WARNED BACK BY SOLDIERS
We altered our course from north to north-east, rising to 16,600 feet.
We arrived at Lama Chokten, a pass protected by a Tibetan guard. The
soldiers quickly turned out, matchlocks in hand. They seemed a miserable
lot. They offered no resistance, but begged for money and food. The men
complained of ill-treatment from their superiors. They received no pay,
and even food was only occasionally sent to them at this outpost. Their
tunics were in rags. Each man carried a sword stuck in front through the
girdle. Here, too, we had more inquiries about the young sahib, the
white man. Messengers on horseback had been sent post-haste from
Taklakot to warn the Gyanema officer not to let him penetrate into
Hundes (the Tibetan name for Tibet) should he attempt to come by the
Lumpiya Pass. Their description of my supposed appearance was amusing
enough to me, and when they said that if the sahib came their way they
would cut off his head, I felt so touched by their good-natured
confidence that I wanted to distribute a few rupees among them.
"Don't give them anything, sir," said Kachi and the doctor. "These
fellows are friends of the dacoits. If these get to know that you have
money, we shall run great risk of being attacked by them."
I insisted on giving them a present.
"No, sir," cried Kachi; "do not do it, or it will bring us trouble and
misfortune. If you give them four annas, that will be ample."
Accordingly the commanding officer had this large sum deposited in his
outstretched palm. To show his satisfaction, he put out his tongue to
its full length, waved both hands in sign of gratitude, bowing clumsily
at the same time. His fur cap had been previously removed and thrown on
the ground. It was a great deal of ceremony over a gift which amounted
to somewhat less than eight cents.
From this place I saw a beautiful sight. To the north the clouds had
scattered, and the snow-covered sacred Kelas Mountain rose up before us.
Not unlike the graceful roof of a temple, Kelas towered over the long,
white-capped range, contrasting in its beautiful blending of tints with
the warm sienna color of the lower elevations. Kelas was some two
thousand feet higher than the other peaks of the Gangri chain. It showed
strongly defined ledges and terraces marking its stratification, and
these were covered with horizontal layers of snow of brilliant white in
contrast to the dark, ice-worn rock. The Tibetans, the Nepalese, the
Shokas, the Humlis, Jumlis, and Hindoos, all had a strong veneration for
this mountain, which was believed by them to be the abode of all the
good gods, especially the god Siva. In fact, the ledge round its base
was said by the Hindoos to be the mark of the ropes used by the devil
"Rakas" in his effort to pull down the throne of Siva.
My men, with heads uncovered, their faces turned toward the sacred peak,
were muttering prayers. With joined hands, which they slowly raised as
high as the forehead, they prayed fervently, and then went down on their
knees, with heads touching the ground. My brigand follower, who was
standing close by me, hurriedly whispered that I should join in the
prayers.
"You must keep friends with the gods," said the bandit; "misfortune will
attend you if you do not bow to Kelas. That is the home of a good god!"
And he pointed to the peak with the most devout air of conviction.
To please him, I saluted the mountain with great deference, and,
imitating the example of my men, placed a white stone on one of the
_Choktens_ or _Obos_ (stone pillars). Hundreds of these had been erected
at this place by devotees. These Obos, or rough pyramids of stones, were
to be found on the paths over high passes, near lakes, and at the source
of rivers. At no place had I seen so many as at Lama Chokten. Each
passer-by deposited a white stone on one of these Obos. This was
supposed to bring good fortune.
The guard-house itself, of rough stone, would in any country but Tibet
be recognized as better fitted for pigs than for human beings.
Having gone a mile or so further, as the sun was fast disappearing we
searched for a suitable spot to pitch our tents. There was no sign of
water, only the stony bed of a dried rivulet. We were discussing the
situation when we heard a faint sound of rushing water. It grew louder
and louder, and then we saw coming our way a stream of limpid snow-water
gradually creeping over a bed of stones. Evidently the snow of the
mountains, which had melted during the day, had only now reached the
spot where we stood. My brigand was greatly excited.
"Water flowing to you, sahib!" he exclaimed, with his arms outstretched.
"You will have great luck! Look! Look! You want water for your camp, and
a stream comes to you! Heaven blesses you. You must dip your fingers
into the water as soon as it comes up to you, and throw some drops over
your shoulders. Fortune will then attend you on your journey."
I readily fell in with this Tibetan superstition. We all dipped our
fingers and sprinkled the water over our backs. Wilson, however, who
took the matter quite seriously, said it was all nonsense, and would not
give in to such "childish superstitions."
In front of our camp was a great stretch of flat alluvial land, about
ten miles long and fourteen wide, which apparently had once been the bed
of a lake. With my telescope I could see at the foot of a small hill the
camping-ground of Karko. There were many tents. My men seemed reassured
when by their shape and color we made out the tents to be those of
Joharis from Milam, who came over to this place to trade with the
Tibetans. Beyond Karko to the north a stretch of water, the Gyanema
Lake, shone brilliantly, and beyond it could be seen comparatively low
hill ranges. In the distance more snowy peaks were visible.
On leaving camp we traversed the plain for six miles in a north-easterly
direction, and then turned into a smaller valley well enclosed by hills,
which we followed for a distance of three or four miles.
During our march we saw many herds of _kiang_ (wild horse). They came
close to us. They resembled zebras, except that they were light brown in
color. Their graceful and coquettish ways were most attractive. The
natives regarded the proximity of these animals as dangerous, for their
apparent tameness was merely in order to get quite near the unwary
traveller, and then, with a sudden dash, inflict a horrible bite.
Having climbed over a hill range, we descended on the other side into a
grassy stretch of flat land with a lake on the northern side. On a hill
south of the lake stood the Gyanema fort, a primitive, tower-like
structure of stone, with a tent pitched over it to answer the purpose of
a roof. Two dirty white rags hung from a flagstaff. These were not
national flags, but merely wind-prayers. Lower down, at the foot of the
hill, were two or three large black tents and a small shed of stone.
Hundreds of black, white, and brown yaks[1] were grazing on the green
patches of grass.
The appearance of our party evidently frightened everybody, for we had
hardly shown ourselves on the summit of the pass when in the fort a gong
began to sound loudly, filling the air with its metallic notes. A shot
was fired. Soldiers with their matchlocks[2] ran here and there. They
pulled down one of the black tents and hastily conveyed it inside the
fort. The greater part of the garrison sought shelter within the walls
of the fort with the hurry almost of a stampede. When, after some time,
they made up their minds that we did not mean to hurt them, some of the
Tibetan officers, followed by their men, came trembling to meet us. The
doctor, unarmed, went ahead to talk to them, while Chanden Sing and I
remained with the coolies in order to protect our baggage in case of a
treacherous attack, and to prevent my frightened carriers from
abandoning their loads and escaping. Matters looked peaceful enough.
Rugs were spread on the grass, and finally we all sat down. An hour of
tiresome talking with the Tibetan officers, while the same things were
repeated over and over again, led to nothing. They said they could on no
account allow any one from India, whether native or sahib, to proceed,
and we must go back. We, on our side, stated that we were doing no harm.
We were pilgrims to the sacred Lake of Mansarowar, only a few miles
farther. We had gone to much expense and trouble. How could we now turn
back when so near our goal? We would not go back, and trusted they would
allow us to proceed.
We treated them courteously. Probably mistaking this for fear, they
promptly took advantage of it, especially the Magbun, the
General-in-Chief in charge of the Gyanema fort. His humble manner, of
which at first he had made so much display, suddenly turned into
arrogance.
"You will have to cut off my head," said he, with a vicious
countenance, "or, rather, I will cut off yours, before I let you go
another step."
"Cut off my head!" I cried, jumping on my feet and shoving a cartridge
into my rifle.
"Cut off my head!" repeated Chanden Sing, pointing with his
Martini-Henry at the official.
"Cut off our heads!" exclaimed the Brahmin, angrily, and the two
Christian servants of Dr. Wilson, while they handled a Winchester and a
couple of Gourkha _kukris_ (large knives).
"No, no, no, no! Salaam, salaam, salaam!" shouted the Magbun, with the
quickness of a panic-stricken man. "Salaam, salaam," repeated he again,
bowing down to the ground, tongue out, and placing his hat at our feet
in a disgustingly servile manner. "Let us talk like friends."
The Magbun's men, no braver than their master, shifted about in a casual
manner, so as to be behind their superior officers in case of our
firing. On second thought, feeling that they were not safe even so
screened, they got up. One after the other the Tibetans walked away for
half-a-dozen steps slowly, to impress upon us that it was not fear that
made them leave, and then took to their heels.
The Magbun and the officers who remained became meek. We spoke and
argued in a friendly manner for two long hours, but with no result. The
Magbun could not decide of his own accord. He would consult with his
officers, and he could give us an answer no sooner than the next
morning. In the mean time he would provide for our general comfort and
insure our safety, if we would encamp near his tent. This, of course, I
well knew to be a trick to gain time, so as to send for soldiers to
Barca, north of the Rakastal Lake, as well as to all the neighboring
camps. I frankly told him my suspicions, but added that I wished to deal
fairly with the Tibetan authorities before resorting to force. I
reminded the Magbun again and made him plainly understand that we were
merely peaceful travellers, and had not come to fight; that I was paying
tenfold for anything I purchased from him or his men, and was glad to do
so; but at the same time, let any one beware who dared touch a single
hair of a member of my party! The Magbun declared that he understood
perfectly. He swore friendship, and as friends he begged us to stop over
the night near his camp. By the Sun and Kunjuk Sum (Trinity) he gave a
solemn oath that we should in no way be harmed. He took humble leave of
us and retired.
The doctor and I had been sitting in front. Next were Chanden Sing, the
Brahmin, and the two Christians. The carriers were behind. When the
Magbun had gone, I turned round to look at my followers. What a sight!
They one and all were crying, each man hiding his face in his hands.
Kachi had tears streaming down his cheeks, Dola was sobbing, while the
brigand and the other Tibetan in my employ, who had for the occasion
assumed a disguise, were hiding behind their loads. Serious though the
situation was, I could not help laughing at the fright of my men.
We pitched our tents. I had been sitting inside, noting the
observations which I had taken with my instruments and writing up my
diary, when Kachi crept in, apparently in great distress. He seemed so
upset that he could hardly speak.
"Master!" he whispered. "Master! The Tibetans have sent a man to your
coolies threatening to kill them if they remain faithful to you. They
must abandon you during the night. If you attempt to hold them they have
orders to kill you."
At the same time that this agent had been sent to conspire with my
coolies, other envoys of the Magbun brought into my camp masses of dry
dung to make our fires. These men conveyed to me again the Magbun's
renewed declarations of friendship. Nevertheless, soldiers were sent in
every direction by the Tibetan official to call for help. I saw them
start. One messenger went toward Kardam and Taklakot, a second proceeded
in the direction of Barca, a third galloped to the west.
My carriers were evidently preparing to leave me. I watched them,
unseen, through an opening in the tent. They were busily engaged
separating their blankets and clothes from my loads, dividing the
provisions among themselves, and throwing aside my goods. I went out to
them, patiently made them repack the things, and warned them that I
would shoot any one who attempted to revolt or desert.
While the doctor and I sat down to a hearty meal, Chanden Sing was
intrusted with the preparations for war on our side. He cleaned the
rifles with much care, and got the ammunition ready. He was longing to
fight. The Brahmin, on whose faithfulness we could also rely, remained
cool and collected through the whole affair. He was a philosopher, and
never worried over anything. He took no active part in preparing for our
defence, for he did not fear death. God alone could kill him, he argued,
and all the matchlocks in the country together could not send a bullet
through him unless God wished it. And if it be God's decree that he
should die, what would be the use of rebelling against it? The two
converts, like good Christians, were more practical, and lost no time in
grinding the huge blades of their _kukris_, in order to make them as
sharp as razors.
When darkness came I placed a guard a little distance off our camp. It
seemed likely that the Tibetans might make a rush on our tent if they
had a chance. One of us kept watch all night outside the tent, while
those inside lay down in their clothes, with loaded rifles by their
side. I cannot say that either Dr. Wilson or I felt very uneasy, for the
Tibetan soldiers, with their clumsy matchlocks, long spears, and
jewelled swords and daggers, were more picturesque than dangerous.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: A kind of ox with long hair.]
[Footnote 2: Old muskets fired by a fusee, with a prong to rest the
barrel on.]