IN STRANGE COMPANY
Just before leaving the shores of the Rakastal I had a great piece of
luck. We had been detected by another band of brigands, who were trying
to overtake us. I had watched them with my telescope as they rode toward
us. They were driving some twenty yaks in front of them at a fast pace.
The brigands rode ponies. We were about a mile and a half ahead of them,
and close to the edge of the Devil's Lake. We saw them coming down the
hillside at a breakneck speed straight in our direction. It was evident
that they were after us. My men became terror-stricken when I gave order
to halt.
The band of highwaymen approached, leaving the yaks in charge of two
women. When they galloped in a line toward us, my men, with the
exception of Chanden Sing and Mansing, were paralyzed with fright.
The brigands were now one hundred yards off. With loaded rifle in one
hand and my camera in the other, I advanced to meet them, knowing that,
with their old-fashioned matchlocks, it took them a considerable time to
light the fusee and fire a shot. Moreover, it was almost an
impossibility for them to fire on horseback, their weapons being heavy
and cumbersome.
[Illustration: THE BANDITS LAID DOWN THEIR ARMS]
I focussed them in my twin-lens photographic apparatus, and waited till
I had them well in the field. I snapped the picture when they were only
thirty yards away, vaulting over their ponies in the act of dismounting.
The camera, having done its work, was quickly deposited on the ground,
and the rifle shouldered. I shouted to them to put down their weapons.
To give force to my request I aimed at them with my Mannlicher.
A meeker lot of brigands I do not believe could be found anywhere.
People of that kind were only brave when it was easy for them to be
courageous. The matchlocks were quickly unslung from their shoulders and
flung to the ground. Their jewelled swords were laid by the side of the
firearms. The bandits went down on their knees, and taking off their
caps with both hands, put out their tongues in sign of salute and
submission. I could not help taking another photograph of them in that
comical attitude.
Chanden Sing, who had been left to look after the baggage, had placed
Mansing in charge, and was now by my side with the Martini-Henry rifle,
when one of the women, riding astride, arrived on the scene. She was
evidently furious at the cowardice of her men. I liked her for that. She
jumped off her steed, ejaculated words at the top of her voice, shaking
her fists at the men still kneeling before me, and at last, foaming with
rage, spat on them. While thus haranguing the band of highwaymen, she
had an annoying way of pointing at my baggage; but her speech seemed to
have little effect on the submissive crowd.
I went up to her, patted her on the back, and offered her a rupee if
she would hold her tongue. She grabbed the coin, and rubbed it on her
skin coat to make the silver shine. She instantly became calm, and
rubbing the coin until it was quite bright, she raised her fiery eyes,
staring into mine, and put out her tongue to express her thanks.
Kachi and Dola, who knew Tibetan well, were now summoned to address the
bandits for me; but these two Shokas were in such terror that they could
hardly walk, much less speak. After a while, however, seeing how well I
had these terrible people under control, they were able to translate.
"I want them to sell me some yaks and some ponies," I said. "I will pay
handsomely for them."
"They say they cannot. The Tarjum will cut their heads off if he comes
to know it. They will only sell one or two yaks."
"Very good. How much do they want?"
"Two hundred silver rupees. But," added Dola, "sir, do not give them
more than forty. That is a great deal more than they are worth. A good
yak costs from ten to sixteen rupees."
After some three or four hours' bargaining, during which time the
bandits descended gradually from two hundred rupees to forty, and I rose
from twenty to that figure, we at last agreed, amid the greatest
excitement on both sides, that their two best yaks should be my
property. Becoming quite friendly, they also sold me pack-saddles and
sundry curiosities. They gave me tea and _tsamba_. The fiery woman had
still a peculiar way of keeping her eyes fixed on my baggage. Her
longing for my property seemed to increase when she saw me pay for the
yaks and suspected that I must have a good deal of money. If she kept
one eye on my goods, I kept both there. I took good care that my rifle
was never out of my hand, and that no one ever came too near me from
behind.
We counted the money down, some fifty rupees, including all purchases.
Each coin was passed round and sounded by each of our sellers, and when
the entire sum was handed over the coins were passed back and recounted,
so that there should be no mistake. Time in Tibet is not money, and my
readers must not be surprised when I tell them that counting,
recounting, and sounding the small amount took two more hours. The two
yaks were eventually handed over to us--one, a huge, long-haired black
animal, restless and powerful; the other equally black, strong, and
hairy, but somewhat gentler.
To catch them, separate them from the herd, pass ropes through their
respective nostrils, and tie pack-saddles on their backs, were all
operations we as novices had to master. It was hard work indeed, but we
struggled until we succeeded.
When we parted, the brigands and I were good friends. The bandits
behaved admirably. I came to the conclusion that, in Tibet, I would at
any time rather deal with a bandit than with an official.
In a way I was sorry when my interview with the Jogpas came to an end,
for, although they were undoubtedly brigands, they were certainly
interesting. Their original and curious dress, their manner, their
conversation, their unusual but eminently sensible mode of eating, and
their jovial freedom of demeanor were really quite refreshing. Their
dress was quite representative of Tibet. The men wore a great variety of
coats and hats, probably due to the facility with which they obtained
them. No two individuals were dressed alike, though certain leading
features of dress were to be observed in each case. One man wore a gaudy
coat trimmed with leopard skin. Another had a long, gray woollen robe
like a dressing-gown, taken up by a waist-band. A third was garbed in a
loose raiment of sheepskin, with the wool inside. Yet a fourth was
arrayed in a dark-red tunic fastened by a belt of leather with silver
ornamentations inlaid in wrought-iron. Suspended to the belt were a
needle-case, tinder-pouch and steel, a bullet-pouch and bag, and a
pretty dagger with a sheath of ebony, steel, and silver filigree. In
their belts the Jogpas, in common with the majority of Tibetan men, wore
a sword in front. Whether the coat was long or short, it was invariably
loose and made to bulge at the waist, in order that it might contain a
number of eating and drinking bowls (_pu-kus_), snuff-box, sundry bags
of money, _tsamba_, and bricks of tea. It was owing to this custom that
most Tibetan men, when seen at first, gave the impression of being very
stout, whereas, as a matter of fact, they were somewhat lightly built.
In the daytime the Tibetans left one arm and part of the chest bare,
letting one sleeve hang. The reason for this practice was because in
Tibet the days were hot and the nights cold, the drop in the thermometer
at sunset in south-west Tibet being at times as much as 80 deg., and even
100 deg. As the Tibetans always slept in their clothes, the garments that
protected their bodies from being frozen at night were found too heavy
and warm in the hot sun, and, therefore, that simple expedient was
adopted. When sitting down both arms were drawn from the sleeves, and
the chest and back were left bare; but when standing, one arm, usually
the left, was slipped in, to prevent the coat and its heavy contents
falling off.
That the Jogpas had good digestions was evident from the way they ate,
when, having concluded the sale of the yaks, they squatted down to a
hearty meal of _tsamba_, _chura_ (cheese), and tea. They took from their
coats their wooden and metal _pu-kus_ (bowls), and quickly filled them
with _tsamba_, pouring over it steaming tea mixed, as usual, with butter
and salt in a churn. With their dirty fingers they stirred the mixture
in the bowl until a paste was formed, which they rolled into a ball and
ate. The same operation was repeated over and over again. Each time,
before refilling, the bowl was licked clean by rotating the _pu-ku_
round the tongue. Feeling the heat of the sun after their meal, both men
and women removed some of their garments, showing ornaments of gold,
silver, and copper encircling their necks.
The women of the bandits, though far from beautiful, possessed a certain
charm, due entirely to their wildness. Unlike most Tibetan women, they
had good teeth. Their complexion was not specially dark. Only the black
ointment, with which their cheeks, noses, and foreheads were smeared,
made them appear darker than they really were, and was decidedly
unbecoming. They had regular features. Their eyes and mouths were full
of expression. Twisted into numberless little plaits, the hair was
brought up and fastened over the head. A red turban kept the plaits in
position, and was raised so as to show another row of little plaits
decorating the forehead. The end of each of these plaits was joined to
its immediate neighbor. These ladies wore large ear-rings of gold inlaid
with malachite.
The children were talkative, and acted like grown-up people. They wore
swords in their belts, even at the early age of eight or ten years.
In a basket that had been carried on one of the yaks I saw an infant a
few months old. His superstitious mother snatched the child away in
horror when I caressed him, and washed and rubbed the poor little
fellow's face until the skin was sore, declaring that children died who
were touched by strangers.
The men were just as superstitious. When I wished to buy some rice from
them, they would not let me handle it till it had become my property.
They objected each time that I stretched out my arm to touch the bag of
rice, and eventually showed me a handful of rice at a distance, to let
me judge of its quality. I first bought only the handful. Having assured
myself that it was good, I then purchased the remainder.
We had marched on the same afternoon about half a mile in the direction
of Mansarowar, when we were overtaken by one of the brigands, whom we
had left a short time before. He rode toward us, apparently in great
excitement. Having dismounted, he drew his sword and began chasing one
of my yaks. This seemed so strange a proceeding that we were at a loss
to understand his intentions. He screamed to us that he meant no harm,
so we let him go on. He eventually overtook one yak, and, after a
struggle with the unfortunate animal, he flung his arms round the
beast's neck and rested his head between its horns. I was getting rather
anxious, fearing that this effusion was only a dodge to cut the beast's
throat. Much to my astonishment, I saw that the young Jogpa had seized a
tuft of the yak's hair with his teeth and was trying to tear it off,
while the unfortunate quadruped was making desperate efforts to shake
off its persecutor. The hair eventually gave way, and with a tuft of it
hanging from his tightly closed lips, the Jogpa let go the animal's
head, and, brandishing his sword, next made a dash for its tail.
I thought it was time to interfere. I seized the man by his pigtail,
while he in his turn clung to the tail of the frightened yak, which,
bolting, dragged both of us after it at an unpleasant pace.
The Jogpa, in our mad flight, cut off a long lock of the yak's silky
hair. Having secured this, he appeared to be quite satisfied, let go,
and sheathed his sword. He quickly concealed the stolen locks in his
coat, and then made low bows to us, sticking out his tongue, and
declaring that unless such a precaution were taken when parting with a
beast, bad luck was sure to come to you. This closed the incident. The
Jogpa rode away perfectly happy, and we continued our march across the
stony plain until we reached the ridge which extended across it, and in
its continuation divided the two lakes. We climbed up to the top, rising
to 16,450 feet. In order to make certain that the ridge really extended
right across between the two lakes, I made an excursion about half way
along its length, and found that the northern part seemed somewhat lower
than the southern; but in the portion between the two sheets of water,
and barring the central depression which I have already mentioned, it
seemed everywhere several hundred feet above the level of the lakes.
This expedition incurred some loss of time, and when night came we were
still on the ridge.
From our camping-ground we saw fifteen black tents on the hillside. To
the east, on the lake shore, there was a large Gomba, or Lamasery, with
a temple and a number of mud houses. I estimated the distance between
ourselves and the Gomba at only eight miles, a cheering fact, because I
hoped to get there fresh provisions that would enable us to proceed more
rapidly on our journey. We were now quite out of reach of the Gyanema
soldiers, as well as of such troublesome officials as the Barca Tarjum
and the Jong Pen of Taklakot. If we could only obtain a sufficient
quantity of food during the night, and proceed across country early the
next day, there would be little danger of being overtaken by our
pursuers. The Shokas were again shaking with fright at the idea of
entering a Tibetan settlement. I told them firmly that we must reach
Tucker Gomba and village that night.
We had below us the two great lakes. Before I left this magnificent
panorama I could not help taking a last long look at the marvellous
scene. The Devil's Lake, with its broken, precipitous shores, its rocky
islands and outstretching peninsulas, was far more enchanting to me than
the sacred lake by its side, in which, according to tradition, dwelled
Mahadeva and all the other good gods. Although the water was equally
blue and limpid, although each lake had for a background the same
magnificent Gangri chain, Mansarowar, the creation of Brahma, was not
nearly so weirdly fascinating as its neighbor. Mansarowar had no ravines
rising precipitously from its waters. It was almost a perfect oval
without indentations. There was a stony, slanting plain some two miles
wide between the water's edge and the hills surrounding it, except along
the ridge separating it from the Rakastal, where its coast was slightly
more rugged and precipitous.
Directly south of the lake was a chain of high peaks covered with snow,
from which several streams descended. From where we stood we could see
evident signs, as in the case of the Rakastal, that the level of the
lake must at one time have been at least thirty feet higher than it was
when I visited it. The slanting bed of small, rounded, smooth stones,
which extended from one and a half to two miles beyond the water-line,
was evidence enough that the level of the water must have been up to
that point. I believe that the lake was gradually receding.
Round the lake there were several tumbling-down sheds in charge of
Lamas. Only one important Gomba (monastery) and a temple were to be
seen--_viz._, at Tucker Village.
I was told that a small Gomba and _serai_ (resting-house for pilgrims),
in charge of Lamas, stood to the north-west of the lake, but I cannot
vouch for the accuracy of the statement, as I did not visit it myself,
and the information I received from Tibetans regarding its position and
importance was conflicting.
As the nature of the country suddenly changed between the Devil's Lake
and Mansarowar, so, too, the weather and the temperature greatly
changed. Over the Rakastal we invariably saw a lovely blue sky, whereas
over Mansarowar heavy black clouds hung overhead and rain fell
incessantly. From time to time the wind blew off the rain for a few
minutes, and lovely effects of light played upon the water. Fresh
clouds, with violent bursts of thunder, soon made the scene again gloomy
and depressing.
It was much warmer on the Mansarowar side of the ridge than on the
Rakastal side. Probably owing to the dampness, the air seemed quite
thick to breathe, instead of being crisp and light, as it was along the
shores of the Devil's Lake. Indeed, when I recall the Mansarowar, I
cannot help thinking that it was the home, not only of the gods, but
also of storms.
We descended some two miles to the plain, and crossed a rapid delta of
the Langa Tsangpo, or Langa River; then another, a mile farther. As
these rivers came directly from the snows, the water was very cold, and
often three or four feet deep, owing to the thawing of the snow and ice
during the day.