Part 7 (1/2)

We found the people at Lingga busy thras.h.i.+ng. The thras.h.i.+ng time in Tibet is a favourite one for drinking, and often the whole village after a day's harvest will be completely incapacitated as the result of too great an indulgence in chang. Their thras.h.i.+ng floors consist of an area of about half an acre of hard beaten earth on which the barley is spread to a depth of 6 to 8 inches. Fifty or sixty yaks are then driven into this enclosure, followed by thirty people or more, beating drums, rattling kerosene oil tins, ringing bells and shouting and yelling in order to frighten the yaks, who, tail in air, are driven backwards and forwards over the barley. This they continue doing until every one is tired and hoa.r.s.e, when the whole of the workers, both male and female, adjourn for a long drink of beer, after which the same process is repeated.

On October 11 we arrived at Khamba Dzong. We were having sharp frosts now every night, and the mountains, both to the North and South of us, were covered low down with a thick white coating of snow. It was not, however, unpleasantly cold, and the cloud effects were very beautiful.

On the way I shot two goa--Tibetan gazelle--with good heads, and horns over 14 inches long. We had to halt here in order to rest our coolies.

All day to the South there was a furious storm raging along the Himalayas, and when it cleared up in the evening there had evidently been a heavy snowfall. In the course of the afternoon we put up over Dr. Kellas's grave the stone which the Jongpen had had engraved for us during our absence. On it were inscribed in English and Tibetan characters his initials and the date of his death, and this marks his last resting-place.

Raeburn, Wheeler and Heron now left us, as they wanted to return to Darjeeling by the short way over the Serpo La and down the Teesta Valley. This route is only possible for small parties; with all our transport we were unable to return that way as the villages on the way and in the Teesta Valley are small and can supply but very few animals or coolies. Wollaston and I had therefore to return to Phari and then to follow the main trade route, along which it is always possible to pick up any amount of hired transport. We left Khamba Dzong on October 13 in 20 of frost. Kanchenjunga and the Everest group were just visible, but ominous clouds were rapidly coming up. Our march was the same as on the outward journey to Tatsang (Falcon's Nest)--a distance of about 21 miles. We rode through the fine limestone gorge behind the fort, shooting on the way several Tibetan partridge (_Perdrix hodgsoniae_). On reaching the top of the pa.s.s, I climbed another thousand feet on to the ridge to the South of the pa.s.s, where I had a wonderful panorama of snowy peaks, both to the South and to the North. Snow storms appeared to be raging on either side and the wind was extremely cold. I came across a fine flock of burhel (_Ovis nahura_), and had an easy shot at a fine ram, but missed him hopelessly, and they never gave me another chance. A little further on I missed a gazelle. On the plain below were grazing numerous kiang (_Equus hemionus_), their reddish-chestnut coats being well shown off by their white bellies and legs. Their mane appears to be of a darker colour, which is continued as a narrow stripe down the back.

On the same plain I could see also a large flock of nyan (_Ovis hodgsoni_), all fair-sized rams. I had a long chase after the latter, but they never allowed me to approach close to them. Snow began to fall now and a regular blizzard set in, the fine powdery snow being blown along the ground into our faces. While riding along in this storm, I saw two fine nyan which I stalked. My 275 rifle was rather small for such a large animal, and though the larger of the two was badly hit by the first shot, he went off as though he were untouched and gave me a long chase after him. It was only possible to get a glimpse of him every now and then in the blizzard, and whenever I lay down to try and get a shot, the fine powdery snow blown along the surface of the ground nearly blinded me, so that it took five more bullets before he finally expired.

He was a magnificent old beast with a grand head and horns, well over 40 inches in length and of great thickness. The weight of the body was enormous. I had only Ang Tenze with me. With much difficulty we cut off the nyan's head and then tried to lift the carca.s.s, which must have weighed well over 200 lb., on to one of the ponies. With the greatest trouble we eventually managed to get the carca.s.s on to the pony's back, but the pony seemed gradually to subside on to the ground under the weight and was quite unable to move. While we were doing this, my pony took it into his head to run away, and though we made every attempt to catch him, he completely defeated us, and was last seen galloping away towards his home. I had therefore an 8 mile trudge through the snow to get back to camp, not arriving there till well after dark. Five of the coolies went back after dark to get the meat. They cut off as much as they could carry, and the remainder had to be left for the nuns, who sent out their servants to bring it in. I was cheered up, however, by getting an English mail and many letters. Among these was one from Sir Charles Bell from Lhasa, who wrote to ask the Expedition not to do any more shooting in Tibet, as the Tibetans did not approve of it; for the remainder of the time, therefore, the guns had to be put away.

During the night there were 32 of frost, and everything inside our tents was frozen solid in the morning; but the wind luckily died down, and the next day was a most beautiful one. We knew that there was a long march before us, so our transport was off by eight o'clock. At Tatsang we were already 16,000 feet, and we gradually climbed higher, spending most of the day between 17,000 and 18,000 feet. For several miles we rode across a snow-covered plain over which the tops of Pawhunri, Chomiomo, and Kanchenjhow appeared to the South. As we rose higher, the snow gradually deepened to 6 inches and made the going very heavy. We had to cross three spurs of Pawhunri by pa.s.ses of over 17,500 feet.

Here the snow had been blown by the wind into drifts over 2 feet deep.

We had arranged to camp at a place called Lunghi, but on our arrival there found that the nomads, who ordinarily spent the summer there, had already left and were encamped some 4 miles further down the valley. In a side valley I found some of their tents where I was able to warm myself and get some hot milk before moving on down the valley, where we were told that preparations had been made to receive us. There was luckily a bright moon and we rode on down to the spot, where we found some Tibetan tents which had been pitched for us; their owners had, moreover, had the forethought to have great braziers of cow dung burning in these tents. The smell was not agreeable, but we sat and warmed ourselves, waiting for our transport, which did not arrive until eleven o'clock that night. It was a bitterly cold wait, as the wind got up and blew down the valley with 25 of frost behind it. We were very glad to see our transport and coolies when they arrived; they had really come along very well, as a march of 23 miles in soft snow and at a great height all the time is no light feat.

Breakfast the next morning was very comfortless, as the wind was still blowing with 28 of frost, and everything--boots and foodstuffs of all kinds--was frozen inside our tents. We looked forward with no little pleasure to finding ourselves inside once more and sitting in front of a fire out of the everlasting wind which makes Tibet so trying. The march was a fairly easy one of about 20 miles over gentle undulating country until we reached the West side of the Tang La; there was, however, a bitterly cold strong South wind which blew with great violence all day and penetrated through everything. Many of our coolies had much difficulty in coming along, as they were suffering from snow blindness and their feet were also very tender from the cold and the deep snow of the last few days. Ch.o.m.olhari was a glorious sight all the way. We were gradually approaching it, and it seemed to rise directly from the plain in front of us. From its summit and from its ridges great streamers of snow were being blown off and the gale--apparently from the North-west--still continued. Nearly every day since we left Kharta we saw along the higher peaks of the Himalayas the snow being blown off in great wisps, showing that a strong Northwesterly current of air sets in at great heights after the monsoon is over. After reaching Darjeeling we noticed the same thing; every day, from Kanchenjunga and Kabru, could be seen the same great wisps of wind-blown snow. That night at Phari we were once more in a bungalow and out of the wind, and able to spend a very comfortable and pleasant evening reading our letters and papers in front of a fire which, though still mostly yak dung, was in a fireplace.

October 16 we spent resting at Phari. Our coolies were much exhausted by the three days' march from Khamba Dzong, in which we had covered 65 miles, most of the time at considerable heights and in deep snow. We had returned by the short way, which the people of Phari had told us in the spring was impa.s.sable, and over which they would not go, sending us instead around by the long way to Dochen, which took us six days instead of three.

Phari is a place unfortunately too near civilisation. The Tibetans there have lost their good manners, such as we had been accustomed to meet in the more distant and out-of-the-way parts of the country. Much trade pa.s.ses through the town, and the people there are too well off. They had an idea that the Expedition was a kind of milch cow out of which money could be extracted to their hearts' content. Of this view we had to disabuse them, and in consequence found them all very tiresome. The transport turned up the following morning, but they refused to load up unless they were paid in full beforehand and at a most exorbitant rate.

This I refused to do, telephoning at the same time to the trade agent at Yatung. I sent for the Jongpen, and both Jongpens turned up. I rather imagine that they were at the bottom of this trouble, for one of them owed the Expedition some money; he had also, when forwarding on stores to us, seized the opportunity to charge five times the ordinary rate, on the pretext that he had supplied some of his own mules. After long arguments I eventually induced them to accept part of the payment, the remainder to be paid at Yatung, whereupon the Jongpens gave orders for the animals to be loaded. It was not, however, until the afternoon that we were able to leave Phari and to start on our downward march to Yatung.

CHAPTER XI

BACK TO CIVILISATION

When we turned our backs on Phari and started to march down the Chumbi Valley, we had left the real Tibet behind us. I could not somehow look upon the Chumbi Valley as being a part of Tibet. Its characteristics, its houses, its people, its vegetation, are all so different from the greater part of Tibet. There are not the same cold winds that freeze the very marrow, nor are there the wide plains and the undulating hills with their extensive views.

In spite of all discomforts, there is a very great charm and fascination about travelling in Tibet. Is it partly because it is an unknown country, and the unknown is always fascinating, or is it rather because of the innate beauty of the country itself, with its landscapes so free from all restraint and a horizon often 150 to 200 miles distant? Never anywhere have I seen a country so full of colour as is Tibet. There is not enough vegetation to hide the rocks and the stones. The foreground as well as the distant view is wonderfully full of colour and variety.

Contrasts are one of the charms of life, and probably in this lies the secret of the charm and attractiveness of Tibet. It is essentially a country of contrasts. The climate, above all, has contrasts of its own.

The sun is burningly hot, but in the shade the cold may be intense. To such a pitch can the extremes of heat and cold arrive, that a man may suffer from sunstroke and frost-bite at one and the same time.

The Tibetans themselves are a strong, well-built and hardy race--Mongolian in type. The women usually put a mixture of grease and soot on their faces to protect them against the glare of the fresh snow or the biting winds, for even they, with their thick skins, do not seem to get used to the severity of the changes. How much more does the European suffer when he travels in Tibet and seems to need a fresh skin almost every day. The soot mixture does not add to the beauty of the women, though I came across some who were not bad looking. Many of the people are nomads, living in tents all the year round and moving about from camp to camp pasturing their herds of yaks and their flocks of sheep. It is curious that even in the winter-time they can find grazing places, but the secret lies in the fact that the slopes face the South in the regions where the wind blows strongest, so that the surface is usually bare. The snowfall in winter in most parts of Tibet is not heavy, and the climate being so dry, the snow is powdery, and the wind blows it along and forms great drifts in the hollows, leaving the exposed slopes usually clear. On these the herds, or flocks of sheep, obtain sufficient nourishment from such scattered patches of frozen gra.s.s or lichens as they are able to find. Of all the animals that the Tibetans have, the yak is the most useful. His long black hair, which reaches to the ground under his belly, is woven into tents or ropes. The milk, after they have drunk what they want, is turned into b.u.t.ter and cheese, of which they produce great quant.i.ties. When old, he is killed and his flesh is dried, providing meat for a long time. His hide supplies leather of every kind. It is always used untanned, for no tanning is ever done in Tibet and any tanned skins always come up from India. The yak dung is in many places the only fuel to be got and is most carefully picked up. To the present generation of young children the yak is probably familiar from that delightful rhyme in ”The Bad Child's Book of Beasts”:--

As a friend to the children, commend me the Yak-- You will find it exactly the thing; It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back Or lead it about with a string.

The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Tibet, A desolate region of snow, Has for centuries made it a nursery pet, And surely the Tartar should know.

Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got, And if he is awfully rich, He will buy you the creature--or else he will not; I cannot be positive which.

The traveller in Tibet can easily live on such supplies as can be drawn from the country. The Tibetan is always hospitable and will provide sheep, milk, cheese and b.u.t.ter almost everywhere. Vegetables, however, of any kind are very scarce, though in the summer a species of spinach can be got in some places. Living, as the Tibetans do, far away from all outside influences, their customs and manners have not changed, and are the same as they were several hundred years ago. I can fully sympathise with their present desire for seclusion and their eagerness not to be exploited by foreigners. They sent a few years ago some young Tibetan boys to Rugby to be educated in different professions. These boys have now returned again to Lhasa, and with their aid, and with the aid of others who are being sent out into the world to learn, they hope to be able to develop the resources of their own country at leisure, in their own way, and by themselves, without being exploited commercially by foreigners.

The staple food of the Tibetans is tsampa (parched barley). This is ground up and either milk or tea is added, forming it into a kind of dough. This is put in a little bag, which they carry about with them when travelling, and is often their only food for several days. Tsampa can be obtained everywhere in Tibet, though it is easier to get it in the villages than from the tents of the nomads. Tea can, of course, be obtained everywhere, and, as I have described before, is mixed with salt and b.u.t.ter, churned up with great violence, and then poured into teapots. At every camp, and at every house, will be met fierce dogs.

These dogs guard the flocks, or the nomad camps, and rather resemble large collies; as a rule, they are black and very fierce. The Tibetans were, however, always very good in tying them up before we approached their camps. In many of the houses we found tied up just outside the door another kind of dog, a huge brute of the mastiff type, always extremely savage and ready, if he had not been tied up, to tear the intruder to pieces. The peasants are still treated as serfs, though only in a mild form. For all Government officials, when on tour, they have to supply free transport and supplies of all kinds, so that official visits are not popular. At first the villagers were afraid that we might follow the example of the Tibetan officials and were much relieved to find that we did not do so.

I cannot leave the subject of Tibet without a few words about the monasteries. These are divided into two great schools, the Red Cap School and the Yellow Cap School. The former was founded by the Buddhist Saint, Padma Sambhava or Guru Rimpoche, in A.D. 749. They are the older of the two monastic sects, but their morals are much looser than those of the Yellow Sect, and the Lamas or monks of this sect are often married. In one monastery belonging to the Red Sect near Kharta, the Lamas and their wives were all living together. The Yellow Cap, or Gelukpa Sect, was founded in the fifteenth century by Tsong Kapa, who inst.i.tuted a very much stricter moral code, and this sect looks down very much upon the Red Caps. The State religion of the country is Buddhism. By the middle of the seventeenth century, after a series of reincarnations, Naw.a.n.g Lobsang had made himself master of Tibet and transferred his capital to Lhasa. He accepted the t.i.tle of Dalai Lama (Ocean of Learning) from the Chinese, hence the Dalai Lama at Lhasa, by this doctrine of political reincarnation, has absorbed all the political power in the country into his own hands, although the Tas.h.i.+ Lama at Tas.h.i.+lumpo is in theory his senior and superior in spiritual matters.

The old simple creed of the Buddhists can scarcely be recognised nowadays and is overlaid with devil wors.h.i.+p in all its forms, supernatural agencies abounding everywhere. The top of a pa.s.s, a mountain, a river, a bridge, a storm; each will have its own particular G.o.d who is to be wors.h.i.+pped and propitiated. In many of the larger monasteries, too, they have oracles who are consulted far and wide and supposed to be able to foretell the future. These often acquire considerable power and influence by methods not unlike those resorted to in ancient Greece. It has been estimated that a fifth of the whole population of Tibet has entered monastic life. The conditions probably much resemble those which prevailed in mediaeval Europe. The monasteries contain nearly all the riches of the country. They own large estates; they are the source of all learning, and all the arts and crafts seem to take their inspiration from articles for use in the monasteries. The ordinary Tibetan, surrounded as he is by the various spirits which occupy every valley and mountain top, is very superst.i.tious. He therefore has inside his house his prayer wheel and his little shrine, before which he offers up incense daily. His Mani walls or mendongs, covered with inscribed stones or carved figures of Buddha, are alongside the paths he daily uses; on the top of the mountains or pa.s.ses, in addition to these prayer-covered stones, flutter rags printed over with prayers. All these are intended to propitiate the evil spirits. In places where there are particularly malignant devils, it may be necessary to build several Chortens in order to keep them in subjection, and these Chortens are filled with several thousands of prayers and sacred figures stamped in the clay.