A CHARMED LIFE
By way of precaution, a light was set between Mansing and myself, and,
as it was still raining hard, the Tibetans placed a canvas shelter over
us to prevent the light from being extinguished. At about six or seven
in the morning Mansing's feet were untied, but not his hands. I was left
in the same uncomfortable and painful posture. The hours passed slowly
and wearily. My legs, my arms, and hands had gradually become quite
lifeless. After the first six or seven hours that I had been stretched
on the rack, I felt no more actual pain. The numbness crept along every
limb of my body, until I had now the peculiar sensation of possessing a
living head on a dead body.
The day now dawning was one full of strange incidents. When the sun was
high in the sky, the Pombo, with a great number of Lamas, rode down from
the monastery, a short distance away. He went to his tent. Soon after,
my cases of scientific instruments were brought outside and opened, the
soldiers and Lamas displaying an amusing mixture of curiosity and
caution over everything they touched. I had to explain the use of each
instrument, a difficult matter indeed, considering their ignorance and
my limited knowledge of Tibetan, which did not allow of my delivering
scientific lectures in their language. The sextant was looked upon with
great suspicion, and even more so the hypsometrical apparatus, with its
thermometers in brass tubes, which they took to be some sort of firearm.
Then came a lot of undeveloped photographic plates, box after box of
which they opened in broad daylight, destroying in a few moments all the
valuable negatives that I had taken since leaving Mansarowar. The Pombo,
more observant than the others, noticed that the plates turned into a
yellowish color on being exposed to the light.
"Why is that?" he asked.
"It is a sign that you will suffer for what you are doing to me."
The Pombo flung away the plate he had picked up and was much upset. He
ordered a hole to be dug in the ground some way off, and all the plates
to be instantly buried. The soldiers, however, who had been intrusted
with the order, seemed loath to touch the plates, and they had to be
reprimanded and beaten by the Lamas, before they would obey. At last,
with their feet, they pushed the boxes of negatives to a spot some
distance off, where, in dog fashion, they dug a deep hole with their
hands in the muddy ground. There my precious photographic work of
several weeks was covered with earth forever.
Now came my paint-box with its cakes of water-colors.
"What do you do with these?" cried an angry Lama, pointing at the
harmless colors.
"I paint pictures."
"No, you are lying. With the 'yellow' you find where gold is in the
country, and with the 'blue' you discover where malachite is."
I assured them that this was not the case, and told them that if they
would untie me I would, on recovering the use of my arms, paint a
picture before them.
They prudently preferred to leave me tied up.
Their whole attention was now drawn to a considerable sum in silver and
gold which they found in the pack-cases. The Pombo warned the people
that not one coin must be stolen.
I took this chance to make an offering of five hundred rupees to the
Lamasery. I also told the Pombo that I should like him to accept as a
gift my Martini-Henry rifle, which I noticed rather took his fancy.
Both gifts were refused. They said the Lamasery was very rich, and the
Pombo's position as an official did not allow him to carry a rifle. The
Pombo, nevertheless, fully appreciated the offer, and came personally to
thank me.
In a way the rascals were gentlemanly enough in their manner. I could
not help admiring their mixture of courtesy and cruelty, either of which
they could switch on at a moment's notice regardless of the other.
They had now reached the bottom of a water-tight case. The Pombo drew
out with much suspicion a curious flattened article.
"What is that?" inquired he, lifting the thing up in the air.
My sight had been so injured that at that distance I could not clearly
discern what it was; but when they waved it in front of my nose, I
recognized it to be my long-mislaid bath-sponge, dry and flattened,
which Chanden Sing, with his usual ability for packing, had stored away
at the bottom of the box, piling upon it the heavy cases of photographic
plates. The sponge, a large one, was now reduced to the thickness of
less than an inch, owing to the weight that had for weeks lain upon it.
The Tibetans were greatly puzzled at this new discovery. They had never
seen or even heard of sponges. Some said it resembled tinder. The wiser
Lamas said it might explode. It was touched with caution.
When their curiosity was satisfied, they threw it away. It fell near me
in a small pool of water. This was a golden opportunity to frighten my
jailers. I addressed the sponge in English, and with any word that came
in my head, pretending to utter incantations. The attention of the Lamas
and soldiers was quickly drawn to this unusual behavior on my part. They
could not conceal their terror when, as I spoke louder and louder to the
sponge, it gradually swelled to its normal size with the moisture it
absorbed.
The Tibetans, who at first could hardly believe their eyes at this
incomprehensible occurrence, became panic-stricken at what they believed
to be an exhibition of my occult powers. There was a general stampede in
every direction.
In a way, all this was entertaining. Anyhow, it served to pass away the
time. The most amusing scene that afternoon was, however, still to come.
After some time the Lamas screwed up their courage, and returned to
where my baggage had been overhauled. One of them picked up my
Martini-Henry. The others urged him to fire it off. He came to me, and
when I had explained to him how to load it, he took a cartridge and
placed it in the breech, but would insist on not closing the bolt firmly
home. When I warned him of the consequences, he struck me on the head
with the butt of the rifle.
It is the fashion, when aiming with one of their matchlocks, which have
a prop attached to them, to place the butt in front of the nose instead
of holding it firmly against the shoulder, as we do. So the Lama aimed
in this fashion at one of my yaks peacefully grazing some thirty yards
off. While everybody watched attentively to see the result of this
marksman's shooting, he pulled the trigger; the rifle went off with an
extra loud report, and behold! the rifle burst and the violent recoil
gave the Lama a fearful blow in the face. The rifle, flying out of his
hands, described a somersault in the air, and the Lama fell backward to
the ground, where he remained spread out flat, bleeding all over, and
screaming like a child. His nose was squashed, one eye had been put out,
and his teeth were shattered.
Whether the rifle burst because the bolt had not been properly closed,
or because mud had got into the muzzle, I could not say.
The injured Lama was the one at the head of the party that wanted to
have my head cut off, so, naturally enough, I could not help betraying
my satisfaction at the accident. I was glad they had let me live another
day, were it only to see this amusing scene.
The Pombo, who had been, during the greater part of the afternoon,
looking at me with an air of mingled pity and respect, as though he had
been forced against his will to treat me so brutally, could not help
joining in my laughter at the Lama's sorrowful plight. In a way, I
believe he was rather glad the accident had happened; for, if he had
until then been uncertain whether to kill me or not, he felt, after what
had occurred, that it was not prudent to attempt it.
The gold ring which had been seized from me on the day of our arrest,
and for which I asked many times, as it had been given me by my mother,
was regarded as possessing miraculous powers as long as it was upon or
near me. It was therefore kept away from me, for fear that, with its
help, I might break my bonds and escape.
The Pombo, the Lamas, and officers held another consultation, at the end
of which, toward sunset, several soldiers came and loosed my legs from
the stretching log. My hands, though still manacled, were lowered from
the pillar behind.
As the ropes round my ankles were unwound from the deep channels they
had cut into my flesh, large patches of skin came away with them. Thus
ended the most terrible twenty-four hours[14] I have ever passed in my
lifetime.
I felt very little relief at first as I lay flat on the ground. My body
and legs were stiff as if dead. As time went by and I saw no signs of
their coming back to life, I feared that mortification had set in, and
that I had lost the use of my feet forever. It was two or three hours
before the blood began to circulate in my right foot. The pain when it
did so was intense. Had a handful of knives been passed slowly down the
inside of my leg the agony could not have been more excruciating. My
arms were not quite so bad. They also were numbed, but the circulation
was more quickly re-established.
The Pombo, whether to amuse me or to show off his riches, ordered to be
displayed before me about one hundred ponies, some with magnificent
harness. Mounting the finest pony and holding in his hand the dreadful
_taram_, he rode round the hill on which the monastery and fort stood.
On returning he harangued his men. A series of sports followed, the
Pombo seating himself near me and watching me intently to see how I was
enjoying the performance. First of all the best marksmen were selected.
With their matchlocks they fired one after the other at my two yaks,
only a few yards off. Although they aimed carefully, no one succeeded in
hitting them. I knew they fired with bullets, for I could hear the
hissing sound of the missiles.
Next came an interesting display of horsemanship. I should have enjoyed
it more had I not been suffering agonies all the time. The performance
helped to cheer me. First there were races in which only two ponies at a
time took part, the last race being run between two winners. A _kata_
was presented to the final winner. Next one horseman rode ahead full
gallop flying a _kata_, while some others followed closely behind. The
_kata_ was dropped. When it settled on the ground, the horsemen
following the leader rode away, and, at a given signal, galloped back
wildly, converging toward the _kata_, attempting to pick it up without
dismounting. Some of the younger men were very clever at this game.
Another sport consisted in one man on foot being seized and lifted on to
the saddle by a mounted comrade riding full gallop.
Though I could not see as well as I wished, I enjoyed the show, and
expressed admiration for the ponies. The Pombo thoughtfully ordered the
best of them to be brought closer to me, and had me lifted into a
sitting posture, so that I could see them better.
This was a great relief. I was suffering more from my humiliating
position, being unable to stand, than from the tortures themselves, bad
as they were. The Pombo told me that I must now look toward the tent. He
then got up and walked toward it.
The opening of the tent was over twenty feet long. Some soldiers came
and dragged me close in front of it, so that I could witness all that
went on.
Two powerful Lamas entered the tent with the Pombo. A number of other
people who were inside were turned out. They closed the tent for a few
minutes, and then opened it again. In the mean time a gong summoned the
Lamas from the monastery and, a few minutes later, a procession of them
came down and took their places inside the tent.
The Pombo, in his yellow coat and trousers and four-pointed hat, sat on
a high-backed chair in the centre of the tent. By his side stood the two
Lamas who had first entered with him. The Pombo was beyond doubt in a
hypnotic trance. He sat motionless, with his hands flat on his knees and
his head erect; his eyes were fixed and staring. He remained like this
for some minutes. All the soldiers and people who had collected in front
of the tent went down on their knees, laid their caps on the ground, and
muttered prayers. One of the two Lamas, a fellow with evident mesmeric
powers, now laid his hand upon the shoulders of the Pombo, who gradually
raised his arms with hands outstretched and remained, as if in a
cataleptic state, for a long time without moving.
Next the Lama touched the Pombo's neck with his thumbs, and caused his
head to begin a rapid circular movement from left to right.
Certain exorcisms were pronounced by the hypnotizer. The Pombo began
most extraordinary snake-like contortions, moving and twisting his arms,
head, body, and legs. He worked himself, or rather was worked, into a
frenzy that lasted some time. The crowd of devotees drew nearer and
nearer to him, praying fervently. There were deep sighs and cries of
astonishment, even of terror, when the Pombo performed some of the more
eccentric movements with his limbs. Now and then this weird dance
terminated in a strange posture, the Pombo actually doubling himself up
with his head between his feet and his long, flat hat resting on the
ground. While he was in this position, the bystanders went one by one to
touch his feet and make low prostrations and salutations. At last the
hypnotizer, seizing the Pombo's head between his hands, stared in his
eyes, rubbed his forehead, and woke him from the trance. The Pombo was
pale and exhausted. When he lay back on the chair his hat fell off. His
clean-shaven head unmistakably showed that he, too, was a Lama. Indeed,
he belonged to a very high order, probably the first rank after the
Dalai Lama of Lhassa.
_Katas_ were distributed after this performance to all the Tibetans
present, who folded them and stowed them away in their coats.
The Pombo came out of his gaudy tent. I told him that the dance was
beautiful, but I was very hungry. He asked me what I wanted to eat. I
said I should like some meat and tea.
A little later a large vessel with a delicious stew of yak meat was
brought to me, as well as _tsamba_ in abundance. I felt famished, but I
had the greatest difficulty in swallowing even a little food. This, I
thought, must be owing to the injuries to my spine and the
semi-mortification of my limbs, which had apparently affected my whole
system except my head.
When the Pombo had retired and night came on, I was again tied to the
stretching log. This time with my legs stretched not so far apart. My
arms were again fastened to the pillar behind, but with no strain on
them.
Late in the evening half a dozen Lamas came from the monastery with a
light and a large brass bowl which, they said, contained tea. The
wounded Lama, with his head bandaged up, was among them. He was so
anxious for me to drink some of the steaming beverage, in order that I
should keep warm during the cold night, that I became suspicious. When
they pushed a bowl of the liquid to my lips, I merely sipped a little
and declined to take more, spitting out what little they had poured
into my mouth. I unfortunately swallowed a few drops. A few minutes
later I was seized with sharp pains in my stomach, which continued for
several days after. The drink proffered me was poisoned.
The following day my left foot, which had remained lifeless since I had
been untied from the rack the first time, began to get better, and the
circulation was gradually restored. The pain was unbearable.
In the morning indecision again prevailed as to what they would do to
us. A number of Lamas were still anxious to have us beheaded, whereas
the Pombo and the others had the previous night almost made up their
minds to send us back to the frontier. Unluckily, it appears that the
Pombo had a vision during the night. A spirit told him that, if he did
not kill us, he and his country would suffer from a great calamity. "You
can kill the _Plenki_," the spirit was reported to have said, "and no
one will punish you if you do. The _Plenkis_ are afraid to fight the
Tibetans."
Among the Lamas no important step is taken without incantations and
reference to occult science. The Pombo ordered a Lama to cut off a lock
of my hair. A soldier did this with a blunt knife, and the Pombo rode up
with it in his hands to the Lamasery to consult the oracle. The lock was
handed in for examination. After certain incantations, the oracle
answered that I must be beheaded or the country would be in great
danger.
The Pombo rode back disappointed, and now ordered that one of my
toe-nails should be cut. This operation was performed with the same
blunt knife; the oracle was again consulted; the same answer was
received.
Three such consultations are usually held by the high court of the
assembled Lamas, the Tibetans on the third occasion producing for the
oracle's decision a piece wrenched from a finger-nail. The Lama who
performed this last operation examined my hands and spread my fingers
apart, expressing intense astonishment. In a moment all the Lamas and
soldiers came round and examined my hands--a repetition of my experience
at the Tucker monastery. The Pombo, too, on being informed, immediately
came and inspected my fingers. Matters from that moment took a different
turn.
When, some weeks later, I was released I was able to learn from the
Tibetans the reason of their amazement. My fingers happen to be webbed
rather higher than usual. This is most highly thought of in Tibet. A
person possessing such fingers has, according to the Tibetans, a charmed
life. No matter how much is tried, no real harm can be done to him.
Apart from the question whether there was much charm or not in my life
in Tibet, there is no doubt that this trifling superstition did much
toward hastening the Pombo's decision as to what was to be our fate.
The Pombo ordered that my life should be spared, and that I should on
that very day start on my return journey toward the Indian frontier. He
took from my own money one hundred and twenty rupees, which he placed in
my pocket for my wants during the journey, and commanded that, though I
must be kept chained up, I was to be treated kindly, and my servants
also.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 14: From sunset one evening to sunset next day.]