by a wooden bridge before entering it.
Ralung [208] is one of the most sacred places in Tibet, for it is here
that the great Dugpa school of red-hat monks originated, a school still
influential with numerous adherents in Southern, Northern, and Eastern
Tibet, and in Bhutan, which latter country is, in fact, called Dugpa
owing to the preponderance of this sect. The Ralung-til, the head
monastery of the Dugpa, is to the south-east of this village. This
monastery owes its name to the fact that it is surrounded by mountains
as the heart (mt’il) of a lotus is by the corolla.
May 14.—We left without even waiting for a cup of tea, as the Lhacham
was desirous of reaching Nangartse the same day, and, in spite of my
enfeebled condition, I was anxious to keep up with her party, for the
country we had to traverse is infested by brigands.
After following up the river for a while, we ascended the Karo la,
[209] a lofty plateau from which we could distinguish to the north-east
the snow-covered slopes of the Noijin kang-zang (or Noijin norpa
zang-po and Kang zang-po). The plateau of the Karo la is called Oma
tang, or “milky plain,” [210] as is also the little hamlet near the
summit of the pass. On this plateau, which is about five miles broad
where we traversed it, there is fine grazing, and we saw numerous herds
of yaks by the sides of the little streamlets which meander over its
surface, the one flowing westward becoming the Nyang chu; the other
flows to the east, and is called the Kharnang-phu chu, and along this
the road led. On the summit of the pass I noticed a species of thorny
shrub, the like of which I had not seen in any other part of Tibet; the
thorns were quite long, and the stem and leaves of the plant of an ash
grey colour.
A short way down the other side of the pass we came to a little hut
made of loose stones, where we rested and partook of some refreshments.
In conversation with the Lhacham, I mentioned the superiority of sedan
chairs (shing-chyam) over saddle-horses, especially for women when
travelling. But she held that it was degrading men to make them serve
as beasts of burden, and that if it should be tried in Tibet the people
would certainly resent it as an indignity. “There are only the two
Great Lamas, the Amban and the Regent, who are allowed to use sedan
chairs in Tibet,” she went on to say; “no other persons, however great
they may be, can make use of them.”
About six miles down the valley we came to the hamlet of Ring-la, where
the Kharnang-phu chu turns north to empty into the Yamdo-yum-tso. At
this village the Nangartse plain begins, and the monastery of Samding
becomes faintly visible.
The road now became good, and the ponies quickened their pace, and by 5
o’clock we came in view of the town of Nangartse.
The houses of the fishermen and common people (misser) are perched on
the hillside overlooking the prefect’s house (djong), and the broad
blue expanse of Lake Palti’s waters spreads out beyond. The party
stopped, and the Lhacham changed her garments for finer ones, and put
on her jewelled headdress (patug). On arriving at the gate of the house
where we were to stop, there was a raised platform covered with soft
blankets; here the Lhacham alighted, while her sons and the rest of the
party got down near by.
The brother and nephew of the host were laid up with small-pox
(lhan-dum), and in a corner of the house some lamas were reading the
holy books to bring about their speedy recovery. [211] In the courtyard
lay another man lately arrived from Lhasa, and suffering from the same
disease, and near him were two lamas chanting mantras to the discordant
accompaniment of a bell and a damaru (hand drum).
I passed a miserable night, with a raging fever and violent cough
racking my whole frame. My two companions sat beside me and did what
they could, but concluded that it was impossible in my present state
for me to keep up with the Lhacham’s party all the way to Lhasa.
The next morning I was no better, the fits of coughing were more
violent. The sons of the Lhacham and her attendants came to see me, and
expressed their sorrow at having to leave me. The host said that the
best thing for me to do was to go to the Samding monastery, where there
were two skilful physicians who had recently successfully treated a
case similar to mine. Hearing this, one of the Lhacham’s maids
suggested that her mistress might give me a letter of introduction to
the lady abbess of this convent, the Dorje Phagmo, with whom she was
related and on the most friendly terms; the only danger was that she
might not allow me to enter her convent, as, on account of the epidemic
of small-pox, she had closed it to pilgrims.
I followed the advice of those around me, and the Lhacham kindly wrote
to the Dorje Phagmo to take care of me and look to my wants; and after
taking an affectionate farewell, and telling me to come straight to her
house at Lhasa as soon as I recovered, she recommended me to the people
of the house and rode off.
After taking a little breakfast, I made up my mind to go at once to the
Samding gomba, which I learnt could be reached in two hours’ ride.
My companions wrapped me in woollens and blankets, and with a turban
round my head they set me on my horse. About two miles from town we
came to the river (the same we had followed since crossing the Kharo
la), and found it teeming with a small variety of fish. After crossing
several rivulets we came to the foot of the hill, on the top of which
stands Samding lamasery. [212] A flight of stone steps led up to the
monastery, and I looked at the long steep ascent with dismay, for I did
not see how I would ever be able to climb it in my present condition.
Taking a rest at every turn in the steps, I managed finally to reach
the top, some 300 feet above the plain. We had not, however, arrived at
the convent; a narrow pathway led up to the gateway, near which were
chained two fierce watch-dogs (do khyi), who barked furiously and
strained at their chains as we passed. The Yamdo dogs, I had heard,
were famous throughout Tibet for their size and fierceness, and these
certainly justified the reputation given them.
I sat down on a stone near the gateway to wait until Tsering-tashi had
looked up the physicians. After an hour he returned and informed me
that one of the Amchi (physicians) was in the lamasery, and he led me
to his house, at the top of which I waited his coming. After a little
while the doctor made his appearance. He was a man of about seventy
years of age, but still sturdy, of middle stature, with an agreeable
face, broad forehead, and dignified appearance. He asked me a few
questions, examined my eyes and tongue, and then led the way into his
house. We ascended two ladders, and thus reached the portico of his
apartment. The old man sat for a while turning his prayer-wheel, and
taking frequent pinches of snuff while he scrutinized me closely. [213]
Then he gave me a powder to be taken in a little warm water, and
ordered his cook to give me some weak tea (cha t’ang), after which,
bearing the Lhacham’s letter in his hand, he went with Tsering-tashi to
present it to the Khyabgong Dorje Phagmo. [214]
In the evening I was led to a house in the western end of the lamasery
belonging to a monk called Gelegs namgyal, where I had to accommodate
myself as best I could under the portico.
Tsing-ta, as Tsering-tashi was usually called, told me that he had
asked the Dorje Phagmo to tell my fortune, and that she had made out
that my illness would prove very severe but not fatal, but the
performance of certain religious ceremonies was most urgently needed to
hasten my recovery. She sent me word that, in view of the letter of
introduction from the Lhacham I had brought with me, she would shortly
be pleased to see me, and that we might have all we required while
stopping in Samding.
The next day my companions asked me to give a “general tea” (mang ja)
to the eighty odd monks of the convent, and to distribute alms to them
at the rate of a karma (two annas) a head. I gave my consent, and at
the same time my companions made, in my name, presents to the Dorje
Phagmo and to the deities that were pointed out to them as best able to
drive away the fiends of disease which surrounded me.
The Dorje Phagmo gave Tsing-ta a sacred pill (rinsel) containing a
particle of Kashyapa Buddha’s relics, and the latter hastened to bring
it to me, and insisted on my swallowing it forthwith. [215]
The Amchi advised me to carefully abstain from drinking cold water,
especially as the water of the lake was injurious to many persons even
when in good health. He also forbade me drinking buttered tea.
By agreeing to pay my host a daily sum of four annas, I managed to rent
his two miserable rooms. They were about six feet by eight, and six
feet high. In the bedroom were a couple of little tables, half a dozen
books, and a couple of boxes; in a corner there was a little altar and
two images of gods.
The next day there was a new moon, and the monks assembled early in the
congregation hall to perform religious services, as on the morrow began
the fourth month (saga dao), [216] the holiest of the year.
At the conclusion of the ceremonies Tsing-ta again saw the Dorje
Phagmo, and, presenting her with a khatag and a couple of tanka,
obtained another sacred pill. The doctor and his assistant impressed
upon me the importance of only taking such medicines as experience had
shown were efficacious in the Yamdo country. They also insisted that it
was essential to my recovery that I should not sleep in the daytime. I
felt so weak and ill that towards midnight I called my companions to my
side, and wrote my will in my notebook. Later on some medicine given me
by the doctor’s assistant, Jerung, brought me some relief.
May 18.—Tsing-ta again gave the lamas a mang ja and money to read the
sacred books to my intent, and got still another sacred pill from the
Dorje Phagmo. On his way back to our quarters he saw the ex-incarnate
lama of the Tse-chog ling of Lhasa. He had been degraded for having
committed adultery.
Seeing no pronounced improvement in my condition, my faithful follower
went again in the afternoon to see the Dorje Phagmo, presented her a
khatag and ten tanka, and got her to perform the ceremony known as
“propitiating the gods of life” (tse dub). She also gave him a long
list of religious rites, which, according to her, it was imperative
that I should immediately get learned lamas to perform to insure my
speedy recovery.
These rites were the following: 1. Reading the Pradjna paramita in 8000
shlokas, together with its supplements—twelve monks could do this in
two days. 2. Making the three portion (cha gsum) offerings, these
consisting in painted wafers of tsamba and butter. One-third is offered
to the ten guardians, Gya-ljin (Indra), the god of fire, the ruler of
Hades, the god of wind, etc.; another portion is offered to the
spirits, and the third to the demi-gods. 3. Gyal-gsol, or propitiating
certain genii to the end that the patient’s mind may be at rest and he
enjoy peaceful dreams. 4. Libations to the gods or Gser-skyems. This is
held to be one of the most efficacious ways of propitiating the gods.
5. “To deceive death” (hchi-slu), by offering an image of the sick
person, together with some of his clothes, and food to the Lord of
death, and beseeching him to accept it instead of the person it
represents. This means is resorted to after all others have failed. 6.
“To deceive life” (srog-slu), by saving from death animals about to be
killed. This is also known as “life-saving charity.” The saving of the
lives of men, beasts, and particularly fishes, is calculated to insure
life. [217] When Tsing-ta proposed this to me, I at once agreed to save
five hundred fish. The old doctor said he would go to the fishermen’s
village, some three miles away, buy the fish, and set them free for me,
if I would but lend him a pony. He came back in the evening, and
reported that he had successfully accomplished this most important
mission, by which much merit would come to me.
In spite of all these rites and observances, for some days my illness
showed no signs of improvement, and so at last, on May 22, Tsing-ta
went once more to the Dorje Phagmo, and, making her a present of five
tanka and a khatag, asked her to find out by her divine knowledge if
the old Amchi was the right man to attend to me. She threw dice
(sho-mon), [218] and then said that the two physicians could be
depended on.
Accordingly, I sent for the physicians, gave them each a present, and
begged them to prepare some new and energetic remedy for me. In the
evening Jerung brought me some pills, which smelt strongly of musk, and
some powders, probably those known as gurkum chusum. [219] After having
taken some of each I felt somewhat better.
By the following morning there was a marked improvement in my
condition, and I was able to sit propped up on my blankets. The news of
the favourable change was at once reported to the Dorje Phagmo, who
advised Tsing-ta to have performed the ceremony for propitiating
Tamdrin, Dorje Phagmo, and Khyung-mo (the Garuda); especially of the
first-named. Tsing-ta made her a further present of seven tanka and a
khatag, and she agreed to perform these ceremonies herself.
May 24.—Early this morning the old doctor visited me. “The danger is
over,” he said; “the fatal stage is passed; you can take a little food,
some tsamba, a little soup and meat.” In truth, I felt so much better
to-day that I took some exercise, and the fresh, bracing air did me a
world of good.
The next day I was able to visit the shrines of Samding, on which tour
my two companions accompanied me, carrying a bowl of butter, a bundle
of incense-sticks, and about fifty khatag.
We first went to visit the kind old physician and his assistant, and I
was much struck by the neat appearance of the floors of his rooms, made
of pebbles very evenly laid in mortar, and beautifully polished. In the
doctor’s sitting-room the walls were frescoed with Buddhist symbols,
trees, and hideous figures of guardian deities. The furniture comprised
of four painted chests of drawers, half a dozen small low tables, some
painted bowls for tsamba, two little wooden altars covered with images
of gods, and some rugs spread on the top of large mattresses. On the
walls hung some religious pictures covered with silk curtains, and in a
corner there were a sword and shield.
On leaving the physician’s house I entered the courtyard of the
monastery, which I found more than 150 feet long, and 100 broad. There
were buildings on three sides, and broad ladders, each step covered
with brass and iron plates, leading to the main floor; the middle
ladder is used by the Dorje Phagmo alone. On inquiring for her
holiness, we learnt that she was engaged in certain religious duties,
and would see me later.
In the meanwhile I visited various chapels and shrines. In the
gong-khang (upper rooms) are lodged the most terrifying of the demons
and genii; their appearance is so awful that they are usually kept
veiled. Almost all the images were dressed in armour, and held various
weapons in their hands. To each of the images Tsing-ta presented a
khatag and a stick of incense, and Pador poured a little butter in the
brass or silver lamps kept continually burning before them.
It is due, by the way, to the Dorje Phagmo’s spiritual influence that
the waters of the inner lake or Dumo tso (“Demons’ Lake”), of the Yamdo
tso, are held in bounds, for otherwise they would overflow and inundate
the whole of Tibet. ’Twas for this that the Samding lamasery was
originally built.
In the largest room on the same floor are the mausolea of the former
incarnations of Dorje Phagmo. The first is made of silver gilt, and was
built in honour of Je-tsun Tinlas-tsomo, [220] the founder of the
monastery. The whole surface of the monument is studded over with large
turquoises, coral beads, rubies, emeralds, and pearls. In shape it
resembles a chorten, six to seven feet square at the base. Inside of
it, on a slab of stone, is an impress of the foot of the illustrious
deceased. The second monument is also of silver, and in shape like the
preceding, but I could not ascertain the name of the incarnation in
whose honour it had been erected. The third, also of silver, is that of
Nag-wang kun-bzang, the predecessor last but one of the present
incarnation, and has around it, placed there as great curios, some
pieces of European chinaware and some toys. The upper part of the
monument is most tastefully decorated with gold and precious stones.
This work, I believe, has been done by Nepalese, though some persons
said it is of native workmanship.
In another room, not open to the public, however, are the mortal
remains of the former incarnations of Dorje Phagmo. I was told that
each incarnation of this goddess visits this hall once in her life to
make obeisance to the remains of her predecessors.
After visiting all the shrines we returned to the Dorje Phagmo’s
apartments, where I was most kindly received. She occupied a raised
seat, and I was given a place on her left, while the ex-incarnate lama,
of whom I have previously spoken, occupied one a little behind her, but
his seat was higher than mine. The ceremony of propitiating Tamdrin
(Hayagriva) was proceeding, and twelve lamas in full canonicals were
acting as assistants. A number of respectably dressed men and women who
had come to be blessed were also seated about on rugs.
The service lasted about two hours. Every now and then the Dorje Phagmo
used an aspergill, with an end of peacock feathers and kusha grass,
[221] to sprinkle saffron water taken from a “bowl of life,” most of
it, much to my annoyance, for I feared catching cold, falling on me,
but it was a much envied token of her special favour. I could not catch
the words of the charms (mantras) she uttered, as she spoke very
rapidly, so as to get through the services as quickly as she could.
At the termination of the service sugared tsamba balls, about the size
of bullets, most of them painted red, were distributed among those
present. Before each person received any he prostrated himself before
her holiness, who then gave them to him.
When all the spectators had left, the Dorje Phagmo told me that she
took great interest in my recovery on account of the Lhacham, who was
not only her friend, but her half-sister. I besought her to allow me to
proceed on my journey to Lhasa, as I was most desirous of reaching the
sacred city by the 15th of the present moon (June 1), the birthday of
the Buddha, and she graciously gave me leave to start as soon as I was
strong enough to bear the fatigue of travelling.
On taking leave, she gave me three more sacred pills, and directed her
valet (gzim-dpon) to show me through her residence, where there was
great store of handsomely carved and painted furniture, images of gold,
silver, and copper neatly arranged on little altars. There was also a
library with about 3000 volumes of printed and manuscript books. One
work, in 118 volumes, was by Podong-chogleg namgyal, the founder of the
sect to which the Dorje Phagmo belongs.
The present incarnation of the divine Dorje Phagmo is a lady of
twenty-six, Nag-wang rinchen kunzang wangmo by name. She wears her hair
long; her face is agreeable, her manners dignified, and somewhat
resembling those of the Lhacham, though she is much less prepossessing
than she. It is required of her that she never take her rest lying
down; in the daytime she may recline on cushions or in a chair, but
during the night she sits in the position prescribed for meditation.
[222]
I learnt that the Dorje Phagmo, or the “Diamond Sow,” is an incarnation
of Dolma (Tara), the divine consort of Shenrezig. In days of old,
before the time when the Buddha Gautama appeared, there was a hideous
monster called Matrankaru, who spread ruin and terror over all the
world. He was the chief of all the legions of demons, goblins, and
other evil spirits; even the devils (raksha) of Ceylon had to become
his subjects. He subdued to his rule not only this world, but the eight
planets, the twenty-four constellations, the eight Nagas, and the gods.
By his miraculous power he could lift Mount Rirab (Sumeru) on the end
of his thumb.
Finally the Buddha and gods held council to compass about Matrankaru’s
destruction, and it was decided that Shenrezig should take the form of
Tamdrin (“Horse-neck”), and his consort, Dolma, that of Dorje Phagmo
(“the Diamond Sow”). When the two had assumed these forms they went to
the summit of the Malaya mountains, and Tamdrin neighed three times, to
fill the demon with terror, and Dorje Phagmo grunted five times, to
strike terror into the heart of Matrankaru’s wife, and soon both were
lying prostrate at the feet of the two divinities. But their lives were
spared them, and Matrankaru became a devout follower of the Buddha, a
defender of the faith (chos gyong), and was given the name of Mahakala.
In 1716, when the Jungar invaders of Tibet came to Nangartse, their
chief sent word to Samding to the Dorje Phagmo to appear before him,
that he might see if she really had, as reported, a pig’s head. A mild
answer was returned him; but, incensed at her refusing to obey his
summons, he tore down the walls of the monastery of Samding, and broke
into the sanctuary. He found it deserted, not a human being in it, only
eighty pigs and as many sows grunting in the congregation hall under
the lead of a big sow, and he dared not sack a place belonging to pigs.
When the Jungars had given up all idea of sacking Samding, suddenly the
pigs disappeared to become venerable-looking lamas and nuns, with the
saintly Dorje Phagmo at their head. Filled with astonishment and
veneration for the sacred character of the lady abbess, the chief made
immense presents to her lamasery.
May 26.—To-day we made our preparations for the journey to Lhasa, and
as food of all kinds was very scarce at Samding, the Dorje Phagmo was
so kind as to supply us with all the necessary provisions. The old
doctor presented me with a basket of dried apricots and some rice, and
our landlord brought us some wild goose eggs.
May 27.—We left to-day for Lhasa. From a little hillock behind our
lodgings I cast a last glance towards the lake and the dark hills
around it, behind which rose the snow-covered mountains. My eyes fell
on the Dumo tso, and on the place where the dead are thrown into the
lake, and I shuddered as I thought that this had come near being my
fate. Dead bodies throughout Tibet are cut up and fed to vultures and
dogs, but on the shores of Lake Yamdo the people throw their dead into
the lake. It is generally believed that a number of Lu (serpent
demi-gods) live in Lake Yamdo, and that they keep the keys of heaven.
In a palace of crystal in the deep recesses of the lake lives their
king, and the people think that by throwing their dead into the lake
there is a chance for them of reaching heaven by serving the king of
the Lu during the period intervening between death and regeneration.
Bardo this time is called.
Passing through cultivated fields, where the ponies sank up to their
knees in mud, we came to a broad steppe where wild goats and sheep and
a few musk deer were grazing. Dorje Phagmo is their special patron, and
no wild animals may be killed in the Yamdo district.
At about 2 o’clock we reached Nangartse, and, passing by the town,
proceeded northward along the bank of the far-famed Yamdo (Palti) lake,
also called Yum tso, or “turquoise lake”—a name which the deep blue
waters of the lake amply justify.
Travelling along the lake-side by the villages of Hailo, [223]
Dab-lung, and Dephu, where the fishermen’s hide boats (kudru) were
drying against the houses, and near which are a few fields where a
little barley is raised, we came to the Kal-zang zamba, where we rested
a while and drank some tea. Though this place is called “bridge”
(zamba), it is in reality an embankment about 300 to 400 feet long
dividing a narrow arm of the lake into two parts.
A little beyond the Kal-zang zamba, at a place where a string of
coloured rags, inscribed with prayers, stretched between two crags on
either side the narrow path, Tsing-ta made me dismount. He climbed on
to a large rock, and scattered a few pinches of tsamba, and, striking a
light, lit an incense-stick, which he fixed in a cleft in the rocks.
This place is called Sharui teng, and is the haunt of evil spirits;
should any traveller neglect to make these offerings, he would incur
their anger.
On reaching Palti djong, [224] we put up at a house where the Lhacham
had stopped when on her way to Lhasa, and were most hospitably
received. We bought some milk, a few eggs, and some chang from the
hostess, who supplied us also with water, firewood, and two earthen
cooking-pots. I was offered some fish, but I forbore buying any, as it
would have been incompatible with my character of a pious pilgrim, such
indulgence being forbidden by the Dalai lama. The Grand Lama, I must
mention, having lately taken the vows of monkhood, had issued an edict
prohibiting his subjects killing or eating fish for the space of one
year.
From ancient times the town of Palti has been a famous seat of the
Nyingma sect, and the lake was popularly known by its name. The name of
the town as applied to the lake by foreigners probably originated with
the Catholic missionaries who visited Tibet in the eighteenth century.
When, in the eighteenth century, the Jungars invaded Tibet, their wrath
was especially turned against the lamaseries and monks of the Nyingma
sect. There then lived in Palti djong a learned and saintly lama,
called Palti Shabdung, well versed in all the sacred literature, and
proficient in magic arts. Hearing that the invaders had crossed the
Nabso la and were marching on Palti, he, by his art, propitiated the
deities of the lake who caused the waters of the lake to appear to the
Jungar troops like a plain of verdure, so that they marched into the
lake and were drowned, to the number of several thousands. Another
corps which had advanced by the Khamba la, not finding the troops which
had gone by the Nabso la, retraced their steps, and so the town of
Palti was saved.
May 28.—We left by daylight, and followed along the shore of the lake
till we reached the foot of the Khamba la. The ascent was comparatively
easy; on the rocks by the wayside were painted in many places images of
Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. From Tamalung, [225] a small village halfway
up the mountain, a trail led eastward along the cliffs overhanging the
lake, and the sinuosities of the shore could be followed with the eye
to the remote horizon.
On the summit of the pass are two large cairns, to which each of my
companions added a stone; they also tied a rag to the brush sticking
out above the heaps, and already covered with such offerings. Then they
made an offering of a little tsamba and some dust, instead of wine, to
the mountain god, reciting a prayer the while, which they brought to an
end by shouting—
“Lha sol-lo, Lha sol-lo!
Lha gyal lo, lha gyal lo!
Kei-kei—ho, hooo!”
From this point I enjoyed one of the grandest views I have ever had in
Tibet—the valley of the Tsang-po was before me, the great river flowing
in a deep gorge at the foot of forest-clad mountains. Here and there
was to be seen a little hamlet, most of the white-walled houses
surrounded by a cluster of tall trees.
By 3 o’clock we had reached the foot of the pass, the way down being
over a tedious zigzag for over five miles. Along the wayside grew
brambles and wild roses, a few evergreens and rhododendrons, and some
flocks of sheep were grazing on the hillsides.
Then we came to a sluggish stream, and shortly after reached the
straggling village of Khamba partshi, [226] with some forty wretched
stone hovels. Passing through a patch of barley surrounded by pollard
willows, we reached the sandy banks of the Tsang-po, and followed along
it to Tongbu, the surrounding plain being known as Khamba chyang tang.
Two women weeding their barley patch approached me as I rode by, and
offered me a bunch of the young sprouts, in the hope, as Tsing-ta
explained, that I would give them some money. This is a custom
obtaining throughout Tibet, and is called lubul.
Further on, near Toi-tsi, we saw women making bricks, and some donkeys
and yaks were carrying away those which had become sufficiently dry to
be used. Two miles beyond this point we came to the famous Palchen
chuvori monastery and the chain bridge (chag-zam) over the Tsang-po.
This bridge, built, tradition says, by Tang-tong gyal-po in the
fifteenth century, consists of two heavy cables attached at each end to
huge logs, around which have been built large chorten. [227]
The bed of the river here is about 400 feet broad, but at this season
of the year it spreads out several hundred feet beyond the extremities
of the bridge, and travellers are taken across in boats.
The monastery of Palchen chuvori was also built by Tang-tong gyal-po,
who is likewise credited with having constructed eight chain bridges
over the Tsang-po, 108 temples, and 108 chorten on the hills of Chung
Rivoche, in Ulterior Tibet, and of Palchen chuvori, in Central Tibet,
or U. The Palchen chuvori monastery, where there are upwards of one
hundred monks, is supported by the toll collected at the ferry.
We and our ponies crossed the river in a roughly made boat about 20
feet long, but a number of skin coracles were also carrying travellers
and freight from one side to the other. It was sunset when we reached
the village of Jim-khar, belonging to the Namgyal Ta-tsan, the great
monastic establishment of Potala at Lhasa. Here we obtained lodgings
for the night in the sheepfold attached to the house of the headman, or
gyan-po. All the members of the gyan-po’s family were ill with
small-pox, and he himself had but recently recovered from it. It began
to rain shortly after our arrival, and what with the leaks in the roof
and the noise made by nine ponies tied up near us, we passed a
miserable night, and were glad to resume our journey at the first
streak of dawn. After proceeding some distance we came in sight of the
ruins of Chu-shul djong, on a ledge of rocks about a mile from where
the Tsang-po is joined by the Kyi chu, the river of Lhasa. Some two
hundred years ago Chu-shul was a place of importance, but now it is but
a village of about sixty houses, surrounded by wide fields, where
barley, rape, buckwheat, and wheat are grown. [228]
Passing near the hamlets of Tsa-kang and Semu, the road in many places
so boggy that the ponies sank in the mire up to their knees, we came,
after about four miles, to the ruins of Tsal-pa-nang, [229] where we
overtook some of the attendants of the Lhacham on their way to Lhasa.
After conversing with them for upwards of an hour, they rode on ahead,
as they were desirous of reaching Netang by sunset; and they advised us
to put up in the Jya-khang (or Chinese post station) of the same place,
where we would find good accommodation.
Beyond Tsal-pa-nang the road led over a sandy plain, while crossing
which we scared up several rabbits (hares?). Proceeding eastward for
several miles, we came to the large village of Jang hog, or “Lower
Jang,” then to Jang toi, or “Upper Jang,” [230] where the beauty of the
country so greatly charmed me, each cluster of houses surrounded by
groves of willows and poplars, and the fields a mass of flowers, that I
called a halt, and, spreading my rug under a willow tree, we made some
tea, and my companions indulged in a good long drink of chang.
From Jang toi, following a narrow trail overhanging the Kyi chu, we
came to Nam. Beyond this little hamlet the path leads over a confused
mass of rocks and boulders along the river bank; it is called gag lam,
or “narrow road,” and a false step would throw one amidst the
quicksands on the river’s bank, or into its eddying waters. I was not
surprised to be told that the two elephants sent to the Grand Lama by
the Sikkim rajah had had great difficulty in getting by this place.
After a tedious journey of about three miles through the sand and over
the rocks, we got sight of the famous village of Netang, [231] where
the great saint and Buddhist reformer, Atisha, or Dipankara, died.
An old woman led us to the Jya khang, where we were most hospitably
received, and though there were other travellers stopping in it, we
were accommodated for the sum of a tanka in a well-ventilated outer
room, the inner ones being reserved for officials, particularly
Chinese. Netang has about forty or fifty houses, all built closely
together, but many are only miserable hovels.
May 30.—We were off at an early hour, as to-day we wanted to reach
Lhasa. The hamlets of Norbu-gang and Chumig-gang, through which we
passed, had a number of fine substantial houses belonging to civil
officers (Dung-khor) of Lhasa, and around them were gardens and groves
of trees. Leaving these places behind, we travelled for some miles over
a gravelly plain, the river some distance on our right.
When near a gigantic image of the Buddha, cut in low relief on the face
of a rock, Potala and Chagpori came in sight, their gilt domes shining
in the sun’s rays. My long-cherished wish was accomplished—Lhasa, the
sacred city, was before me.
Four miles over a fairly good road now brought us to the Ti chu zamba,
a large and handsome stone bridge about 120 paces long and eight broad,
beneath which flowed a rivulet coming from the hills to the north-west,
where stands the monastery of Tsorpu, founded by Karma Bagshi, one of
the two celebrated lamas who resided at the Imperial court of China in
the time of the Emperor Kublai.
The Ti chu zamba is in the lower part of the big village of Toilung,
around which are numerous hamlets, each amid a little grove of pollard
willows. The adjacent plain, watered as it is by the Kyi chu and the Ti
(or Toilung) chu, is extraordinarily fertile. The country around was
everywhere cultivated, and the barley, wheat, and buckwheat were in
many places already a foot high.
The road now became alive with travellers, mostly grain-dealers or
argol-carriers, on their way to the city with trains of yaks, ponies,
mules, and donkeys with jingling bells.
We halted for breakfast in a small grove in front of the village of
Shing donkar, belonging to Sa-wang Ragasha, one of the senior Shape of
Lhasa. We could hear from where we sat the voices of lamas chanting
prayers, and I learnt from an old woman who brought my men some chang,
that there were some eighteen Dabung lamas reading prayers for the
recovery from small-pox of the foreman (shinyer) of the farm.
About a mile from Sing donkar we came to Donkar, which is considered as
the first stage for persons travelling officially from Lhasa. [232]
Then we passed by Cheri, where is the city slaughter-house; and here,
strange as it may seem, the Kashmiris come to buy meat, for most of
those living at Lhasa are so lax in their observance of the Mohammedan
laws about butchering that they will eat yaks killed by Tibetans, even
though they have been put to death by wounds of arrows or knives in the
stomach.
We stopped at Daru at the foot of the hill covered by Debung and its
park, and Pador went to look up a friend whom he was desirous of
attaching to my service. After an hour’s delay he returned without
having found him, and we pushed on, passing the far-famed temple of
Nachung chos kyong, where resides the oracle by whom the Government is
guided in all important affairs. The temple is a fine edifice of dark
red colour, built after the Chinese style, and has a gilt spire
surmounting it. At this point the road nears the river, and the whole
city stood displayed before us at the end of an avenue of gnarled
trees, the rays of the setting sun falling on its gilded domes. It was
a superb sight, the like of which I have never seen. On our left was
Potala with its lofty buildings and gilt roofs; before us, surrounded
by a green meadow (maidan), lay the town with its tower-like,
whitewashed houses and Chinese buildings with roofs of blue glazed
tiles. Long festoons of inscribed and painted rags hung from one
building to another, waving in the breeze.
Beyond Daru the road lay for a while through a marsh (dam-tso)
overgrown with rank grass; numerous ditches drained the water into the
river, and at the north-east end of the marsh we could distinguish the
famous monastery of Sera. Beyond a high sand embankment on our left was
the park and palace of Norbu linga, and the beautiful grove of Kemai
tsal, in the midst of which stands the palace of Lhalu, the father of
the last Dalai lama.
At 4 p.m. we passed Kunduling, the residence of the regent, and entered
the city by the western gateway, called the Pargo kaling chorten, and
my heart leaped with exultation as I now reached the goal of my
journey—the far-famed city of Lhasa, the capital of Tibet.