My Journey To Lhasa

1. My Journey To Lhasa

My Journey To Lhasa

David-neel, Alexandra

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

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To all those

who knowingly or unconsciouslyhave in any way helped meduring my long trampswith loving thankfulnessthis account of my fifth journeyin Thibetan landis dedicated

ILLUSTRATIONS

Madame Alexandra David-Neel Frontispiece

Facing page

Madame Alexandra David-Neel When She Was Living as] a Her-mit IN Thibet 4

The Rev. A. Yongdek, Thibetan Lama and Adopted Son of the

Author 4

Thibetan Traders from Lhasa, the Wives of Two of Them Being

Natives of the Northern Provinces 5

Houses That Are Built with Horns and Bones 5

Madame Alexandra David-Neel as the Guest op the Tashi Lama’sMother at the Private Dwelling of the Tashi Lama in theTashilhumpo’s Monastery 20

Madame Alexandra David-Neel with Two Thibetan Ladies .... 21

A Thibetan Lady of the Nobility Weamno the Full Dress of the

Tsano Province 21

One of Madame Alexandra David-Neel’s Hermitages at 13,000-rooT

Level. The Author Is Seen at Right 36 .

At the Foot of the Kangs Chen 2^dnga 37

One of My Camps in the Thibetan Wilds 37

The Medical College at Lhasa Where Lamas Are Taught the

. Medical Art According to Ancient Chinese and Hindu Methods 37

Madame Alexandra David-Neel’s Caravans Crossing the Sepo

Pass After Her Journey to Shigatze 52

Camp in Thibet 52

The Chorten Nyima Pass (2o,ooo-foot Level) Blocked by the Snows 52

A “Latza” S3

The Grand Lama of Lhabrang Tashikyil Monastery the Day HeWas Recognized as the Incarnation of Jamyan Shetpa andInstalled as Such to Be the Spiritual and Temporal Lord ofthe Large Monastery and Its Estates 84

Thibetan Theatrical Company Touring in Nepal 85

Thibetan Actors and Actresses 85

Chortens in the Himalayas zoo

On the Way to Shigatze, Madame David-Neel Riding a Yak .... 101

Facing page

Thibetan Pilgrims in Nepal *3*

Women Pilgrims *3*

People or the Province of Khain 13^

Thibetan House on the Himalayas ' I33

Cane Bridge in the Himalaya Range I33

The French Roman Catholic Mission at Padonq in Bhutan . . . .148

In a Nunnery of the Red Caps Sect I49

Thibetans of the Hot Valleys in the Forest 149

Lady from the Province of Tsang (Thibet) Whose Capital Is Shigatze 164

Galden Monastery 165

The Chair in Which the Dalai Lama Returned from India to Lhasa

After the Defeat of the Chinese Troops 180

Head Lama of the Monastery and His Monks 181

Lamas at the Monastery of Tashilhumpo, Shigatze 181

. The Great Procession Called Serpano Around the Potala. InTrfE Background at the Extreme Left is Sera Monastery atthe Foot of the Hill 1112

I^dy of the Province of t) (Thibet), Whose Capital Is Lhasa .... 213

His Holiness the Penchen Tashi Lama 228

Private Oratory of a Lama Tulku 229

Private Apartment of a Lama Tulku 229

Madame Alexandra Davii>-Nkel, the First Foreign Woman WhoHas Ever Entered the Forbidden Holy City of Lamaism, IsSeen Seated in Front of the Potala, the Palace of the Dalail^MA. Her Face Is Smeared with Black Lac According to theCustom of the Thibetan Women. At Her Right Side LamaYongden, Her Adopted Son. At Her Left Side a Little Lhasa

Girl a6o

The Market Place at Lhasa a6i

Festival at Lhasa. In the Background Chok Bu Ri with the

Medical College 276

Lhasa Festival, Boys Dancing 277

Village Near Kalimpong in British Bhutan, Where Madame Alex-andra David-Neel Ended Her Journey When Arriving fromLhasa 202

My travels in remote parts of Asia, including my fifthexpedition, a journey to Thibet, of which I give a shortaccount in the present book, were undertaken as the result ofcertain peculiar circumstances, and a brief resume of thesemay not be uninteresting to the reader. «

Ever since I was five years old, a tiny precocious child ofParis, I wished to move out of the narrow limits in which, likeall children of my age, I was then kept. I craved to go beyondthe garden gate, to follow the road that passed it by, and toset out for the Unknown. But, strangely enough, this “Un-known” fancied by my baby mind always turned out to be asolitary spot where I could sit alone, with no one near, andas the road toward it was closed to me I sought solitude behindany bush, any mound of sand, that I could find in the garden,or wherever else my nurse took me.

Later on, I never asked my parents for any gifts exceptbooks on travel, maps, and the privilege of being taken abroadduring my school holidays. When a girl, I could remain forhours near a railway line, fascinated by the glittering rails andfancying the many lands toward which they fed. But, again,my imagination did not evoke towns, buildings, gay crowds,or stately pageants; I dreamed of wild hills, immense desertedsteppes and impassable landscapes of glaciers!

When grown up, although I was in no sense a sedentaryscholar, my love of Oriental philosophy and of comparativereligion won me a position as a writer and a lecturer in a Bekgian university.

I had already travelled in the East when, in 1910, I wascommissioned by the French Ministry of Education to proceedto India and Burma to make some Oriental researches.

At that time the ruler of Thibet, the Dalai lama, had, fl^d

iz

from his capital, because of political troubles with China, andhad taken refuge in an Himalayan village in British Bhutan,called Kalimpong. ' • * ^

Thibet was not altogether unfamiliar to me. I had been apupil of the Sanskrit and Thibetan scholar. Professor EdouardFoucaux, of the College de France, and knew something ofThibetan literature. Naturally, I wanted to see the ThibetanPope-king and his court.

I was informed by the British Resident that this was noteasy. For up to that time this exalted lama had obstinatelyrefused to receive foreign ladies. But I had managed to securepreying letters of introduction from high Buddhist personages,and the result was that the desire of the Dalai lama to seeme grew even stronger than mine to see him!

Around the monk-sovereign, I found a strange royal house-hold of clerical personages, clad in shining yellow satin, dark-;red cloth, and gold brocade, who related fantastic stories and;spoke of a wonderland. Although when listening to them I'wisely made a liberal allowance for legend and exaggeration, 1instinctively felt that behind those dark wooded hills whichI saw before me, and the huge snowy peaks which pointedtheir lofty heads beyond them, there was, truly, a land differ-ent from all others. Needless to say, my heart leaped withthe desire to enter it! It was in June of the year 1912 that Ihad my first glimpse of Thibet. The path which I had pre-ferred to the road most usually taken starts from a low pointin Sikkim, amid tropical vegetation, wild orchids, and theliving fireworks of fireflies. Gradually, as one climbs, thescenery changes, nature becomes severe, the singing of birdsand the noisy buzzing of insects subside.''The huge trees, intheir turn, are unable to struggle in the rarefied air of thesummits. With each mile the forest becomes more stunted,till the shrubs are reduced to the size of dwarfs creeping onthe ground, while still higher up they cannot even continueto exist. The traveller is left amidst rocks richly embroideredwith brightly coloured lichens, cold water falls, half frozen

lakes and giant glaciers. Then from the Sepo pass ^ one sud-denly discpvers the immensity of the trans-Himalayan table-land of Thibet, with its distant horizon of peaks bathed instrange mauve and orange hues, and carrying queerly shapedcaps of snow upon their mighty heads.

What an unforgettable vision! I was at last in the calmsolitudes of which I had dreamed since my infancy. I feltas if I had come home after a tiring, cheerless pilgrimage.

However, the very peculiar natural aspect of Thibet is notthe only reason for the attraction which that country has exer-cised over me. Like many Oriental scholars, of whom Lambut an humble colleague, I deeply regret the loss, in theirSanskrit original, of a number of MahaySnist Buddhist Scrip-tures. These are more or less available in Chinese transla-tions, but what is the extent of the Thibetan translation andwhat original philosophic and mystic works have been writtenby Thibetan authors, either in accordance with MahSyanistdoctrines or contrary to them, is as much terra incognita as theland of Thibet itself. Thus, hunting after books and old manu-scripts and seeking meetings with the literati of the countrybecame my self-assigned task. Anyhow, things could not endthere. The unsuspected is the daily fare of the traveller inThibet, and my researches led me face to face with a worl^still more amazing than the landscapes I had beheld from thehigh passes through which one enters Thibet. I refer to themystic anchorites, the dwellers on the frozen summits. But thisis a subject to be treated elsewhere.

v^trange as the fact may appear, I must confess that, unlikemost travellers who have attempted to reach Lhasa, andhave failed to reach their goal, I never entertained a strongdesire to visit the sacred lamaist city. I had, as I have said,met the Dalai lama, and as for researches regarding the litera-ture, philosophy, and secret lore of Thibet, these things couldbe pursued more profitably amongst the literal and mystics

* Where the Himalayan range ends. Not to he confuted with the SepoKhang la in eastern Thibet, mentioned in Chapter III.

in the freely accessible and more intellectual parts of north-eastern Thibet, than in the capital,sj What decided me to go to Lhasa was, above all,’ the absurdprohibition which closes Thibet. A prohibition—one couldhardly think it possible—that extends over a gradually increas-ing area Is now placed on foreigners who wish to cross terri-tories over which they could travel at will a few years ago,and where, in a still more ancient period, missionaries haveeven owned properties.^

* As an instance, the French traveller, M. Bacot, crossed the Tsarong:pro\<nce and visited Menkong in 1909. Captain F. Kingdon Wardvisited the same region in 1911 and again in 1914. (In 1924 he wentto Pemakoichen, being at that time commissioned by the British Govern-ment or, at least, allowed by it to travel in Thibet.)

In i860 the French Roman Catholic missionaries had established several' quarters in the Tsarong province.

Bouvalot, with Prince Henri d’Orleans, Dutreuil de Rheims, withM. Fernand Grenard, Sven Hedin and others, who failed in their attemptsto reach Lhasa, had nevertheless crossed part of the northern Thibetansolitudes before being stopped. No one, nowadays, could openly proceedso far in the country.

But, in more remote periods, Lhasa itself has been open to those whodid not shrink from the hardships of such a journey. Several missionariesand lay travellers not only entered the sacred lamaist city but made pro-longed stays there. To support my statement, I quote here what has beenwritten on the subject by Edmund Candler, who accompanied the Britishmilitary expedition to Lhasa in 1904;

“It must be remembered that Thibet has not always been closed tostrangers. . . . Until the end of the 18th century, only physical obstaclesstood in the way of an entry to the capital. Jesuits and Capuchinsreached Lhasa, made long stays there and were even encouraged by theThibetan Government. The first Europeans to visit the city and leavean authentic record of their journey were the Fathers Grueber andd’Orville, who penetrated Thibet from China in 1661 by the Siningroad and stayed in Lhasa two months—Friar Oderic of Portone is sup-posed to have visited Lhasa in 1325, but the authenticity of this record isopen to doubt. In 1715 the Jesuits Desideri and Freyre reached Lhasa |I^sideri stayed there thirteen years. In 1719, arrived Horace de laP|cnna and the Capuchin Mission, who built a chapel and a hospice, madeseveral converts and were not finally expelled till 1740. The DutchmanVan der Putte, first lay than to penetrate to the capital, arrived in 1720,and stayed there some years. After this we have no record of a Europeanreaching Lhasa until the journey in i8n of Thomas Manning, the firstand only Englishman to reach the city before this year. Manning arrivedin the'retinue of a Chinese general whom he had met at Phari Jong andwhose gratitude he had won for medical services. He remained four

sii

My wanderings in Thibet began with a few excursionsacross the tableland which extends immediately to the northof the Himalayas. A few years later I paid a visit to thePenchen lama,, better known to foreigners under the name ofTashi lama. I was most cordially welcomed. The high lamawished me to stay with him for a long time, if not forever.He offered me free access to all libraries, and a lodging eitherin a nunnery or in a hermitage or in a house in the town ofShigatze itself. I knew, alas! that he was not in a position tocarry out his kind intentions,, and that I could not, therefore,take advantage of the wonderful opportunity he wanted to giveme for Oriental research.

The Tashi lama is a learned, enlightened, and liberal-minded man. People who are not in the least acquaintedwith him have said that he is a backward and superstitiousmonk, the enemy of foreigners and all that pertains to West-ern civilization. This is completely wrong. It may be thatthe great lama of Tashilhumpo does not like one particularnation, that he resents the servitude in which the British govern-ment keeps his country. No one can blame him for being apatriot, and it is still more difficult to find fault with himbecause, as a Buddhist, he is a pacifist and does not encouragethose who increase each year the taxes paid by the poorestvillagers in order to support the ridiculous army they have beenled to organize to serve the interests of the very people whoseize their land.

A Westerner may have ideas about the necessity or useful-ness of colonization, the subjection of less civili;&ed people, andbe somewhat justified in his views. But the Asiatic who seeshis country enslaved is still more justifiedwn lacking friendly

months in the capital ... in 1846 the Lazarist missionaries Hue andGabet reached Lhasa.” Unveiling of Lhasa,)

These two French priests wei« the last travellers to enter Lhasa freely.After the British expedition, apart from political officers and their doc*tors, no foreigner has been allowed to go to Lhasa.

Amongst Europeans who went to Thibet, may also be named Bogle in1774 and Turner in 17S3. These two did not visit Lhasa. They weresent from India to SUgatze as emissaries of Warren Hastings to theTashi lama,

•••

ZIU

feelings toward the people who have robbed him of his pos-sessions, whatever methods, diplomatic ruses or sheer vio-lence they may have used.

As for myself, I profoundly despise everything which is con-nected with politics, and carefully avoid mixing in such matters.V '"In writing this I only wish to do justice to my kind host.If he had been the ruler of Thibet, instead of being com-pelled to fly from Tashilhumpo to save his life, he would havegladly opened the country to explorers, savants and all honestand well-meaning travellers.

As a result of my visit to Shigatze, the inhabitants of a vil-lage situated about twelve miles down the hill from the hermit-age where I lived had to pay immediately a fine amounting totwo hundred rupees for having failed to inform the Britishauthorities of my departure. The Resident who sentencedthem did not take the trouble to consider that these men hadno knowledge whatever of my move, since I started from amonastery situated in Thibetan territory, three or four days^march away from their village. The latter revenged them-selves, according to their primitive mentality of savages, inpartly looting my cottage. I complained in vain. No justicewas accorded me and I was given fourteen days to le^ve thecountry.

These uncivilized proceedings made me wish to retaliate, butin a witty way, befitting the spirit of the great city in whichI had the* privilege of being born.

A few years later, while travelling in Kham, I fell ill andwished to proceed to Bhatang to be nursed there by the foreigndoctors at the Mission hospital. Bhatang is an importantThibetan town under Chinese control, as is also Kanze, inwhich neighbourhood I happened to be at that time. But sincethe Lhasa troops had conquered the region between these twoplaces, it had been declared forbidden to foreigners.

The officer in charge of the frontier post enquired if I car-ried a permit from the British consul at Tachienlu.^ The

Thibetan town at the extremity of the Kham province, beingincluded in Szetchuan.

»V

“Great Man of Tachienlu,” he called him. With this permit,he added, I could go wherever I liked in Thibet, but he couldnot let me proceed without it. I

However, I continued on my way, only to be stopped a fewdays later and to be told again about the “Great Man ofTachienlu,” holder of tbp keys of the “Forbidden Land.” Inthe meantime my health grew worse. I explained my casequite freely to the Thibetan officials with all the realisticdetails necessary to describe a severe attack of enteric, inwhich the language of Thibet Is indeed rich. But it was of nouse. The fear of the “Great Man of Tachienlu” overpoweredthe natural kindness of the terrorized officers with whom I hadto deal. But although I had to give up all hope of beingattended by the doctors at Bhatang, I refused energetically toretrace my steps, as I was ordered to do. I decided to goto Jakyendo, a market town situated on the Lhasa road, beyondthe conquered area, still in the hands of the Chinese. Jakyendolies at the extreme southeast of the “Desert of Grass”; I knewthat I could find there—if I lived to reach it—^the pure milkand curd which might cure me. Moreover, I suspected thata trip through the territory newly brought under the Lhasarule might prove interesting. I therefore kept firm to myresolve. A full account of the days spent in argument wouldsound like an epic poem of olden days, half comic, half sad.At last; when each and all had clearly understood that unless ■they shot me they could not prevent me from • going toJakyendo, I went on my way through the newly forbiddenenclave. My hopes were not disappointed; that trip wasinteresting in all respects, and became the starting point of anejir period of wanderings truly wonderful.

While at Jakyendo I met an unfortunate Danish travellerwho, like a number of others, had been stopped near ChangNachuka, the frontier post on the trade-route from Mongoliato Lhasa.' That gentleman, as his journey had been cut. shortagainst his will, wished to return quickly to Shanghai. The roadhe should have followed crosses the very tract of land onwhich I had fought my battle with the authorities. Before

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he had even reached it, soldiers who had been posted to watchthe. passage prevented him from going foryvard. The poortraveller turned out to be another “Wandering Jew” and wascompelled to recross the “Desert of Grass ” .

He had to organize a caravan to carry food and baggagefor a journey lasting at least one month, through a wild regionwhich has a particularly bad name for being haunted by largegangs of armed robbers. And even then he reached the extremenorthwest of the Chinese border, while he had wanted tocome through to the coast. This meant another journey ofabout two months!

This meaningless tour could have been avoided by follow-ing the direct road, which can be travelled in a sedan chair,without any caravan, food and inns being found on everyday^s march. Thus half the total time would have been saved.\. ^ Such stories as this were not without their effect upon me.More than ever I decided to enter once more this land sojealously guarded. I therefore planned to reach the banks ofthe Salween, and to visit the “hot valleys” of Tsawa rong andTsa rong. Would I have gone from there to Lhasa? Perhaps,but more likely I would have followed some track towardLutzekiang or Zayul and travelled, in an opposite direction, apart of the much longer journey which I was to completesuccessfully eighteen months later.

I started from Jakyendo at the end of the winter, travellingon foot and accompanied by only one servant. Most passeswere blocked by the snow, and we experienced dreadful hard-ships in negotiating some of them. We had happily sur-mounted material obstacles, crossed the frontier post underthe very windows of the official who guarded it, and were near-ing the Salween, when we were stopped. I myself had notbeen detected, but my luggage, containing some instrumentsand various requisites for botanical research, betrayed me. Thissmall caravan was in charge of Mr. Yongden, a young Thibe-tan, the faithful companion of many of my journeys, and myadopted son. Though he travelled several days’ march behindme and trusted to be taken as a trader, the contents of the

boxes he carried revealed his connection with me. He wasstopped; men were despatched to look for me through thecountry, and thus my trip was brought to an end.

was then that the idea of visiting Lhasa really becameimplanted in my mind. Before the frontier post to whichI had been escorted I took an oath that in spite of all obsta-cles I would reach Lhasa and show what the \rill of a womancould achieve! But I did not think only of aven^ng my owndefeats. I wanted the right to exhort others to pull downthe antiquated barriers which surround, in the center of Asia,a vast area extending approximately from 79® to 99® longitude.

Had I spoken after my attempts had failed, some mighthave thought that I did it out of vexation. Now that successhas been mine, I can calmly expose the obscure situation ofThibet to-day. Perhaps some of those who read of it, willremember that if “heaven is the Lord’s,” the earth is theInheritance of man, and that consequently any honest travellerhas the right to walk as he chooses, all over that globe whichis his.

Before ending, I wish to assure my many English friendsthat my criticism of the part their government has played inthis situation is not the outcome of bad feelings against theEnglish nation as a whole. Quite the opposite. I have, frommy early youth, when I spent my school holidays on theKentish coast, liked the company of English people, as wellas their ways. My long stay in the East has greatly increasedthat feeling, to which I now add a sincere gratitude for so manyhearty welcomes in so many houses' where kind ladies haveendeavoured to make me feel as if I were in my real home.In their country, just as in mine or in any other one, the policyof the government does not always represent the best side ofthe nation’s mind. I suppose that the citizens of Great Britainand the Dominions are as little acquainted with the demonsproceedings of political offices regarding far-off colonies or pro-tectorates, as is the rest of the world. It follows that theycannot resent criticisms which are not addressed to them.

INTRODUCTION

What I have said may even astonish many of them, espe-cially Christian missionaries, who may rightly ask why a self-styled Christian nation should forbid the entrance of the Bibleand its preachers into a land where she is at liberty to sendher troops and to sell her guns.

I must add a word regarding the spelling of the Thibetannames in this book. I have merely given them phonetically,without trying to follow the Thibetan spelling, which is verymisleading for those who are not acquainted with that lan-guage and capable of reading it in its own peculiar characters.As an Instance I will say that the word pronounced naljor iswritten rnal byor, the name of dolma is written sgrolma, andso on. As for the name Thibet, it may be interesting to knowthat it is a word unknown in the Thibetan language. Its ori-gin is not quite clearly traced, but Thibetans ignore it com-pletely. They call their country Pod yul and themselves Podpas}

^To be pronounced Po.

^ xrVu

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

CHAPTER I

FAREWELL! . . . Farewell! ... We are off! At thebend of the path 1 look back once more, one last time.Standing at the gate of his residence I see the foreign mission-ary who welcomed Yongden and me a few days ago when,without being in the least acquainted with him, we begged hishospitality. Some anxiety may be detected in his kind smileand his intent gaze. To what extent have we succeeded indeceiving that most excellent man? I cannot tell. He does'-not know the object of our journey, there is no doubt aboutthat. But the programme we laid before him was vague-enough to awaken the suspicion that we were trying to concealthe fact that we were to undertake a dangerous expedition!Where would we be going, alone, on foot and without luggage,he wonders. He cannot guess, and I am certain that thenames of the mysterious wayfarers who slept for a few nightsunder his roof will be remembered in his prayers. May hisown wishes be ever fulfilled! May he be blessed for tHewarmth that his cordiality adds to the glorious sunshine thatlights my fifth departure for the forbidden “Land of Snow!”

Farewell! . . . We have turned the corner of the road, theMission House is out of sight. The adventure begins.

This is, as 1 have said, my fifth journey into Thibet, andvery different, indeed, have been the circumstances and mannerof these successive departures. Some have been joyful, enliv-;ened by the babbling and broad laughter of the servants and ^country folk, the jingling of the bells hung oa the moles’ necks, f

•1

and that rough yet gay fuss that the people of Central Asiaso love. Others were touching, grave, almost solemn, when,dressed in the full lamaist garb of dark ptirple and goldenbrocade, I blessed the villagers or the dokpas'^ who had con-gregated to pay for the last time their respects to the Kand~homa^ of foreign land. I have also known tragic departures,when blizzards raged in the solitudes, sweeping across awe-inspiring white landscapes of impassable snow and ice, soonto be wrapped again in dead silence. But this time the bright‘ssun of the Chinese autumn shines in a deep blue sky, and thegreen wooded hills seem to beckon us, promising pleasant walksand happy days. With our two coolies carrying a small tentand an ample supply of food, we look as if we were startingfor a mere tour of a week or two. In fact, this is preciselywhat we have told the good villagers whom we have just left,namely, that we are going for a botanical excursion in theneighbouring mountains.

What would be the end of this new attempt? I was full of.hope. A previous experience had proved to me that in thedisguise of a poor traveller I could escape notice. But althoughwe had already succeeded in leaving quietly behind the bag-gage brought with us to cross China, we had yet to assumeour full disguise and (most difficult task) to get rid of thetwo coolies whom we were compelled to take with us to avoidthe gossip which would certainly have spread In the MissionHouse amongst the servants and neighbours, had they seena European lady setting out with a load upon her back.

I had, however, already thought of a way of freeing myselffrom the coolies. My plan depended, it is true, upon cer-tain circumstances over which I had no control, and any littleunforeseen incident might wreck it; but I could not think ofa better one, and so relied upon my good luck.

We had started late, and our first stage was rather short.We encamped on a small and sheltered tableland near which

^ Dokfas: literally, inhabitants of the solitudes, the cowmen who do notpractice husbandry.

*A kind of incarnated fairy. •

one could get a beautiful view of the highest peak of theKha Karpo range^. The place is called “the Vultures' Ceme-tery/' because once a year the Chinese slaughter hundreds ofthese birds there to procure their feathers, with which they doa big trade. They attract the birds with the carcass of a horseor a mule as bait, capture them* with nets, and when the poorcreatures are caught in the meshes they beat them to death.The plucked bodies are then used as bait to snare other vul-tures, which in turn share the fate of the first comers. Thisplucking of vultures' feathers lasts for a whole month amidstputrefaction and pestilence./ Happily, when I reached that Ispot it was not the vulture-killing season, and I saw only |heaps of bleached bones amongst the short and thorny vegeta- ition which covers the ground.

Nature has a language of its own, or maybe those whohave lived long in solitude read in it their own unconscious .inner feelings and mysterious foreknowledge. The majestk \Kha Karpo, towering in a clear sky lit by a full moon, did not •appear to me that evening as the menacing guardian of animpassable frontier. It looked more like a worshipful butaffable Deity, standing at the threshold of a mystic land, readyto welcome and protect the adventurous lover of Thibet.

The next morning I saw again the huge peak of Kha Karposhining at sunrise, and it seemed to smile encouragement to mewith all its glittering snows. I saluted it and accepted the omen.

That night I slept at the entrance of a gorge in’which atributary of the Mekong roared loudly—a wild, picturesquespot inclosed between dark reddish rocks. The morrow wasto be a decisive day. It would see me at the foot of the trackthat leads to the Dokar Pass which has become the frontier ofthe self-styled “Independent Thibet.” My scheme was to betested there. Would it work as I hoped? . . . Would the coo-lies leave me without suspecting anything of my designs? . . .Would the situation of that village of Londre, about which Ihad but little information, favour an escape by night over asmall path leading, higher up on the hills, to the pilgrimageroad round the Kha Karpo, which crosses the Dokar Pass?

mV JOURNEY TO LHASA

... A number of questions arose in my mind, each with its-own anxiety. However, as I lay on the ground, in the smalltent that Yongdeh had made himself in tlie Lolos’ country,that particular happy feeling of ease and freedom which thestay in solitary places always brings to me wrapped my mindin bliss and I went to sleep calm as a child lulled by fairy tales.

Next morning, leaving my old friend, the Mekong, weturned westward through the rocky gorge at the entrance ofwhich we had slept. Soon it opened out into a narrow, denselywooded valley. The weather was sunny and walking easier.We passed two mounted Tibetan traders, who gave us scarcelya glance. Perhaps they thought we were Chinamen, for Yong-den and I both wore Chinese dresses. Nevertheless this firstmeeting, precursor of the many which were to follow, gave usa little shock. Although we were yet in that part of Thibet,still under Chinese rule, wherein foreigners can travel freely,though at their own risk, it was most important that rumoursof my wanderings in the neighbourhood of the border should'not spread. For the Thibetan officials, once warned and onthe alert, would have the road carefully watched, which wouldgreatly increase the difficulties of our entering the forbiddenarea.

, A little before noon we came in sight of Londre. Had webeen alone, Yongden and I, we could have easily avoided pass-ing through the village by hiding ourselves in the wood untilevening.' It would have saved us much trouble and fatigue,for between the steep slopes of the Kha Karpo range which wewere about to climb, there was but the width of this torrentialriver which we had followed upwards and crossed several timesin the narrow gorge. But such a thing was out of the question,for I had expressly told the coolies that I intended to go into thecountry of the Loutze tribes to collect plants, and the road to•LUtze-Kiang went through Londre and there turned in a direc-tion exactly opposite to the Kha Karpo.

Very disturbed, and reflecting that each step added a diffi-culty to my approaching flight, I followed the two Thibetanswho meant to take me to a wooded tableland about ten miles

higher, where they knew of a good camping-ground. As faras they could see; Yongden and I scarcely cast a glance at thecountry in the direction of the Dokar Pass; but in reality wedid our best to impress on our memory the shape and peculiari-ties of the landscape which would help us when we had to crossit on the next night.

Our passage in Londre was as inconspicuous as we couldhave wished. Not one of the villagers whom we met appearedto take any particular notice of us. This most happy cir-cumstance was perhaps due to the fact that an Americannaturalist worked in the vicinity and employed a large numberof people. No doubt the villagers thought that we were onour way to join him as assistants.

After having proceeded for a few miles on the Lutze-Kiangpath, turning my back to my real goal, I thought it imprudentto proceed farther. Safety required that plenty of time beallowed for the long tramp on the opposite side of Londre, sothat dawn should find us far away from the village, having,if possible, reached the pilgrimage road. Once there, we couldeasily pretend to have come from any northern Thibetan partwe cared to name, in order to get round the Sacred Mountain.

I had hesitated a long time in choosing the road I wouldtake in order to enter independent Thibet. The one I pre-ferred, or perhaps I should say the one which circumstancesseemed to be thrusting upon me, is followed every autumn bymany travellers. By taking it I foresaw that I should runthe danger of frequent meetings. Not that this inconveniencewas without its favourable aspect, since our tracks couldbe more easily lost amongst those of- pilgrims from variousThibetan regions, each of whom spoke in different dialect, andwhose womenfolk had a variety of different dress and coiffures.The little peculiarities of my accent, my features, or my clotheswould more easily be overlooked on such a road, and if enqui-ries were to be made, they would have to embrace so manypeople that confusion might very likely follow to ihy advantage.But of course I sincerely hoped that no enquiry would be made,

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and that we should meet as few people as possible during thefirst few weeks of our trek.

We had reached a point where the road commanded the viewof the valley at the entrance of which Londre was built. Itwas covered with a dense jungle in the middle of which floweda clear stream. A trail descended to it from the road, and itwas here that I paused for a few minutes, wondering oncemore how I should get rid of my two unwanted followers. Isoon made up my mind.

“My feet are swollen and sore,” I said to the men. “I can-not walk any longer. Let us go down near the stream, andwe will make tea and camp.”

They were not astonished. Truly my feet had been hurtby my Chinese rope sandals, and the coolies had seen thembleeding when I had washed them in a stream.

We went down, and I chose a small clearing surrounded bythick bushes and there pitched my tent. The presence of thewater, and the protection afforded against the wind by thethickets would certainly have justified my choice of the spothad the two peasants or any other persons questioned me aboutthe selection of this rather gloomy place.

A fire was lighted, and I gave the coolies a good meal.Yongden and I endeavoured to swallow a little tsampa^although the imminence of our departure, the fear of seeingour plans ypset at the last minute, had left us little appetite.However, when the meal was finished, I ordered one of themen to go up the hill to cut some dry logs, since only twigscould be found near us. When he had gone I explained tohis companion that I had no need of him because I meantto stay there about a week collecting plants on the neighbour-ing mountains, before I went to LuUe-Kiang. When neces-sary, I added, I would hire a man from the villagers of Londreto carry my luggage. He understood and, well pleased withgood wages, he started immediately for home, convinced, ofcourse, that the man who had gone to cut the wood wouldremain to attend on me.

Flour made of roasted barley, the staple food of Thibetans.

6 *

The latter was told exactly the same thing, when he cameback with the wood, but as I did not want him to meet hiscompanion for some time, lest they should discuss my strangeplan of camping alone, I added that, as 1 could not proceed atonce to Lutze-Kiang, he was to carry there a letter and aparcel. From there, he could return to his village by a directroad, without coming back to Londre.

The parcel contained a few clothes, a gift to the poor. MustI relate that, shut in the small tent, Yongden and I had againexamined our baggage and, finding it still too heavy, we hadgiven up the waterproof ground-sheet that was meant to keepus, when sleeping, from direct contact with the damp or frozenground? Yongdon and I discarded also the only pieces of spareclothing we had kept. Nothing was now left us except theclothes we were wearing. We had not even a blanket, although-we knew that, during the winter, we should have to crosshigh, snowy ranges, passes of over 18,000 feet; and as muchfood as possible had to be carried, since we did not wish toshow ourselves in the villages for at least a fortnight. Lateron, when crossing desert regions, a full load of provisions wouldagain be indispensable; success and even life might dependupon it.

The small package was addressed to a missionary whom 1had never seen and who had probably never beard of me.Such was my plan of ridding myself of my last coolie. Hewent away, as satisfied as his comrade, with a few dollars inhis pocket, believing that the other peasant had been sent onsome errand in the neighbourhood from which he would returnbefore evening.

What these two said, a few days later, when they met afterhaving rounded the same range, one on the northern andhis friend on the southern side, must have been amusing, butI never heard it!

All necessary arrangements had been made. We stood,Yongden and I, in the thick jungle, alone and free. The nov-elty of our situation bewildered us a little. For months, dur-

‘ 7.'

ing the long journey from the sands of Gobi to Yunnan, wehad been discussing the way in which we cpuld “disappear,”as we used to say, and assume other personalities. Now, thehour had come and we were to start that very night for theDokar Pass,^ which now forms the border of independentThibet.

“Let us drink a cup of tea,” I said to the young lama, “andthen you will start on a scouting tour. At any rate, we shouldreach the foot of the Kha Karpo track without meeting any-body, and be out of sight from the village before daybreak.”

Hastily I revived the fire. Yongden brought water fromthe stream, and we prepared the Thibetan tea, with butterand salt, in the simple manner of poor travellers who cannotenjoy the luxury of a churn to mix it.

I may as well explain immediately the composition of ourcantine. We had only one aluminum pot, which was our kettle,teapot, and saucepan all in one. There was also one lamawooden bowl for Yongden, an aluminum bowl for myself,two spoons, and a Chinese travelling case containing one longknife and chopsticks, which could be hung from the belt. Thatwas all. We did not intend to indulge in refined cooking.Our meals were to be those of the common Thibetan travellers;that is to say, tsampa, mixed with buttered tea, or eaten nearlydry, kneaded with butter. When circumstances would allow,we would make a soup. Forks were useless with such a diet,and even our two cheap spoons could not be produced freely,as they were of a foreign pattern such as only affluent Thibetanspossess. Arjopas (pilgrims travelling on foot and often beggingtheir food), as we pretended to be, have none. In fact, thesespoons became, later on, the occasion of a short drama in whichI nearly killed a man. I shall tell the story in due course.

The tea drunk, Yongden started. Hours passed; night hadfallen. I remained seated near the fire which I did not dareto let blaze, fearing that it might be seen from afar and betrayour presence. The remains of the tea, kept as a last cordialto cheer our departure, were shimmering on the embers; the ris-

* Eighteen thousand four hundred feet above sea level.

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ing moon tinged with bluish and russet hues the melancholydepths of the valley. All was silence and solitude.

What had I dared to dream? . . , Into what mad adventurewas I about to throw myself? I remembered previous jour-neys in Thibet, hardships endured, dangers that I had con-fronted. ... It was that again, or even worse, which lay be-fore me. . . . And what would be the end? Would I triumph,reach Lhasa, laughing at those who close the roads of Thibet?Would I be stopped on my way, or would I fail, this timeforever, meeting death at the bottom of a precipice, hit bythe bullet of a robber, or dying miserably of fever beneatha tree, or in a cave, like some wild beast? Who knew?

But I did not allow gloomy thoughts to overpower my mind.Whatever might be the future, I would not shrink from it.

*‘Stop here! Go no farther!^* Such were the commands ofa few Western politicians, to explorers, savants, missionaries,scholars, to all, in fact, except their agents, who travelled freely,wherever they were sent, in this so-called “Forbidden Land.^'What right had they to erect barriers around a country whichwas not even lawfully theirs ? Many travellers had been stoppedon their way to Lhasa, and had accepted failure. I would not.I had taken the challenge by my oath on the “iron bridge^^ ^and was now ready to show what a woman can do!

As I was thus musing, Yongden emerged suddenly from thebushes. Strangely lit by the moon, he looked a little like alegendary mountain spirit.

Briefly he reported the result of his scouting: To avoid thevillage we should have to cross a rickety footbridge higher upthe valley, and follow the stream downward on the oppositebank. Perhaps it was possible to make a direct descent bywading In the river itself past any village house that might beperched upon the bank. This would certainly be a short cut,

^ In a previous attempt, which was stopped after a few weeks* journeyand led me through a very interesting part of the province of Kham.

I had then every opportunity of studying at first hand the conditions ofthe inhabitants, as the Lhasa govenuaent had succeeded in establishingcomplete ascendency there after its victory over the Chinese.

9

but, as people were in the fields nearby, he had not been able totest the depth of the water.

Whichever road we might choose, we could not avoid passingin front of a few houses between the small bridge on the streamflowing out of the valley where we pitched our camp, and thelarge one on the tributary of the Mekong, which we had seenon our arrival.

When we had crossed that second bridge, we could look forthe bypath which was to lead us to the pilgrimage road.Yongden had seen it clearly, winding up the steep slope, buthe had failed to discover the exact point from which it branchedfrom the bank of the river.

With these vague ideas, I hurriedly set out. It was alreadylate and we could not guess how many miles we should haveto tramp that night until we could reach a spot which affordedsome degree of safety.

Was my load heavy on my shoulders? Were its roughstraps cutting my flesh? Indeed they were! I felt it later,but at that moment I was not aware of it. I was aware ofnothing. I knocked myself against sharp rocks, I tore myhands and my face in the thorny bushes. I was dead to allsensation, stiffened, hypnotized by the will to succeed.

For several hours we trudged in the valley. We had firstclimbed up to the main road, and then, skirting isolated farms,tried the p.assage in the stream. It proved impossible at night-time. The water was rather high, the current swift and break-ing against boulders. We should have fallen in two minutes.And so we again directed our steps in search of the foot-bridge. Several times we lost our road. The trails that myyoung friend had marked in the day were difficult to find bythe dim light of the moon, veiled in mist. At last we foundourselves on an easy but very winding track on the oppositebank. It led tortuously beside the stream, and we were exas-perated by the precious moments lost in follomng it.«. Whenat last we caught sight of the tnllage, we put our loads down,drank a draught of the clear- water that flowed past us, swal-

10

lowed a granule of strychnine to rouse fresh energy in our tiredbodies, and took the dreaded passage on the run.

A bridge, the* houses, the second and larger bridge . .safely passed. We stood at the foot of the wild and solitaryhill on which a narrow, tvnsting trail led to other tracks andpaths and roads leading into the very heart of Thibet, theForbidden Capital of the Lamas. ...

A dog had given a low, suppressed bark when we were nearthe river—a. single dog, in'that village where a dozen or moreof these rather fierce animals wandered to and fro all night!It reminded me of the Indian tales relating the nightly flightof those sons of good family, who, in quest of the “SupremeDeliverance,” abandon their home to take to the reli^ous lifeof the sannyasin. In order, we read, to make their flighteasier, “the gods lulled the men to sleep and silenced the dogs.”So had it been with me, and smilingly I returned thanks to thein'nsible friends who protected my departure. ,

In our haste to be off we overlooked a small landslide justin front of us, which was in reality the beginning of the bypathleading upward that had fallen in. We searched for the roadalong the river bank until we neared a steep gorge whichafforded no means of ascent and we were thus forced to returnto the bridge. Another half-hour was wasted here; we werein full sight of the village and trembled for fear of beingnoticed! Moreover, the right track, which we found a littleafter midnight, happened to be extremely steep and sandy.Heavily loaded as we were, we could only make slow progress,in spite of our strenuous efforts, being compelled to stop fre-quently, out of breath. It was terrible, and my feelings couldwell be compared to those of a nightmare in which the dreamerimagines himself to be pursued by murderers and tries hisutmost to run away, but cannot move his feet!

Toward the end of the night we reached a gloomy spotsheltered by large trees. Our steps awakened a number of bigbirds perched on the branches, which flew away noisily. Astreamlet flowed nearby and Yongden, who had not enjoyed a

minute’s rest since the morning of the previous day, craved arefreshing bowl of tea.

Thirst parched my mouth and I shared the desire of mycompanion, but nevertheless I was most reluctant to stop.This dark place, the only one where water was obtainable, didnot appear to me very safe. It might possibly be hauntedby leopards and panthers, of which there are many on thesehills. Above all, I wished to put as great a distance as possiblebetween us and Londre. Had I been alone, I would have suf-fered no matter what agony, and would have crept on myknees if I could no longer stand, rather than delay a singleminute. But the exhausted lama’s fatigue overcame prudence.Nothing could be done; he fell rather than sat upon the wetground, and I went in search of fuel.

The hot drink was most comforting. Unfortunately, his newsense of well-being lulled my companion to sleep. I could havecried. Each minute wasted on that path diminished ourchances of success. However, in such cases nothing is to bedone; sleep is a necessity that cannot be resisted. Neverthe-less, Yongden was not allowed a long rest and we continuedon our way.

The solitude reassured us. The sun had long since risen andwe were still climbing when we heard a voice above us. Then,without exchanging a single word, panic-stricken, Yongden andI threw ourselves out of the path and rushed like scared game,through the thick jungle, our only idea being to escape fromsight.

I found myself, without being able to remember how I hadcome there, on an old stony landslide surrounded by thornybushes. Of my companion there was no trace.

However, he had not gone far and we soon found each other.But we did not dare to walk again in broad daylight. Wood-cutters, cattle drovers, or others might be going down to Londreand talk about us there. Pilgrims might perhaps follow thatpath, overtake us, notice something peculiar in our appearance,and repeat it in gossip on the other side of the border. Weexpected the worst, anxious to give bad luck as little chance as1?

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

possible. We therefore spent the first day of our journeysquatting under the trees. From our resting-place we couldhear, higher up. Invisible folk driving equally invisible cattle.A wood-cutter appeared on an opposite slope. I watched himfor some time; he sang prettily as he piled his logs and doubt-less was not in the least aware of the agony he was causinga foreign woman. The autumn foliage probably screened uscompletely from the gaze of distant observers, and the villagersdid not suspect our presence. Nevertheless, in my fear of hav-ing been seen, I was filled with the most pessimistic ideas. Ialmost believed that failure was awaiting me and that I hadcome here in vain from far away Turkestan, across the wholeof China.

Soon after sunset we began our nocturnal tramp. Whendarkness came we saw several fires higher up on the hill. Wecould not be sure that the winding path which we followedwould not lead us to them, and we were very much worried.Coal men or, perhaps, pilgrims were camped there and theprospect of arriving at night amongst Thibetans by the Londretrack did not please us in the least; for such a meeting wouldhave been the occasion for many embarrassing questions from*inquisitive people.

We remained for a long time seated on the grass in a clear-ing, waiting for the moon to rise. We could not see the trail,yet all the time we could see these alarming, glowing fires!They gave a peculiarly disquieting and demoniacal aspect to theblack, indistinct landscape of pines and huge rocks juttingaround them in the dark starlit sky. How thankful we werewhen we saw them far behind us and were certain that wecould not meet the people near them.

Soon afterwards we arrived at a small chorten ^ marking thejunction of our track and the pilgrims^ road. The latter wasa rather large mule path, and walking became easy and pleas-ant. To have reached this spot without meeting anybody wasindeed fortunate. If my luck held out, I might, with equal

* Thibetan monument erected to hold religious objects or the remainsof great departed lamas.

^3

my journey to LHASA

fortune, cross the Dokar Pass and reach the district of Men-kong. I could then congratulate myself on having made themost important step toward final success, f6r in that countrymany roads cross, bringing together travellers from variousdirections. Our tracks would be easily lost, and with a littlecleverness we could lose ourselves in the anonymous mass ofpoor Thibetan pilgrims whom the officials do not condescendto honour with so much as a single glance.

Thirst was torturing* us still more than upon the previousnight when we reached a large roaring mountain torrent whichcut across the road. A small bridge spanned it rather highabove the water which rushed, white with foam, amidst achaos of boulders."'Yongden thought only of his thirst, andwished to go down the road immediately to drink. This wasdangerous, since, in the darkness, he could not see the obstacleswhich might cause him to stumble and roll into the torrent,which would have immediately carried him away. I remon-strated with the obstinate fellow, but he argued that as waterwas so scarce, seeing that we had found none since the previousnight, it was indeed possible it would be hours before we struckwater again. I could not contradict him, but thirst was preferrable to being drowned. I therefore ordered him to cross thefootbridge. On the other side, the bank was less steep andai^ easy way down could be seen. Although time was precious,and I did not like to light a fire so close to the road, I wasthinking t>f halting, when, to our dismay, we heard a voicecalling us. It was that of a man who offered us red embersto kindle a fire, and even a cup of ready-made tea to beginwith! >

We remained motionless, speechless. We had talked in Eng-lish a few minutes before. Had that man heard us?

“Who are you?” asked another voice. “Why are you walk-ing at night?”

We still could see nobody, but the sound came from a hugetree. I thought that it might be hollow and that travellers hadtaken it as hostelry for the night.

“We are pilgrims,” answered Yongden. *^Dokpas from

Amdo. We cannot bear the heat of this country. When wewalk in the sunshine, we get fever. So we tramp around theHoly Hill at night.”

That was quite a plausible reason. The man who had askedthe question asked nothing more, but Yongden continued:

“And you, who are you?”

“We, too, are pilgrims.”

“Well, good-bye,” I said, to cut the talk short. “We willstill walk a little, and camp the next time we find water.”

So ended the first chance meeting on our way to Lhasa.We congratulated each other that it did not happen while wewere still on the track climbing from Londre, but at the sametime we learned that even night marches were not absolutelysecure, and that we had to be prepared at any hour and at anyplace to explain, in a way that awoke no suspicion whatever,the reason of our doings.

We continued our way for several hours without findingfurther traces of water. I felt exhausted and walked mechan-ically, half asleep. Once I thought that we were approachinga hut built on the road and turned over in my mind what Iwould say and do if I met Thibetans. But the “hut” turnedout to be a passage between two great rocks. At last utterexhaustion compelled us to rest. The site was not in the leastfit for camping; the exceedingly narrow trail skirted a stony,natural wall, and, on the other side, ended perpendicularly.We lay down on a rocky mattress whose roughness we unpleas-antly felt through our clothes and endeavoured to remembereven in our sleep that we were perched on the edge of a preci-pice whose depth was unfathomable in the night.

In such wise we spent the second happy night of our wonder-ful adventure. Day had not yet broken when Yongden and1 loaded our burdens on our backs and continued the trampthrough the forest. More than twenty-four hours had nowelapsed since we had eaten and drunk. We had not yet becomeaccustomed to prolonged fasts, and this first one was hard tobear.

We proceeded as fast as we could in order to reach some

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stream before hiding ourselves for the day. It was a race withthe sun, which was now rising rapidly. It appeared some-where above a summit hidden in the thick foliage, and its heatsoon began to light and warm the underwood. The time hadcome for us to take shelter in the forest. The men whom wehad met during the night might overtake us, and that wouldmean a long talk, a lot of explanations, and, what was stillworse, our showing ourselves in broad daylight.

We crept between the thickets that extended beyond somedo-chod^ until we were completely invisible from the path.Looking down, I discerned some blue smoke floating far belowbetween the trees. A distant noise of running water couldalso be heard. Travellers or wood-cutters were enjoying theirmorning meal, an idea which so increased our hunger thatYongden decided to risk himself on the road with our kettlein search of water.

While alone, .1 hid our baggage under some branches, andlay down flat on the dry leaves and threw others over me.Any wanderer through the wood could have passed very nearwithout detecting my presence. Indeed, this happened toYongden when he came back with his kettle full of wafer.I had fallen asleep and he roamed a long time in the junglelooking for the place where he had left me. He did not (tareto call aloud, and had I not been awakened by the noise hemade in wading through the dry leaves and got up, he wouldhave wandered still longer.

We had discussed, during the previous night, the questionof our disguise. Till then we had worn our Chinese robes,which would not have compromised us even if I were recog-nized as a white woman, for, as a rule, all foreigners in theseremote parts of Thibetan China dress in this way. But we nowhoped that no one who could detect us would come along ourroad. Our fellow-travellers would probably be pilgrims fromvarious regions of Thibet, and our best plan was to merge atonce in their number, like inconspicuous, common arjopas.

.... of stones—i.e., cairns placed on the top of the

hills and many other places as offerings to the gods. ^ "V ox xas

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The arjopas are those mendicant pilgrims who, all throughthe year, ramble ia thousands across Thibet, going from one toanother of its sacred, places. The arjopa, not necessarily, butfor the most part, belongs to the religious order—either as amonk or as a nun. He or she may be a true pauper or evena professional beggar, but the mass of them have homes andmeans of subsistence in their own countries, although they can-not afford to ride on horseback during their pious journeys.

Some arjopas start without any money and rely entirely uponcharity during their pilgrimages; others are not entirely penni-less, but keep carefully the few coins they possess for theunlucky days when alms-givers are few or none. A third cate-gory Is rich enough to purchase the simple food of the ordinaryThibetan diet. However, for the most part, the pilgrim passeseasily from one to another of these different classes. A lamacapable of reading the Scriptures, who can perform the dif-ferent lamaist ceremonies, and can, above all, act as exorcistand fortune-teller, may at any time find himself so well pro-vided with food, clothing, and even money, that he may dis-pense with begging for several months. On the other hand,the owner of a heavy purse may fall 111, be delayed on hisway by other circumstances, or be robbed—a thing whichhappens frequently—and have to take his place, in the sameday, amongst the poorest of his colleagues.

I had chosen to travel as an arjopa because it is *the bestdisguise to pass without attracting notice. Yongden, who isan authentic and well-read lama, looked his part perfectly,and I, his aged mother, who had undertaken a long pilgrimagefor devotional reasons, constituted a rather touching and sym-pathetic figure. These considerations had their full weightwhen 1 decided upon our disguises, but—^and why should I notconfess it?—the absolute freedom of the arjopa, who, likeDiogenes, carries all his possessions with him, and who isfree from the care of servants, horses, luggage, sleeping eachnight where he pleases, attracted me greatly. I had had ataste of it during a previous short trip in Kham, and wishedto enjoy it more fully and longer. And now that I have thor-

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oughly experienced the joys and the hardship of the arjopc^slife in Thibet, I deem it to be the most blessed existence onecan dream of, and I consider as the happiest in my life thosedays when, with a load upon my back, I wandered as one ofthe countless tribe of Thibetan beggar pilgrims.

I

‘ After a copious meal of tsampa, dried meat and buttered tea,we began to disguise ourselves. After all, was it really a dis-guise? Yongden clad himself as a lama, as he did when residingin a monastery. As for me, I had for years accustomed myselfto wearing Thibetan clothes, the only novelty being in thecoarseness of the plain white lay dress I put on for thejourney.

The headgear caused me some little annoyance. I hadbrought no hat from Amdo, thinking that I would purchaseone at Atunze. But I did not pass that town, and I couldnot find a hat In any of the villages on our way. For thetime being, an old red belt would suffice, twisted around myhead in the fashion of the Lutzchiang. The boots which Ihad brought from Kham showed, as well as the peculiarmaterial of my dress, that we hailed from that province andprovided me with a certificate of Thibetan nationality.

Two years previously, in another attempt of the same kind,I had cut my plaits; now, in the part of a lay woman, Irequired’ long ones. I therefore lengthened mine, which hadnot yet grown long enough, with jet-black yak^s ^ hair, andin order to match that colour I rubbed a wet stick of Chineseink on my own brown hair. I hung large earrings on myears, and they altered my appearance. Finally I powdered myface with a mixture of cocoa and crushed charcoal, to obtaina dark complexion. The *‘make-up” was rather strange, butsuppliers to the theatrical trade, from whom I could haveobtained better ingredients, have not yet opened branches inthe Thibetan wilds!

At sunset, we gathered our baggage and emerged from thejungle full-fledged Thibetan wayfarers.

^ * Yak, the long-haired ox of Thibet.

i8 '

The next morning we found as a camping ground, after ourlong tramp, only k most unhealthy place nearly level with astream, and which was certainly part of its summer water-bed.We could not see the ground beneath us, it being hidden byreeds which, had been burned in a forest fire and which hadfallen in an inextricable entanglement now covered by a thicklayer of green moss. We ate, but owing to the nearness ofthe road, we did not dare to light a fire, and drank the icywater that had an unpleasant taste.

How long had I slept? I could not say. When I openedmy eyes I saw a man clad in Thibetan dress, wearing a softfelt hat of foreign shape, as Thibetan soldiers outside ofLhasa do.

In less than a second many thoughts dashed through mystill slumbering mind: A Thibetan soldier—we are still ,onChinese territory—^what is he doing here? . . . Has he beensent across the border to watch us? . . . Have the Thibetanofficials been informed that we are proceeding toward theDokar Pass? ... At any rate, I must convince him that Iam a true Thibetan; and, as the best means of convincinghim, I pretended to blow my nose with my fingers.

That gesture thoroughly awakened me, and what I hadtaken to be the soldier turned out to be nothing more than arock and a few branches.

But I had not the heart to laugh at myself. I had been toomuch frightened, and to make things worse, I began to shiverin a way which left no doubt In my mind that I was in for anattack of fever as the result of our prolonged stay in thatdamp spot.

I looked at my watch. It was only three o’clock, but dayswere short at this time of the year, and the waning moon didnot rise until the middle of the night. During the next fort-night we should have to chance our luck and proceed partlyduring the day, or we would linger too long in the country,which would indeed be dangerous.^

Late in the evening we arrived at a peculiarly beautiful spot,,

19

a kind of wide, natural clearing surrounded by ramparts ofthickets. Shadowed by giant trees which* veiled an intensedarkness, it looked like a temple meant for some solemn occultrites and made me think of the Druids.

Pilgrims used to camp there; one knew it from the largenumber of mi deussa^ to be seen scattered about. Some syb-aritic devotees had gone so far in their search for comfort asto spread a double thickness of fir-tree branches atound theprimitive hearths, in order to provide themselves with a carpet,and these dark-green patches on the golden brown leaveswhich autumn had strewn over the ground still furtherincreased the impression one had of being in a mysterioussanctuary.

Big logs lay scattered around, and without taking muchtrouble we soon enjoyed a most glorious fire. Invisibleanimals were roaming in the jungles; we could hear the noiseof the small branches they broke as they stalked through thebushes. Sometimes, we heard steps quite near us; maybe oneof the four-footed wanderers was watching us, but we could notsee it in the circle of darkness that surrounded the clearing, andveiled its farthest corners. I trusted, nevertheless, that nobeast would venture near the heap of glowing coal from which,at times, fiames leaped high and clear.

With flaming branches in his hands, Yongden went twice tofetch water from the river. I told him to ch^nt some Thibetanliturgy all along his way, so that, together with the brightlight, the noise would frighten away any leopards or pantherswhich might be prowling around. That grave psalmody inthe depths of the forest matched perfectly the peculiar atmos-phere of the place and aroused in me the desire to performthere the fearful rite which Thibetan hermits hold in highesteem as a way of liberating one’s mind from all attachment.It is poetic in spite of its stern symbolism, and Thibetans fully

* Literally, men’s resting place—f.e., few stones that have been arrangedby travellers to place a cauldron on the fire, which one sees, blackenedamong ashes, along the trodden ■ tracks at the spots where water can be.got and wayfarers use to camp.

20

initiated into its meaning smile at the terror of the novices,who train themselves in its practice amongst dread and inspir-ing surroundings.

I ignored the danger of being overheard by travellers, if anysuch should happen on the road, as had been my experiencethe night when I had imprudently spoken English near atorrent. If anyone saw me forming the figures of the mysticdance and calling upon the gods and the demons, he could butbe convinced that I was a Thibetan naljorma^ and, beingstruck with terror, would certainly not remain in the vicinityto ask idle questions.

After a short rest; we did our best to start before daybreak,but the waning moon’s light could not penetrate the thick foli-age. We were not able to find our way, and had to return toour camp and wait.

As we ascended the sacred mountain the forest changed itscharacter. It became darker and wilder than in the neighbour-hood of Londre. Our night tramp was wonderful; we felt as ifwe had entered another world. Born of the moon’s rays,filtering through clouds and branches, or perhaps of other andunknown causes, strange shapes rose before us. Often we sawthe glimmer of fires hidden in the recess of the mountains.Moving shadows were silhouetted indistinctly in the dim light;peculiar notes were heard.

Once, while walking ahead, I saw two tall figures comingtoward us. Retracing my steps, nearly crawling on the groundto avoid giving ourselves away, I dragged Yongden along thedry bed of a high-banked stream, and there we stayed,crouching amongst the stones and the fallen leaves, watchingthe intermittent glare of a fire at the foot of a distant hugeperpendicular rock.

Early in the morning, at the time when Thibetan travellersstart for the day’s march, we listened attentively, trying todetect sounds of human voices or the noise of animals. Butthe forest remained silent, 1 was more puzzled than ever

' One who has embraced the religious life and follows the- mystic path.Naljorfa is the masculine.

n

21

and, to gratify my curiosity, we went a long way off the trailto the big rock.

It was surrounded by thorny bushes and a few dead trees.No suitable place for a camp could be found near by. Therock itself had been decorated long ago—as are many in Thibet—with the image of Padmasambhava, and some mysticformulae, but these had nearly disappeared beneath the moss.Of fire, embers, ashes, or charred wood, there was no trace.

I noticed a long, narrow crevice between the ground and therock, and here the stone seemed blackened with smoke. Ithought, however, it was rather its natural colouring. Yong-den and I roamed more than an hour in an attempt to discoverthe entrance of a cave beneath the rock. We found none.

While we were busy a few blackbirds alighted on somebranches and appeared to follow our doings with a mockinginterest, moving their heads and uttering chirps like laughter.Their noise was unpleasant and Yongden grew angry.

^These little black fellows,” he told me, ‘^do not seem to benatural birds. They must be the same mischievous mi ma yin ^who play tricks at night with fire and music to delay us onthe road, and have now taken another shape.”

I smiled at his imagination, but he was quite in earnest.His great-grandfather had been a somewhat famous magician-lama, and I believe the blood of that ancestor was now alivein him. He recited a zung (magic formula) with the necessaryritualistic gesture and, strangely enough, the birds flew away,shrieking loudly.

“You see,” triumphed the young lama, “I knew it! It isunwise of us to stay here.”

I smiled again; but as to the necessity of pushing on Icould not argue. That very night we meant to cross theborder of “the Forbidden Land.” ^

The approach to the pass was most beautiful. Early morn-ing found us in a large valley white with frost. On our left,strangely shaped rocky hills seemed crowned with turreted

‘ Mi ma yin—^literally, not man. One of the six classes of beings, ac-cording to Thibetans.

22

castles. At first sight I thought that a monastery had beenerected there for the use of contemplative lamas, as there are alarge number in Thibet, but I soon realized that Nature wasthe only responsible architect, and had herself built thesedignified yet graceful edifices.

I very much regretted that the nearness of the border andthe extreme care I had to take in order to avoid being seen,prevented me from camping a few days on this site. I wouldhave liked to find a way by which I might climb into thesefairy dwellings. Knowing Thibet and its people as I did, itwould have been no surprise to me to have found a hermit inthis eyrie.

Proceeding toward a ridge which seemed to be the summitof the pass, we crossed several abundant springs. Water wasflowing everywhere on natural terraces supported by rockywalls. In summer, dokpas bring their cattle to these heights.We had seen signs of them in the valley, but at this time ofthe year silence reigned supreme.

The belief that we had only a short distance to cover to beat the end of our climb infused fresh strength in us. Wewalked fast and soon arrived at a bend of the track, nearingthe spot which we had taken for the pass. Here we saw thatwe had only reached another broad valley which, far away,was fringed by slopes which doubtless led to the Dokar Pass,but the pass itself could not yet be seen. This was an unpleas-ant surprise. We were tired, for the troubles of the previousnight had not allowed us much rest. Moreover, we did notdeem it prudent to proceed during the middle of the day inthat open place, in which we could be observed from everyside. A chaos of huge rocks, very likely the product of somelandslide that happened centuries ago,' could, fortunately, beused as a refuge. Stunted fir trees were still thriving there,in spite of the high level, and served us as a shelter.

From that place I could still see the tops of the faiiy palacesthat I had admired from the valley beneath, but I was nowabove them and thus could see that the other side of the hillwas much less steep.

*3

I have myself lived for several years, in caves or rough cabins,in the grassy desert and at the foot of the everlasting snows,the strange and wonderful life of the Thibetan mystics. I feeldeeply its particular attraction, and all that is connected withit immediately awakens my interest. Now it appeared to methat those natural edifices were inhabited. A mysterious mes-sage seemed to be conveyed to my mind, as I sat gazingintently at them, a kind of silent talk between speakers invisibleto each other. What did it matter, after all, if on that hillthere lived a human being like myself? What I heard wasthe thousand-year-old echo of thoughts which are re-thoughtover and over again in the East, and which, nowadays, appearto have fixed their stronghold in the majestic heights ofThibet.

We set out again in the middle of the afternoon. We feltconfident that no one would be on the road at that time.Thibetans always manage to cross these high passes at noon,to allow time to go far enough down on the other side toavoid excessive cold and lack of fuel during the night.

We were not ordinary travellers, and the usual rules dictatedby prudence could not be part of our own code, which con-sisted in one single article: to avoid detection. For the rest,we relied on our robust constitutions and the strength of ourwill. ■

During the short halt that we made at the foot of the finalclimb wc noticed a man leading a horse, who had reached thebeginning of the upper valley, near the place where we hadcamped, and from which I had gazed at the rocky castles andallowed my mind to dwell on their imaginary inhabitant. Theman sat down when we moved on, and we lost sight of him. Imay say at once that the following day he should have caughtup with us, for there was only the one pilgrims^ road and cir-cumstances had delayed us long on our way. But he neverappeared. We asked some pilgrims who overtook us abouthim, and they answered that they had met nobody. This factsomewhat confirmed my intuition as to the presence of ahermit in the vicinity. The man with the horse was probably

*4

his jinda (supporter), who brought him a supply of food. Hehad left the track and would perhaps remain a few days withthe lama. That the majesty of that solitary site had beenappreciated by an ascetic was not astonishing, for one whoknew the *Xand of Snows” and its religious folk.

The Dokar Pass now stood before us, most impressiveagainst a gray evening sky. It is a depression in a giganticbarren range whose Cyclopean slopes sag like cables out-stretched across rivers to serve as bridges. The knowledgethat it marks the threshold of the guarded region added tothe sternness of its aspect.

The ground around the pass is most sacred to the gods, andthe Thibetan pilgrims who walk along the track have builtcountless tiny altars, made of three standing stones, and afourth one as a roof, under which offerings are made tospirits.

On the pass itself and following the neighbouring ridges,the mystic flags which can be seen on all the heights of Thibetwere planted in exceptionally large numbers. In the fallinglight they looked alive, belligerent, and threatening, like somany soldiers scaling the crests, ready to fight the presumptu-ous traveller who would venture on the road to the Holy City.

As we reached the cairn marking the top, a gust of windwelcomed us—the violent, icy kiss of the austere country whosesevere charm has held me so long bewitched and to which Ialways return. Turning successively toward the four quarters,the zenith and the nadir, we uttered the Buddhist wish, *‘Mayall beings be happy!” and began to climb down.

A blizzard descended upon the peaks. Black clouds rolledhither and thither, turning into sleet. We hurried in our effortto reach the base of this steep and inhospitable slope beforenightfall.

But darkness came early. We missed the path windingbetween the landslides, and found ourselves slipping helplesslywith crumbling stones under our feet. It became dangerousto proceed in that way, with a speed that we could not control.

^5

So, ha'nng succeeded In pulling up, we fixed our pilgrim stafiTsbefore us In the ground as a point of support. Clinging toeach other for safety, our loads still on our backs, we remainedsquatting upon the snow, which fell from eight o’clock in theevening till two the next morning. Then a last melancholyquarter of the moon rose between the clouds and we descendedto the wooded zone.

We were resting, seated at the edge of a glade where aforest fire had destroyed the big trees and which was nowcovered with short shrubs, when I noticed the forms of twolong animals with phosphorescent eyes, which crossed thetrack several times and finally disappeared in the direction ofthe river. They were quite distinctly visible in the moonlightand I pointed them out to Yongden. He saw them well, butpersisted in saying that they were deer, though their shape andthe peculiar glimmer of their eyes indicated carnivorous wildbeasts. I delayed a little, to avoid an undesirable encounter,and then we continued our descent to the river.

We were exhausted and there was no certainty that wecould soon find water again, as the stream entered a gorge andour trail climbed up on the hill. So, in the hope that theanimals would let us alone if they were still in the vicinity, welit a fire to make tea.

While we were drinking, we heard some noise behind thebushes, byt we were beginning to be accustomed to the prowl-ing of wild beasts around our camps. Yongden fell asleep.I decided to watch, but my eyes were heavy, and closed inspite of my efforts.

I was dozing, when the sound of a low sniff awakened me.A few feet from the place where we were lying, one of theanimals with glimmering eyes was looking at us, and I couldsee its spotted coat!

I did not awaken Yongden. It was not the first time thatI had seen creatures of that kind at such close range. Theyseldom attack men unless provoked or wounded, and I wasconvinced that they would never harm me or those who werenear me.

26

That nocturnal meeting reminded me of another one whichI had had, in broad daylight, several years before, with asuperb tiger, 'v. * ts

“Little thing,” I murmured, looking at the graceful animal,“I have seen, near to, a much bigger prince of the junglethan you. Go to sleep and be happy.” I doubt whether the“little thing” understood me. However, after a few minutes,it went leisurely away, its curiosity satisfied.

We could not allow ourselves a longer rest. The day hadbroken and it was time for us to retire to a hiding-place, awayfrom the trail. I awakened Yongden and we went. A fewminutes after we started the young man pointed out with hisstick something under the trees.

“There they are,” he said.

The pair of spotted fellows were indeed there. They turnedtheir heads toward us, looked for a little while, and then wenttheir way along the stream, while we climbed the path.

As we went up, the aspect of the forest changed once more.It was now much less dense. The sun that had risen lit theundergrowth, and through the openings in the foliage wecould see the opposite bank of the river beneath us. Wenoticed with astonishment that it seemed to be cultivated, butcultivated in a fanciful way, more in the fashion of gardensand parks than of common fields.

It was a glorious morning, and we enjoyed our walk so muchthat we continued it long after the hour at which we usuallysought shelter. The river bent suddenly and we confronted avillage built on a slope at the foot of which our path turnedalong the stream. A few Isolated houses could even be seenquite near us on the sides of the path itself.

What village was this? It was not charted on any map andnone of the people of the country from whom we had cleverlygot information, before our departure, had ever told us a wordabout it. Its architecture was peculiar. We did not see cot-tages and farms, but villas and miniature palaces surroundedby small yet stately looking parks!

The strange town was bathed in a pale golden light. No

27

sound of human voices, no noises of animals, were heard in it.But, now and then, a faint silvery jingling struck our ears.We were amazed. Were we in Thibet of had we reachedfairyland?

We could not, however, remain standing in the path. Peoplemight come along, and to be seen so near the frontier postswas imprudent. It was imperative, for safety^s sake, that weshould delay our investigations until the evening. Once morewe retreated amongst the bushes and the rocks. There, over-tired, I sank on the moss and fell asleep, feverish and ravinga little.

Our impatience to see again the fantastic village, our fearof having to cross an inhabited place, and the desire to lookfor ways to avoid it, brought us on the trail before sunsetat the spot on which we had stood in the morning.

Where were the graceful villas, the stately little palaces andthe sunny gardens?

The forest was empty. A severe landscape of dark treesextended before us, and a cold breeze, wailing among thebranches, took the place of the harmonious jingling.

*We have dreamed,” I said to Yongden. “We did not seeanything this morning. All that happened while we wereasleep.”

“Dreamed!” exclaimed the lama. “I will show you how wehave dreamed. This morning, while you were looking at themiraculous town, I drew a sungpo [magic sign] on a rockwith the spike of my staff, so that neither gods nor demonscould oppose our progress. I shall find it again.” And helooked on a flat stone at the foot of a fir tree. “There it is!”he triumphed. “Look!”

I saw the roughly drawn sungpo. It silenced me for amoment.

“My son,” I said, proceeding forward, “this world itself isbut a dream, and so . . .”

“I know,” interrupted my companion. “Nevertheless, thesungpo and the ngags [magic words] that I uttered while draw-

28

ing it, have dispelled the mirage. It was certainly the work ofsome who wished to delay us!”

^‘Yes, like the blackbirds,” I continued, laughing, “and maybethe small leopards, too.”

“Like the birds, yes!” affirmed my son, decidedly vexed.“Aa for the leopards, I do not know. They looked honestbeasts. Anyhow, we will soon be out of these Kha Karpoforests and confront true villages instead of dreamland ones,and true men, officials, soldiers, and others, instead of mi mayin. Let us see, then, if we can manage our business withthem as cleverly as I have done with the folks of otherworlds.”

“Have no fear about it,” I replied, seriously, “I will look afterthat.”

“How will you do It?” he asked.

“I will make them dream and see illusions, just as the mi mayins did to us.”

And I really did so when, a few days later, circumstancesbrought us before Thibetan officials.

The miracle which had allowed us to proceed for a wholeweek on a road followed by many pilgrims, without meetinga single soul, could not last forever. Arrived at one of theminor passes on the Kha Karpo range on our way down tothe Salween, we suddenly heard a jingling of bells behind us.It was a party of pilgrims, men and women, with twb horses,who had overtaken us. We exchanged a few words, and eachof us walked devoutly around a latza ^ in which flags bearingprinted mystic formulae were stuck. The pilgrims, who werenot Impeded by loads on their backs, went down the trailmore quickly than we did and, when we arrived at the bottomof a pretty, narrow valley in which several clear streams met,we found them already seated, drinking tea.

We had now to begin the apprenticeship of the career wehad momentarily embraced. It would have been contrary tothe custom to pass the place without taking our meal, for the

^ A cairn placed on the summits as offerings to the gods.

29

time had come for tshaphog—^that is to say, the halt in themiddle of the day.

I looked round, ready to go collecting wood to make a fire,but the kind pilgrims, seeing a lama, invited us to join them.I felt delighted to be free to remain quietly seated, enjoyingthe scenery, which was grand.

In a frame made of several ridges of forest-covered moun-tains, one above and behind another, a gigantic peak of theKha Karpo towered, dazzling white, its summit pointing straightinto the dark-blue sky. Before it, our group seemed agathering of tiny animals crawling on the ground. The sightwas really crushing, and did indeed remind us of our nothing-ness. Yet the good pilgrims gave their whole attention totheir food and some gossip, and turned their backs on theexalted abode of the gods they had come from afar to wor-ship. As for myself, I was lost in a trance of admiration,forgetting that my attitude might look strange to the Thibetans.As a matter of fact, it did, and they enquired why I did noteat.

“Mother Is with the gods,^^ answered Yongden, who put awarm bowl of tea before me to bring me down to the w6rldof men.

A woman, misunderstanding his answer, put a new questionabout me.

“Is the another a pamo?*^ ^ she asked.

I was ’afraid that my companion would not be able to sup-press his laughter at this funny idea, but he replied, gravely:

“My father was a nagspa; ^ she was initiated his sang yumJ* ®

All looked at me with due consideration, and the chief ofthe party sent me a piece of dried meat. Until then he hadoffered us only tsampa, but the new personality that we re-vealed to them inspired respect in these benighted Thibetans.

^ A female medium who is said to be possessed by gods or demons whospeak through her mouth. When the medium is a male he is called fawo,

* A most dreaded kind of sorcerer, expert in magic formulae, who isbelieved to command demons, and able to kill any being from afar.

•Literally, *‘secrct mother.” The respectful title given to the spouse ofa tantrik lama.

30

Nagspa are dreaded for the occult powers they are supposedto possess, and to* incur their displeasure or that of theirkindred, even for involuntary offences, is a serious matter.

So, having suddenly become grave, they made us a littlepresent of butter and tsampa and hastily went their way, desir-ous to escape our honourable but dangerous company. Thiswas just what we wished.

The following day brought us to the limit of the Kha Karpoforests. From the top of a hill, we saw Aben on the bank ofthe Lhakang-ra river. This place, where the Chinese used tokeep a small garrison, had become, we had been told, a Thi-betan frontier post. Our difficulty was now no more a ques-tion of wandering through solitary forests, but of crossing a 'populated village which, with its outlying cultivation and iso-lated farms, stretched for several miles.

Our old trick of tramping by night was no longer of anyuse here. No doubt dogs frequented the road and were likelyto be fierce at night, and in any case* noisy. One cannot expecta miracle to happen at every turn. Until then we had enjoyedsuch wonderful luck that prudence naturally prompted us tomake allowances for It and not count too much upon its protec-tion. To be caught roving at night would have got us intotrouble. Enquiries might follow and we feared nothing morethan these. Our best plan, wc thought, was to cross Abenbefore daybreak. By so doing we should get the benefit ofdarkness, and as Thibetan travellers are in the habit of startingat these early hours on their day^s march, anyone who mighthear us passing by or see us, would find in It nothing extra-ordinary.

We studied the aspect of the valley from the top of a woodyhill in order to be able to proceed quickly in the dark. Fear-ing to arrive too early in the vicinity of the village, weremained a long time seated there, with the result that, since theroad wound, in its descent, more than we had suspected, nightfell long before we had reached the bottom of the valley.

For the first time since we had left Londre, the weather wasreally unpleasant, a cold wind pierced our clothes, and low

31-

clouds foretold snow. We no longer knew the exact where-abouts of the village. Bushes conspired with the darkness tomislead us. Several times we sat on the. ground with our loadson our backs, overpowered by sleepiness. But we could notallow ourselves even the poor comfort of a nap. Before takingwhatever rest we might enjoy that night, we needed to ascertainthat we had reached the Lhakang-ra road and that, hurryingthrough the village a few hours later, we would have only towalk straight before us. Unfortunately, we failed to find theroad amongst the intersections of the bypaths. At length wefound ourselves near some houses and were compelled to stop.Snow began to fall. To spread our small tent over us like ablanket was out of the question. Once untied, we could nothave repacked our loads properly in the dark, and might haveleft behind us some compromising article. Nothing, therefore,remained for us but to sleep uncovered for a while, with ourpacks as pillows.

Long before daybreak we awoke and started. At a firstattempt wc luckily reached the centre of the village. Hearingvoices inside a house and being panic-stricken, we hurriedlyturned a corner, ran straight before us, and found ourselvesagain amongst the fields. In our haste we had mistakeri thedirection. The early light of dawn revealed the river and wesaw that we were going up instead of down the stream aswe should. We now had to abandon our carefully consideredscheme. We should have to go through Aben in daylight.Country folk were already to be seen going to their work.There was nowhere to hide ourselves, and the longer we.waited, the worse our chances would be.

People whose hearts are not strong and who cannot suffi-ciently master their nerves are wiser to avoid journeys of thiskind. Such things might easily bring on heart failure ormadness.

We retraced our steps, passed once more under the windowsof the house where we had heard the voices which had fright-ened us. People were still talking, the blinds were open, andI could see the flame of a fire. These blessed villagers would

32

drink hot tea, whereas our last meal had been taken early inthe morning of the previous day, and we did not feel sure thatwe should be able to stop to eat during the day which wasdawning.

All was well. We were on the right road! We went at agood pace and soon passed through the village. But all ourtroubles were not over, for another cluster of houses appearedon a hill overlooking the valley, which narrowed to the sizeof a gorge, giving passage to the river which entirely filledthe bottom of it. A small path had been cut high up on itsright bank, and this was our road. Looking up, I discoveredfrom the foot of its sandy cliff a kind of loggia that com-manded the view of the gorge from afar, and immediatelyjumped to the conclusion that sentries might well be postedthere to observe travellers.

Perhaps it was an old Chinese building. It might indeedhave been used by them as a watch tower, but most probablyit was now put to another use. I did not, one can well under-stand, remain there to ascertain the history of that paintedbalcony. It left me perfectly indifferent. I did not evendare to stop to drink at the rivulet which crossed the pathbelow, although I knew that I might not come across anymore water for some miles, I ran and ran, as if flying. Con-trary to my custom, which was to let Yongden march first, sothat passers-by could see his face, while I remained more orless hidden behind him and his load, I told him to follow mebecause the possible danger was now behind us. Thus, if wewalked close to each other, the watchmen from Aben, if therewere any, could discern only the familiar sight of a load sur-mounted by the red cap of a lama, under which hung a raggyshamtabs.^

Nevertheless, we endeavoured to reach the end of thatinterminable gorge as quickly as possible. The path, followingthe windings of the cliff, alternately hid us from the spur onwhich the upper part of Aben fort or monastery was situated,and brought us again within sight of it. We took advantage

^ The pleated large skirt worn by the lamas.

33

of this circumstance to rest a few minutes when we weresheltered. It seemed like a game, but a tiring, nerve-racking,meaningless game.

The walk without the preoccupations that spoiled it wouldhave been charming. In this country autumn has the youthfulcharm of spring. The sun enveloped the scenery in a rosylight that spread joy from the river of opalescent green, flowingswiftly in the depths of the gorge, to the top of the cliffs, onwhich a few hardy fir trees pointed to the sky. Each pebbleon the path seemed to enjoy the warmth of day, and chattedwith suppressed laughter under our feet. A lilliputian shrubthat grew on the side of the road perfumed the air with astrong aromatic scent.

It was one of those mornings when Nature bewitches uswith her deceitful magic, when one sinks deep into the bliss ofsensation and the joy of living.

It is but a short distance between Aben and Lhakang-ra.We did not want to be seen in the latter place and had againplanned to cross it at night. We had, therefore, plenty oftime—and as soon as we met a stream in a gorge that crossedour path, we halted to take a meal behind some big rocks alittle below. Many groups of pilgrims and several lonelytravellers passed near us without suspecting our presence.Strangely enough, now that we had crossed the Dokar Passand entered Thibet, the stream of devotees which appeared tohave been stopped during the first week of our journey beganto flow as usual in that season. We saw, from behind ourhiding-place, a most picturesque procession of men and womenfrom different parts of eastern and northern Thibet, all makinghaste to reach Lhakang-ra early and to find room in the primi-tive inns there. Still, a few stopped as we did, and began tocook bread. We had no wheat flour and hoped they mightbe willing to sell us a small quantity of their own. Yongdenwent to propose this to them, but they had only a very little,and wanted to keep it. A talk followed in which my com-panion tried to get as much’ information as possible about the

34

country. As the pilgrimage Is usually performed thricc, atIntervals of several years, some of the travellers we met wereable to supply us with very useful information.

My companion returned, and we drank a bowl of tea. Iwas washing my handkerchief in the stream when one of thetravellers came over to us and asked the lama to foretell the, result of some litigation he had at home. That was the firsttime during our journey that Yongden acted in the capacityof a “Red Cap” lama, an adept in the art of mo}

Years before, when we travelled in the northern country andI wore my beautiful lama robes,'it was I who was requested,to bless the people, blow on the sick to cure them, and prophesyabout countless things. I performed a few miracles, chance,the faith and the robust constitution of those who werebenefited making it difficult to abstain from working wonders,and I had some gratifying success as an oracle. That glorioustime was gone! Now I humbly washed our pot in the stream,while Yongden solemnly revealed to his attentive listeners thesecrets of the future concerning a disputed land many hundredmiles away.

We passed to the left bank of the Lhakang-ra river, andthe scenery changed entirely. The gorge had become verynarrow and wild. On both sides there were dark cliffs ofrock, which might in places have reached seven or eight hun-dred feet in height, leaving only a narrow ribbon of sky visibleoverhead. Yet the view was far from being gloomy or depress-ing. Perhaps the pictures painted and carved in large numberson the rocks modified the character of the place itself. Hun-dreds of Buddhas, Bodhisatvas, famous lamas of yore anddeities appeared there, all in the attitude of meditation, theireyes half closed in some inward gaze. That silent, motionless,saintly crowd had created in the dark 4,cfile a very peculiarmental atmosphere. Between the images were engraved large

^ The art of telling fortunes, predicting the future, revealing theunknown, disclosing the cause of illness and other misfortunes as well,as the remedy therefor, etc., etc., by means of various methods of divina-tion. As there is no general equivalent for the word in English, fittingall cases, I shall be obliged to leave it in Thibetan throughout this book.

35

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

portions of philosophical treatises^ as well as short mysticsentences or praises of the wisdom of Buddha. I remained fora long time reading here and there,- enjoying the serenityconveyed by these old Scriptures.

I was indeed privileged to experience in a single day theintoxication arising from the beauty of nature and the peacefuldelight of the mind brought to the threshold of the supremeDeliverance, and thrice blessed verily is the country that canoffer both these things to those who tread its ground.

A mendong ^ covered by a roof, which we saw at dusk,might have provided us with shelter for the. night, but wethought that we were still far from Lhakang-ra, and thereforecontinued our way. VVe crossed a bridge once more. Thegorge bent suddenly, and the large Salween spread its greenwaters in front of us. We were in Lhakang-ra.

Although it was nearly dark, we did not dare to turn back.We could have been seen, and it would have seemed strangethat pilgrims such as we were supposed to be avoided the vil-lage. The best way, as our plans were once more upset, wasto spend the night bravely somewhere in a corner like othertravellers.

We met several people who were camping near a fire,exchanged a few words with thj^m and decided to stay in asmall cave situated on ^he, road we were to follow the nextday. There we should be somewhat sheltered if snow fell,I gathered some twigs and dry cow dung on the road. I stolea few branches from the fences of the neighbouring fields, butarjopas must be cautious in their ways. Unless they halt inthe forest, they are taken for thieves if* they are seen burningbig logs. Thibetan farmers do not like people to pillage thefences that protect the cultivated land from the intrusion ofcattle, and in doing so one. risks serious thrashings.

As we were in a hamlet and night protected us, Yongdenthought that he might well take the opportunity to purchasefood. We had lived until then on the supply that we had

• . ¥

^ A low wall made of stones on which are engraved texts’ of the sacredScriptures, or mystic sentences.

carried when leaving the Mission House. Ten days had elapsedsince then, and our bags were nearly empty. I wrapped myselfin my thick dress according to the manner of the poor Thibet-ans, and made a pretence of sleeping to avoid useless talk if,by any chance, some one passed near me, while my companiqnwent toward the houses.

The first one he entered happened to be that of the lar.ia incharge of the Lhakang-ra shrine. He was welcomed on histwo-fold title of colleague and buyer, for the lama added tohis profits as a shrinekeeper those he derived from a sma’‘ shopwhere pilgrims could revictual and purchase sundry articles ofdevotion $uch as incense sticks, small flags bearing mysticdrawings or words, etc. . . . They both, by chance, belongedto the same religious sect and sub-sect. Moreover, the lamawas not a native of the .country, his birthplace being in farnorthern Kham, where Yongden had long lived with me, andwhose dialect he spoke rather well. That coincidence of cir-cumstances made them friends in no time, but the affair wasnot to end there.

Looking round the room, Yongden saw books on a shelf andasked his permission to have a look at them. This beinggranted, he read aloud a few lines of the first one he opened.

“How beautifully you read!” admired the lama. “Are youable to read any book in that way?”

“Indeed!” answered my companion.

Then, passing suddenly to another topic, the lama shop-keeper pressed Yongden to spend the night in his house, offeringto go himself to fetch and carry his luggage. Yongden refusedbut, as the lama insisted, he confessed that he was travellingwith his aged mother. This did not in the least cool the goodintentions of the kind host. There was room for the motheras well, and it was hard to convince him that, by this time, Iwas sleeping soundly and was best left alone.

Then the keugner (sacristan) being at a loss to manage thesuccess of the scheme he had in mind, without making itknown, was forced to disclose the fact that his hospitable feel-ings were not altogether disinterested.

37.

“Lama,” he said to Yongden, “some villagers have come herefrom the opposite side of the Giamo nu chu (Salween) andhave asked me to perform the rites for the dead pn behalf ofone of their relatives who passed away recently. They arewealthy people and would have gone to the lama of their owncountry monastery had he not been away in Lhasa. I havebeen chosen in his place, and it would be very profitable forme . . . but I am not well read and 1 am so afraid of makingmistakes in placing the ritual offerings and reciting the liturgyin the proper way. I see tlTat you are learned. Perhaps youknow these ceremonies ?”

“I do know them,” declared Yongden.

“Then I beg you to do me the service of staying here threedays. I shall feed you both and give you some provisions forthe road when you set out. The mother might recite mani [thewell-known Aum mani padme hum hri!\ at the door, and nodoubt the villagers will give her some tsampa”

Yongden declined the proposal on the ground that we be-longed to a party of pilgrims who were already ahead. Wecould not linger behind, but were, on the contrary, compelledto proceed quickly in order to join them and return together toour own country.

When my companion returned with a few provisions, he-toldme of his talk with the lama, and I rather regretted that thevicinity of the border commanded a hasty progress. I wouldhave enjoyed the fun of reciting mani “at the door.” However,the near future was to give me more opportunities to enjoy thatkind of fun than I could have ever dreamed of. 1 should findit hard to recount the number of times I have chanted mani,outdoors and indoors during my journey. I became rather ex-pert at it, and was complimented twice for the nice way I hadof chanting it. Perhaps, after all, Thibet helped me to discoverthe “jewel” which dwells in the heart of the “lotus.” ^

The cunning lama came in the early morning to talk againwith Yongden. In order to avoid being seen by him I wentdown and walked around the shrine for about an hour, putting* Mam fadme means a jewel'in a lotus.

38

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

into motion^ as I walked, each of the many reels which con-tain tightly rolled bands of the paper on which is printed athousand times the mystic sentence, *^Aum mani padme hunthnr

1 deemed that morning’s walk to be rather superfluous forone who would have to tramp a good number of miles duringthe day, but I found no better means of getting away, andeven so, I did not escape a talk with the lama, who stopped fora little chat with me on his way back home.

39

CHAPTER II

A LONG the majestic Glamo nu chu (Salween) the road goes/A alternately through deep gorges and broad, widening val-i^s. The scenery in either case remains at once majestic andenchanting.

Truly, fear is still there, crouched in a corner of my heart,ready to spring up. Oi^r stay at Lhakang-ra has been too long.Has the shrinekeeper begun to wonder who we are? I observethose who come behind me. Are we not followed, spied upon?That horseman yonder, riding in our direction, is he not asoldier sent to bring us back?

Eve, when she was banished from Eden, had explored all itspleasures, and except for these it could afford her no cause forregret. Even if Eve^s mind were of a similar cast to mine, shemight have found interest in the adventure which opened to herthe wide unknown world beyond the inclosure of Paradise.But I, her little great-granddaughter, although I had wanderedfor years in my fairyland, I was far from having exhaustedits interests. Had I been compelled to turn back now, Iwould never have known the new landscape hidden behind thewoody Kill that shut off my horizon, nor penetrated themystery beyond that other rosy-coloured one which stoodbehind it, nor climbed the pass which, still farther, traced amauve soft line on the sky between snow-white peaks. Fore-bodings still arose In my mind only to fade in their powerless-ness to disturb the joy of those wonderful hours.

A few days after leaving Lhakang-ra, a tragic meeting sad-dened us. Near the road, in front of the Giamo nu chu, whoseicy emerald water appeared in the bright sunlight like a glit-tering moving mirror, lay an old man, his head resting on aleather bag. When we approached, he gazed at us with vacanteyes, already dull, and with an effort he lifted himself a little40

on his elbow. I could see the poor fellow was near his end.Yongden asked him how he got there alone. The story wassimple. The old peasant had left his village with a group offriends to .travel round the Kha Karpo on a pilgrimage. Anillness, whose c^use he could not understand; had suddenlydeprived him of his strength. He was unable to walk and hadto fall behind. His companions had slackened their pace;they had even stopped for a whole day, and then they hadgone on their way. Such is the Thibetan custom, even in thedesert, where an abandoned sick man, if he cannot reach adokpas* encampment, will die of starvation when once hisprovisions are exhausted. Nor must one forget the wolves andthe bears who roam about.

“Shall I die?” the old man asked Yongden. “Lama, cast lotsto know.”

“No, you will not die,” answered the latter, after havingquickly performed the usual rites, in an attempt to cheer upthe forlorn traveller.

He meant well, but I thought that the glimmer of hope helighted would soon vanish if, the next morning, the man himselffelt still weaker, or if in the darkness of the next night, herealized the approach of death. Then in spite of the prompt-ings of prudence, it became impossible for me to continue mypart of the aged, feeble-minded, and beggarly mother. In afew words I reminded him of the simple beliefs of the religionhe had followed since his childhood, and promised him, notonly this life, but a happy rebirth in the abode of Chenrezigs ^which awaits those who die while on a pilgrimage, and, afterthousands of years spent there in rest and delights, other livesagain and again, till he reached the supreme enlightenmentthat liberates one from the bondage of life as well as of death.

He listened to me attentively and piously. He bent lowand touched the bottom of my dress with his forehead, asThibetans do to the Jamas whom they worship. Maybe he

^ The abode of Chenrezigs: Nub-dewa-chen, the western land of bliss,better known by its Sanskrit name, Sukhavati, by those acquainted withMahayanist Buddhism.

41;

I

believed that a khandoma ^ or a goddess had seen his distressand assumed the shape of a pilgrim to console him. Whatmattered, if the illusion enchanted his last hour?

“Can we help you in any way?’^ .1 asked him.

“No,” he answered, “I have food and money in my bag.I am well here, with the gods. Kale pheb/’ ^

‘'Kale ju/' ® we both answered, and we went on our way.

I felt that Nub-dewa^chen—^the land of bliss—shone nowbefore his eyes that began to see but dimly the things of thisworld. The dying man was carried away by the vision I hadevoked and had lost all desire for this life, for which, at first,he had begged my companion so anxiously.

We enjoyed a few days of relative tranquillity, loiteringleisurely along the beautiful valley. We were no longer in asolitary region, as we had been during our tramps in the KhaKarpo forests. Villages were rather close together, and deemingit still wise to avoid staying over night amongst Thibetans oreven being seen during the daytime by many people, wemanaged to pass these villages at daybreak or a little earlier.This mode of travelling compelled us to remain long in oiit-of-the-way and out-of-sight spots, waiting for the proper timeto venture to pass the houses.

There was nothing unpleasant in such lazy vagrancy amidstbeautiful scenery, favoured as we were with fine weather. Theonly drawback was that it made our progress dreadfully slow.Anyhow, we felt the benefit of these long rests in the jungleafter the painful strain to which our nerves had been sub-jected. But perfect peace was far from our present reach. Onemorning, when we were imprudently taking our meal in asmall cave near the road, a woman aroused the fear latent inour minds.

She was a well-dressed lady of rank, covered with jewels;

* A khandoma, one who walks through the sky—2i kind of fairy—^thcDakini of the Sanskrit text.

* “Go slowly”—polite farewell to those who go away.

* “Stay (or sit) slowly”—polite farewell to those who remain. I

42

three maid servants followed her. She stopped before us andasked from what country we bad come. At that time westyled ourselves Mongolian dokpas of the northern Koko-Nor ^solitudes. Yongden, therefore, answered: “We are peoplefrom beyond the Blue Lake [tso nonpo po parcho la]/* Shereplied: “Are you philings [foreigners]?” I made a pretenceof laughing at such an idea, and Yongden stood up to attractthe attention of the lady to himself, so that she might, byscanning his regular Mongolian features, be convinced that hehad nothing of a Westerner about him. “She is my mother,”he declared, pointing to me. Then, after a few other questions,the woman went on her way.

A little later her husband passed us, riding a superb horsewith a silver-and-gold-inlaid saddle. A dozen attendants fol-lowed, leading the horses of the lady and her maids.

The gentleman did not honour us with even a single glance.Yongden learned from a servant that they all came from aplace situated beyond Menkong, and that circumstance addedsome strength to my resolution to avoid that small town, capi-tal of the Tsarong province and seat of a governor.

The question asked by the woman had made us most un-happy. So, in spite of the trouble I had taken to powdermyself with cocoa and charcoal, in spite of my pretty yak-hairhair-dressing, I did not look Thibetan enough in that Khamcountry where most women have a dark complexion! Whatmore was to be done? It might be also that rumours hadbeen spread about us, after our passage at Lhakang-ra. Wedid not know what to believe.

The jungle had ceased to be charming. I again began tosee a spy behind every bush, and the water of the Salweenmuttered threatening or mocking words.

Then we bethought us that perchance we were alone respon-sible for the question that the Thibetan lady had asked us.We could not guess the extent of her geographical knowledge.

^ The lake which appears on the maps under its Mongolian name, Koko-Nor—^he Blue Lake—in Thibetan, Tso Nonpo. It is an immense saltlake in the Desert of Grass near the country of Amdo.

43

Perhaps she was learned enough to have thought of the AsiaticRussians when Yongden had mentioned ‘‘beyond the BlueLake.” But more likely she had confused tso (lake with gyatso (ocean) and had understood that we had come from theother side of the “blue ocean,” which was tantamount to sayingthat we were not Asiatics. That idea reassured us, but westruck out forever from our travelling vocabulary the wordsparcho la,** and transported our mother-country a gooddeal southward. We became natives of Amdo!

We were nearing the end of the last gorge before the widebroadening of the valley at the point where our path desertedthe Giamo nu chu and turned toward the passes that led tothe river Nu. Yongden walked ahead. He had already turnedthe corner of a rocky headland and was out of my sight, whena well-dressed man coming toward me appeared at the pointof the small promontory. The path was exceedingly narrowand when two people met there one of them had to stand asideagainst the rock to allow the other to pass.

With a humility suitable to my part of an Oriental womanand beggar, I had already begun to make room for thetraveller, but he stopped suddenly, quickly removing the ^nhe carried over his shoulder and the sword that was passedthrough his belt, according to the Thibetan fashion.^ He firstsilently bowed down three times, then, with clasped hands andhead bent, as when asking the benediction of a lama, he ap-proached me.

Astonishment paralyzed thought. I mechanically obeyedan old habit acquired when I lived in lamaist monasteries,and laid my hands on the man^s head. Before I had suf-ficiently recovered from my surprise to think of asking himwho he was, he had again put on his gun and sword and wasgone. I turned to look at him; he strode rapidly along thegorge, and after a few minutes was but a small moving blackspeck In the gigantic corridor.

^ Thibetans do not enter monasteries or salute lamas with arms on them.

44

'‘Did you see that man?” I enquired of Yongden as soonas I rejoined him.

“Yes,” he said.

“Did he speak to you ?”

“No. He only greeted me with the usual ^OgyaylogyayT ” ^

“Do you know him?”

“Not in the least.”

I related to my companion what had just happened, and heconcluded that the man had seen that I was a naljorma.

As for me I suspected that the stranger had formerly metus both somewhere. He had recognized Yongden and hadguessed the identity of the lay woman who followed him cladin plain white clothes. I was very sorry to have let him gowithout speaking with him. And now, although he had shownme respect by asking my blessing and, therefore, could haveno bad intentions toward me, he might tell some one about hismeeting and, as he was proceeding in the direction of Aben,such talks might prove dangerous.

But Yongden persisted in saying that he had never seen theman before, that he did not know us in the least, and that hehad been prompted by some occult influences. Then he beganto tell me several Thibetan stories about similar instances, andsoon landed me in the phantasmagoric yet fascinating realmof thought-forms, previous lives, and many other kindredtopics. But my modest wishes were confined to the desirethat, whatever might have been the motive which he hadobeyed, my safety might not be endangered by my unknownworshipper.

We were now approaching Thana, where we had been toldthat there existed a frontier station. Trusting the maps andsome travel books that I had read, I believed that the pilgrims’road turned east toward a twin pass of the Dokar-la, leadingto the Chinese territory on the watershed of the river Mekong.In reality the path to Menkong, the capital of Tsarong, is

' “You are taking trouble.” A common polite expression that travellersexchange on the road, especially in eastern Thibet.

45

the only one.to branch oflF at that place along the Giamo nu chu.The one which we were to follow northward forks only atWabo, I did not know these details and was most preoccupiedwith the invention of a new story concerning the aim of. ourjourney, as we should be leaving behind the sacred mountainwhich had until then supplied us with the plausible and re-spectable motive of performing a religious pilgrimage, I feltalmost convinced that, if we kept to the circuitous road, nobodywould take any notice of us, for was not that station at Thanaprobably established precisely in order to observe those wholeft it to set out for Thibet? I already had visions of barriers,of officials before whom travellers were led to be interrogated.What would that Thana village be like? I was puzzled andanxious.

As we were walking toward our fate—good or bad we couldnot know—we saw a few snowy peaks and a great part of theKha Karpo itself, shining marvellously white, which, it pleasedme to imagine, bid us a cordial farewell. At that time of yearonly dry, thorny shrubs were to be seen in the wide valley.The hills were barren and of a light-yellow colour. On theopposite bank of the river, which flows between high banks, wesaw a monastery.

We managed to reach Thaiia at night. We arranged it eventoo well that time, it seems, for we were not able to findour way in the dark and arrived near a temple where therewere a number of watch-dogs, who barked dreadfully at ourapproach. Happily, they were well shut in and could not es-cape to attack us; but I feared that people would look out to seewho were causing the noise and make certain that they were notthieves. Furthermore, the passage of mysterious strangers in thenight held the danger of enquiries about us and the risk of beingreported at the station. To avoid this, Yongden called aloud tothe shrinekeeper, asking shelter for the night for a tired arjopawho had hardly been able to struggle through the last lapof his journey on account of a bad leg. »My companion’srequest was full of pathos and loud enough to be beard allover the temple buildings. During his performance I had

hidden myself out of sight. We were practically convincedthat the shrinckeeper would not get up to receive a beggar atnight. We knew our Thibet and Thibetans well enough torisk the trick, being certain of its result. When he had waitedlong enough, Yongden went away, lamenting aloud: **Oh,how unkind to leave a poor sick pilgrim out in the cold! Howpitiless!” and so on. His plaintive voice faded gradually away,as at the opera in songs of supposed passers-by behind thescenes. It was rather a pretty effect amidst natural sceneryof standing rocks, along a path that led downward to a stream.I nearly applauded.

We had passed the shrine all right. Whoever might havebeen staying in it would not, on the morrow, give a singlethought to the crying beggar of the previous night. But wherewas the village? In the pitch dark we could not see it and,had we caught sight of houses, we should not have dared toventure in their direction, lest we fall in with dogs of thesame species as those who watched over the temple.

Yongden insisted on lying down on the road itself. 1 pre-ferred to go farther from the temple and find a more comfort-able place. Discerning, in the shallow water, some stepping-stones which crossed the stream, I went scouting on the otherside, where I discovered two caves. We had a house for therest of the night! What a blessing! We should sleep as ifreally at home. I ran to fetch my companion, and we installedourselves in one of the caves, where we ate our supper withthe clear, fresh water of the stream as beverage (cool, perhaps,even too cool), and slept the sound sleep of the tired yet happyThibetan neskorpas (pilgrims).

In the morning, when putting on my upper dress, which Iused at night as a blanket, I discovered that I had lost mysmall compass. This was a most distressing event! First,the compass was useful to me, and, although I had another, Ishould miss it. But the worst danger was In leaving a foreignobject behind us. If it was found, that compass might betalked about all over the country and officials would quicklyrealize that a foreigner had been staying in that locality. I

47

spent some really unpleasant minutes searching in the 'darkfor the lost article, which, fortunately, I found before long.

Anyhow, we had lost some extren^ely precious time. Atdaybreak a servant of the shrine came to fetch water at thestream, and we started in haste. We could now see the villagequite near the place where we had slept. The country folkwere already awake and busy with their early work, recit-ing, as they moved to and fro, those various mystic formulaewhich, in lamaist lands, take the place which prayers occupyin other countries. Kindling the fire, giving fodder to thecattle, leading horses to drink at the stream, they went onwith their muttering. A humming, like that from a hundredbeehives, enveloped the village.

People looked at us from the top of their windows or fromtheir flat roofs. We went along with our heads bent, humminglike everybody else. Yongden enquired about the road froma man near the stream. A few minutes later we were out inthe fields.

Some peasants, carrying ploughs, followed us on the wayto their work; others were already occupied in distributingwater in the Irrigation canals. Although it was November,the temperature was mild. A winter crop grows in thesp val-leys, so different in every respect from the bleak and icytrans-Himalayan Thibet. Here is a country where life ispleasant and easy, and nothing would interfere with the jovi-ality of Its inhabitants, if the taxes levied by the authoritiesdid not increase every year.

We chatted with several people on our way till we reachedthe forest. Going through it, we ascended a pass calledTondo-la, the height of which is approximately 11,200 feet.Here, for the first time since leaving Yunnan, we pitched ourtent. We had climbed down from the pass without findingany water on the road. At last I discovered a small spring ina narrow ravine and decided to stop there. It was extremelydamp; I feared that we would both get sore eyes if we sleptunsheltered, and thought that the tent might also afford U8protection against wild animals who might carry off a part of

48

our food supply during the night. However, we pitched itonly long after nightfall and took it down before daybreak.

In the morning, we saw for the first time the river Nu, whichflowed swiftly in a deep* gorge to join the Giamo nu chu. Wecrossed it on a good bridge. At that time a large party ofpilgrims overtook us and begged my companion to tell theirfortunes. It is regarded as an unpardonable sin for a lama torefuse such a request. ^‘Red Hat” sect lamas, in particular,who are credited with a profound knowledge of occult lore,can only with difficulty avoid acting as fortune-tellers, astrol-ogers, exorcists, and the like. My companion endeavoured tocombine each of his consultations with some simple words aboutthe true Buddhist doctrine which might lead his hearers awayfrom their deep-rooted superstition. He also added, accordingto circumstances, some advice about cleanliness—as far ashygiene can be understood by Thibetans.

On this occasion I had to remain for more than half an hourseated beneath a scorching sun which struck the yellowishbarren cliff behind me. Yongden could not get rid of the exact-ing devotees. One consulted him about the way his cattlewere prospering during his absence; another, desirous of add-ing a few carved stones in remembrance of his pilgrimage tothe mendong which stood in his village, wished to know whatwould be the most meritorious and lucky sentence to inscribeon them. An overtired girl suffered from sore feet and*fearedto be left behind. She anxiously wanted to know if she wouldbe able to walk in a few days’ time, and her mother insistedupon knowing the name of the demon who had caused theswelling of the girl’s feet and had stiffened her legs! That itcould be the natural effect of long tramps neither she nor herdaughter nor their companions would ever have admitted.

Faithful to a method which, for some years, had allowed usto relieve and cure many suffering Thibetans, Yongden, withimpressive gravity, counted the beads of his rosary, threw somepebbles in the air, caught them again in his hand before theytouched the ground, and performed a few; other ceremonies

49

accompanied by an unintelligible muttering in broken Sanskrit.My adopted son is really gifted, for such ritualistic work and,had he continued his life in a lamasery, he might have be-come quite famous as an oracle or exOrcist. But he had pre-ferred an orthodox form of Buddhism which prohibits allsuperstitions.

“I see,” he said, after some time, “there Is a way to get ridof that demon, who is of a wicked kind. Listen well, all ofyou, so as to remember what I am about to tell you.” Thepilgrims immediately surrounded the lama, some squatting athis feet, some standing motionless with their backs againstthe cliff, straining their minds In a mighty effort to understandwhat the nonshes ^ would order—a picturesque group, of whichI felt sorry not to be able to take a snapshot.

“You will find a chorten on your way,” declared Yongden—a prophecy that could not but be fulfilled, for chorten arenumerous in Thibet. “You will stop at that place, and thesick girl will lie down next the chorten for three days, well shel-tered, so that the sun’s rays do not touch her head. Thriceeach day, at sunrise, noon, and sunset, you will all assembleand chant Dolma? Those who do not know Dolma, will reciteManx. The girl will go round the chorten three times whileyou are chanting, and, save for that short walk, she shall notmove during the three days. After having walked round thechorten, the girl shall be each time well fed. Her feet and legsshall then be massaged in hot water, wherein you will put apinch of the holy sand of the most sacred Samye monastery,which I will give you. After this has been done, the earththat has been wetted by the water shall be removed, thrownfar away in a hole, and carefully covered with stones or earth,for the power of the demon will be washed away with thatholy water and fall on the ground next the chorten. Shouldthe demon fail to depart, this will show that you have made

^Sonshes: a seer, a clairvoyant j literally, one who knows beforehand,who foresees.

"Praises of the Universal Mother. A mystic figure of the Tantrikpantheon, called in Sanskrit Tara^

SO

some mistake In performing the rite and you must do it againat the second chorten you see on your way.

^“Now, listen again. None of you must leave his compan-ions until you have all reached your country together, for Isee that the demon would immediately follow those w^o partfrom the girl, since he was not allowed to have his way withher, and would torment them in her stead. I will teach hermother a zung^ and it will be a protection for her daughterand all of you, as long as you remain together.

The poor fellows felt as if in Heaven. The lama had spokenlong, and what he had said they could neither well under-stand nor remember, which meant that he was exceedinglylearned. Then Yongden commanded them to go on their way,and kept only the old mother, to impart to her the secret spell.

*‘Bhhah!” he thundered in her ear with terrific eyes.

' Trembling, yet overjoyed at the thought that she had nownothing to fear from the evil spirits, the old woman boweddown with the utmost gratitude and went up the path, tryingsotto voce to imitate the intonation of her initiator.

“Bhhah! . . . bhhah! bhaaa!” she muttered, and soon aturned into ea, into e, and finally seemed to stabilize itself ina sort of bleating: “Beaaa! beaaa!” I pretended to tie mygarters, which had become loose, so as to remain behind andlaugh at leisure, my head hidden in my large thick sleeves.

“What does it matter?” said Yongden, smiling. “The girl-will get three days’ rest, a little massage, and good food, andas the mother has the precious zung and will not leave herdaughter, the other people ■mil not abandon her, either. Thatis good honest work, and, moreover, I learned such tricks fromyou.”

I could not reply. He was rights and I, too, thought thatwe had done a kind service to the afflicted and suffering maid.

When we reached the top of the cliff, we saw fields in alldirections and a village before us, which we subsequentlylearned was called Ke. Most of the neskorpas had alreadyreached it, and some were running back toward us.

* Zung, in Sanskrit DMrani, a spell.

SI

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

“Oh, Lama!” they said, “what a learned nonshes chen youare! You told us rightly that we would quickly see a chorten.There it is, and the girl is already lying down. Please accepttea from us.”

A chorten was indeed there, and also a small monasterywhose few inmates, before long, heard about their wonderfulcolleague. The pilgrims, who were not beggars, but villagersof some means, had already bought several pots of spirit anddrunk them, and they were now telling about strange miraclesperformed by my innocent companion. Each had contem-plated a greater wonder than his friends. One asserted that,when crossing the river Nu, he had clearly perceived that thelama had not walked on the bridge, but alongside it, in midair!

Although he had not drunk any spirit, being a strict teeto-taler, Yongden felt somewhat infected by their excitement.He told stories of far-off countries where he had been on pil-grimages—^Riwo tse nga, the Chinese Hill of Five Peaks, nearthe great Pekin—^the seat of the God of Wisdom, the Chang-chub semspa Jampeion^ and the most sacred mountain ofKuntu Zungpo? where pure-minded pilgrims may see Sang-yais ® himself in a round jalus^

I began to think that the fun was going too far. The wholevillage and the local trapas ^ had congregated round hiih, andhe went oil making telling fortunes and the like. Peoplebrought presents, which he graciously accepted. I did not likesuch a compromising fame, but perhaps I was wrong, for whocould have supposed that the mother of such a brilliant sor-cerer was a foreign lady?

I managed, nevertheless, to attract the attention of my son,and with perhaps somewhat stern fervour I ejaculated, Karma

^Better known by Orientalists under his Sanskrit name, BodhiiatvaManjushri.

* Samantabhadra, the all-good one.

* Buddha.

* Rainbow.

” Trafas: the real name of the lamaist monks, lama being the titleof the ecclesiastic dignitaries, or incarnations of dead lamas. However,out of politeness, the title *‘Lama” is given to all members of the clergywhen addressing them.

52

Camp in Thibft

Thf Chortkn Nyima Pass(2o,ooo-FooT Level)Blocked by the Snows

A “Latza’

pa kien no!” which is a pious expression used by the followersof the Kargyud-Kanha to call on their spiritual father, thehead of the sect, but which in practice is now often no morethan a mere exclamation. In ^e secret code which, as in aprevious journey,-1 had devised, these holy words mean simply“Let us be off quickly!”

Perhaps a tri^e vexed at ^ving up his triumph, Yongdendeclared that he would now ask leave to go on his way. Peo-ple exclaim-ed that it was not possible, for the next ^dllage wasfar, we could not reach it before night, and not a drop of waterwas to be found on the way. Better, they added, it was tospend the night amongst them; they would give us a goodroom. My companion felt tempted—I understood it—but tothe shy imploring glance he cast in my direction I replied witha still more fervid “Karma pa kien no” which moved some ofthe people around me, who repeated devoutly, “Karma pakien no. . . . Karma pa kien no., .

Thus we went, and happy I felt to find myself again insilence and solitude. I scolded Yongden for the way in whichhe made himself conspicuous and told him a lot of thingswhich made him sulky.

We climbed a pass which was about 7,500 feet high, andfrom there descended a dusty path cut into a range of whitehills that reminded me of Kansu in northern China. Ofwater, truly, there was none, and the prospect of getting'nothing to drink, either that evening or the next morning, addedto the bad humour of the lama. The new moon, lighted ourway, and if we had not been tired we could easily have walkeda part of the night. But at the Vght of a small cave perchedhigh above the road the desire to sleep overpowered us dndwe yielded to it all the more easily, since wenad left behindtwo passes and' a river, the dreaded Thana, and feared nothingfrom the next village. How wrong we were 1

Picturesque indeed was our hostelry, with a small platform -in front, but roc^ and terradb wqre both so diminutive in sizethat #e were,fearful of rolling Out of them in our sleep andbreaking ouc neckft t>n the rocks below.

w

The morrow wap to be the first of a series of eventful days,well qualified to prostrate with nervous breakdown one lessstrong than myself.

We arrived at the village, which is called Wabo, in the mid-dle of the morning, hungry and more especially thirsty. Thiswas quite natural, as we had taken no refreshment whatsoever«ince our midday stay with the pilgrims near the chorten.

We had laughed so much at the demons the day before, thatmaybe a little one amongst them wished to play us a trick andsuggested to us the idea (which we ought never to have con-ceived of) of stopping to make tea near a place where waterhad been brought through a rustic wooden aqueduct for thevillagers.

A little snow had fallen during the night. I collected whattwigs and dry cow dung I could find around the spot, whileYongden began to light the fire. The water was very long inboiling, my companion very slow in eating and drinking, and,as a result, a number of villagers—^first two or three, then adozen, and finally perhaps twice that number—^gathered roundus. A good woman, seeing how little wood I was able to pickup on the road, brought me some from her house. All wouldhave gone smoothly had Yongden only spoken the tenth partof the “winged words” by means of which, like the diyiheUlysses, he had delighted and bewitched the natives of Ke onthe previous day. But an image could not have been moresilent than the orator of yesterday. He did not utter a wordor make a gesture. He only ate and drank and drank and atealternately and endlessly. People looked at us with deepastonishment. Thibetans are a talkative lot, and Yongden’sattitude upset all their notions concerning arjopas.

“Who are these people?” asked a woman, dou’btless in thehope that we would answer the question. But the lama pre-served the same stern silence.

What a pity! In my carefully devised secret code of for-mute for all emergencies I had not provided for the order,“Talk!” And now I was powerless, drinking my tea humblybehind the lama, who was seated on an old sack I had spread

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for him. I thought it prudent to accentuate my respect andto serve Yongden in all ways to avoid any suspicion about mypersonality. Alas! that, too, nearly turned to my loss.

I ha4 taken away’ the empty kettle, at present used as ateapot, and proceeded to wash it, but the contact of the waterwith my hands had the natural result of cleaning them, andwith that beginning of cleanliness appeared the whiteness ofmy skin. I had not noticed this, so distressed was I by thestrange danger-fraught behaviour of Yongden, when a woman,in a low voice, said to another near her:

“Her hands are like those of philings!’* ‘

Had she ever seen foreigners? That was doubtful, unlessshe had been at Bhatang, or elsewhere in Chinese Thibet, oragain in Gyantze, in the extreme south of the country. Butevery Thibetan is imbued with a strong conviction about thecast of the foreigner’s features. He or she is tall, fair-haired,with white skin, rosy cheeks, and white eyes, which may beunderstood to be the colour of any iris that is not black ordark brown. *‘Mig kar“ (white eyes) is a common epithetof abuse for foreigners, all over Thibet. Nothing looks morehorrid, according to Thibetan taste, than blue or gray eyes,and what they call gray hair, which is to say fair hair.

So the colour of my skin betrayed miy nationality. I didnot show in any way that 1 had heard the remark, and quicklyrubbed my hands on the bottom of the greasy, smokedi-kitchenutensil.

Amongst the villagers there were now three soldiers. GoodHeavens 1 There was a “post” in that village, and very likelythere was none in Thana, which we had passed with such pre-cautions, What would become of us! I beard a rumourspreading, “Are they phUings?” And that petrified lama stillcontinued to masticate some tsampo! I did not dare even topronounce the “Karma pa kieno** translated by “Let us bequickly off,” lest my voice, in that awkward silence, shouldattract more attention to me.

At last Yongden rose and a ^llager ventured to ask himwhere he was going. What a‘terror! It was here, before all

these prying eyes, that we were to leave the pilgrims^ road,since we were exactly at the junction of the road entering theNu chu Valley and of the one going to China bjr way of theK^ha Karpo range. That is, we had to Confess openly that weintended to proceed toward the centre of Thibet!

Yongden calmly told them that we had made the pilgrim-age, circumambulating the Kha Karpo, that it was now over,and that we were going back to our own country.

'He did not add anything more. He put his load on hisback. I imitated him, and we started off among the people,on the very road they all take when going to Lhasa.

And then the miracle happened—the little mischievous spiritwho had enjoyed himself at our expense gave up the joke andbegan another one to our advantage.

The strain that was felt by everyone relaxed. L heard somemen saying, jestingly:

^^Philings going on a pilgrimage!”

This idea seemed extremely funny, and they all laughed.

‘They are Sokpos [Mongolians],” said another, seriously,and this was what the whole village believed when, still silent,and walking as if in dream, we left the Kha Karpo pilgrims^read, and set out upon the greater pilgrimage to Lhasa.

We climbed toward a pass known as the Tong la. Trav-elling in Thibet is a continual going up and down; a singleday^s march leads one through considerable differences of level.This peculiarity adds greatly to the fatigue of the pedestrian,especially when he carries—as we did—a load on his back.But it also greatly enhances the charm of walking because ofthe great diversity of scenery which one sees each day.

After having crossed the ridge, we found a good straight paththrough the forest which led to a valley in which, to my greatastonishment, I saw a river flowing toward China. At thattime I had not yet read the accounts of the few explorers who,years ago, had trodden that same path when this part ofThibet had not yet been taken away from its old rulers andwhen—as I have already mentioned—foreigners were allowedto visit it.'

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Like me, they had all been puzzled by the mysterious riverwhich seems to run toward the Mekong, whereas it is knownthat a gigantic range, crowned with everlasting snow, separatesits watershed from that of the Salween. But as my^ informa-tion told me of but a single river, namely the Nu chu, whichI was to follow upstream, I concluded that it took a bend roundthe range I had just crossed. A man whom I met down inthe valley confirmed the fact: the river I had crossed two daysbefore, which was then flowing toward the Salween, was thevery same that I now saw before me.

The man explained to us that we should cross a bridgenearby and proceed upward to the monastery of Pedo, wherewe could purchase food. He also told us that the road follow-ing the stream led to Atunze (in Chinese territory) across sev-eral passes.

The country looked pretty. It was well cultivated and theupper part of the hills was woody and green, although itwas winter.

A little farther from the bridge, a rounded spur divided tlievalley into two parts; the river flowed to the right, and a wideslope on which several villages were perched occupied theleft. Behind the villages was a path leading to the mountains.For a little while, I felt tempted to take that road, thinkingthat it was a short cut to the Salween side. But reflectionconvinced me that I was still too near Chinese territory toattract attention by following a route of my own. Prudencedemanded that I should continue for a time along the pathtrodden by arjopas^ where we would pass unnoticed. Explora-tion, and its joys, would come later.

The sun set after we had crossed, the bridge. I meant topass the monastery at night, and to hide myself early in themorning at some distance from it, leaving to Yongden the taskof going alone to purchase some food.

I would gladly have camped near the river where therewas a charming natural grove \rith rivulets of clear water.But the lamasery was still far away, and it was better for thesuccess of my scheme to stop only, when we were close to it.

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For the first time we made use of one of the rubber bottleswe had carried with us, which were ordinary hot-water bottles.When I decided to add two of them to our extremely reducedluggage, I thought that they might help travellers devoid ofblankets, as we were, to bear the cold of the winter nightsin high altitudes. They could also be used to carry wateracross the dry regions. Yet, on account of their foreign aspectwe dared not fill them before Thibetans, and for that reasonwe suffered thirst more than once when we could have easilycarried with us enough water to make our tea.

We had, however, disguised our bottles in a style akin tothat of their owners. Covered with a case of thick nambu^plain red for one, and red and yellow for the other, they hadbecome shabluks—that is to say, water pouches worn by lamasof yore, whose sham patterns continue to form part of theecclesiastic garb of present-day lamaist monks. Though clothedin that fashion, there was considerable difference between ourbottles, which came directly from a big American firm, andthe purely conventional and useless simulacra that hang on thelama’s shamthabs. However, as we did not mean to exhibitthem freely, from a distance they could create a sufficientillusion.

Moreover, any article of our outfit which attracted the atten-tion of the natives was immediately represented to them as hav-ing been purchased at Lhasa, and this gave us an opportunityof relating* the wonders of the great city where so many foreigngoods are offered for sale. People listened to Yongden, or tomyself, if the audience happened to be mostly women. Wecleverly spoke of other objects much more wonderful, thateasily made them forget those found in our bags, and thesewere prudently hidden again.

Before the beginning of our journey I had settled with thelama that in any story we might invent, according to circum-stances, we should never appear as people coming from outsideThibet, but that, on the contrary, those whom we should meetshould be made to believe that we had travelled from Lhasa^ Thick Thibetan woolen cloth-

to the border, and were now on our way home. This gave usa certificate of Thibetan nationality and did away with thecuriosity and the suspicion which fastens upon newcomers inthe coyntry. This ■was much safer in every way and allowedus also to speak as having bought at Lhasa the few foreignarticles we carried with us.

We filled one of our bottles at the stream and left the prettygrove behind. The gompa (monastery) was situated a gooddistance from the bridge and night came before we had evendiscovered it. We followed a path cut in a woody slope abovethe river Nu. As it curved, we saw several fires burning higherup, which reminded us of those which had frightened usthe second night after our departure. Most likely travellerscamped there whom we should meet if we proceeded, whichprospect displeased us greatly. Yet to wait until they hadstarted next morning would have upset our scheme and forcedus to pass the gompa in the middle of the morning, which wedisliked even more. An official was established there, we hadbeen told, and in any case 1 did not wish in the least to meetthe “trapas” of the place. The monks were much more to befeared by us than ordinary villagers, for whereas the latterseldom leave their homes and know but little of the worldbeyond them, the enterprising clerical fellows travel all overThibet in China, India, Mongolia, and even in far-awaySiberia. They see a lot of things and a lot of men, phUingsincluded, and are as a rule much'more alert than their laycountrymen. We walked again for a while and reached theborder of the woods. The ground had been cleared for culti-vation, and our path, which had become very narrow, keptskirting the fences that enclosed the fields. On our left side,its edge ended abruptly above the river bank. The fires badceased to flare and were luckily far from the road. We pro-ceeded quickly and in the utmost silence. The new moon hadset.. We vaguely discerned some black form which might havebeen the walls of the monastery, and deemed it wise to waituntil dawn, lest we should mistake our way hear the lamasery,

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where several village paths probably crossed one another, andwhere dogs would bark if we wandered about.

A cold wind swept the cliff, no shelter was at hand. The bestplace we discovered was next a stone which screened us a little.I had carried the rubber bottle under my dress to prevent thewater from freezing on the way; still, it was far from beingeven tepid when we drank a draught of it with a handful ofdry tsampa for our supper. Then I lay down on the ground,keeping in my arm, as well covered as a child, the bottle con-taining the remainder of the water to drink when we shouldawake. Small heads of rocks piercing through the earth madea really painful couch, even for me, who from youth upwardshad been accustomed to the bare boards affected by the Greekstoics.

When we got up, at the first rays of dawn, we saw the mon-astery standing a few steps before us and not at all in thedirection we had thought it to be when arriving at night.

We passed along the walls and made haste to be out ofsight. A well-dressed native chief passed us on horseback,coming from the road that leads toward Bhatang. He threwus an indifferent glance without stopping.

We could now see that there was no suitable place near thegompa where I could wait safely while Yongden made his pur-chases. Our way descended a narrow valley in which floweda small tributary of the river Nu. Several farms and millshad been built on its banks. We met also an important traders’caravan coming from Lhasa. People were to be seen every-where. I thought for A while that I could stay higher up inthe woods, but already a girl was driving cattle in that direc-tion. We continued to walk, exceedingly annoyed at movingaway from the gompa, for we urgently needed fresh suppliesof food. Healthy pedestrians like us have good appetites, and,at the risk of appearing a character devoid of all poetry, Iconfess that I ate a large quantity of barley-meal butter, andbread, when fortunate enough to get wheat-fldur to make it.And in that respect the lama was very like lus adopted mother.

After crossing the small v^ley, I discovered some large

6o

fields which were not to be cultivated before spring. I re-maiaed here a few hours, seated behind bushes, reading a Thi-betan philosophical treatise, until Yongden, who had gone backto the gompa, returned, loaded like a mule. We then enjoyedan exceptional meal—a broth thickened with wheat-flour.Filling our breast pockets with dried apricots, we started offcheerfully. In the afternoon we again entered a wild region.We met some pilgrims walking leisurely, who belonged to alarge party, numbering at least fifty people, whose vanguardwe found farther along, already camped, boiling tea in cauldronsthe size of tubs.

Yongden was delayed a long time. Some asked him to telltheir fortunes, others to foresee happenings of Importance forthem or their families. Many came forward to be blessed.

Seated on the ground, I watched with amusement the variousperformances In which lama and believers played their partswith the utmost gravity, tinged, however, by that special goodhumour and overflowing gaiety which makes life among Thi-betans so pleasant.

I delightedly forgot Western lands, that I belonged to them,and that they would probably take me again in the clutches oftheir sorrowful civilization.

I felt myself a simple dokpa of the Koko nor. I chattedwith the 'v^omen about my imaginary black tent in the Desertof Grass, my cattle, and the feast days when the menfolkrace on horseback and show their cleverness as marksmen.I knew by heart the region I described, for I had lived therelong, and my enthusiasm for my so-styled mother countrywas so genuinely sincere that no one could have guessed mylie. . . . After all, was it entirely a lie? I am one of theGenghis Khan race who, by mistake and perhaps for her sins,was born in the Occident. So I was once told by a lama. '

At sunset we again found the dark forest with huge trees.The traok was good, and as we had wasted so much time withthe pilgrims, we wished to continue walking as long as possible.

Going down toward a ravine in which flowed ,a small stream,I noticed something lying on the ground, and on nearing it

6i

saw that the object was an old fur-lined bonnet, such as isworn by the women of Kham. Yongden lifted it with the ironend of his pilgrim's staff and threw it off the road. The bonnetdid not go far, nor did it fall on the ground. It flew ratherlike a bird, and alighted, if I may use that word, on the brokentrunk of an enormous tree.

A strange intuition warned me that the ugly-looking, dirtyarticle was to be of great use to me—^that, indeed, it had beensent to me—and in obedience to this occult suggestion I wentdown the track to fetch it.

Yongden did not like to carry it. Thibetans, when on ajourney, never pick up even their own hats if they happento fall from their heads to the ground, and would think stillless of taking anyone else’s they found on the road. Theythink that it would bring them bad luck. On the contrary, tofind a boot on the road is a good omen and often travellerslift it, worn out and dirty as it may be, and place it for onesecond on their heads! My companion was free from suchsuperstitions, but the greasy fur disgusted him and he could seenothing wonderful in such a find. A pilgrim, he said, hadput it on the top of the load he carried on his back, and thebonnet had fallen off without its owner being aware of it.Either that, or the pilgrim, on account of the prevalent super-stition, had preferred to abandon it.

“I do not go so far,” I replied, *‘as to believe that some milli-ner goddess has sewn it for me seated on a lotus in Paradise.No doubt, a mere human being has lost it, but why has he orshe lost it just there?”

‘Well,” rejoined my young companion, jokingly, “let usthink, then, that an invisible friend of yours has pulled it offin order that it may fall on your way to^ay. A most preciousgift, indeed.”

I said nothing more, but I carefully fastened the bonnet onmy load and we proceeded.

It had snowed in the forest some days before; white patchesremained everywhere. Tired, we stopped at the entrance of atransversal valley from which descended a large torrent flow-

62

ing toward the river Nu. After a search, Yongden discov-ered a camping-ground out of sight of the road. But the coldwind swept that leafless spot. We therefore found a secondplace, lower down and near the track.

Until now our tent had been of little use to us as a tent.Since our departure, we had pitched it only once. But it wasprecious as a blanket. We used to lie down, in Thibetanfashion, with our luggage between us, so that nothing couldbe taken without awakening us. We both had our revolversat hand. - Our inner belts, containing silver and gold, wereoften hidden near us between stones or buried under dryleaves, or, if the country seemed safe, we placed them nextus. The tent was then spread over the luggage and ourselvesas well. When snow had fallen, that white tent spread on theground, with a few dry leaves and twigs strewn on it, lookedabsolutely like a patch of snow amongst other patches, and wefelt quite safe under it.

So we slept that night under our favourite imitation of ‘^patchof snow” laid near the road. We were really over-confideiftabout the illusion that we created. The trick was no doubtexcellent; still, it could not work if we were under the veryfeet of the passers-by. Before daybreak, some traders passed,and one of them noticed something strange about our **snowpatch.”

*Ts that men or snow?” he asked one of his companions.

“Snow,” answered the fellow, who probably had not evenlooked our way, but saw snow all over the wood. The firstwho had spoken uttered a sound denoting doubt. We werelaughing silently under our tent; but as the man could havethrown a stone at us to ascertain our living or inanimate nature—^Thibetans being quick to throw stones, for various purposes—^Yongden in a deep, sepulchral voice affirmed, “It is snow,”tv The loaded mules of the caravan started at the noise andthe men laughed heartily. The lama then emerged from thecloth, leaving me under it, and chatted a few minutes with thetraders, who were going to Atunze in Chinese Thibet.

“Are you alone?” they asked Yongden.

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**Yes,” he answered.

And they went their way.

That morning we passed a village and reached a small table-land from which we discovered, far iii front of us, a steep hillon which could be seen a threadlike path that could be noneother than that over the “To la,” which we were to cross.

Those who wished to avoid the tiring climb and a second pass,the “Ku la,” farther off, could fellow a narrow path along theriver, Arjopas, we were told, went that way. But I had heardthat some parts of this path were exceedingly difficult, andthat one had to cling to the rocks, walk on all-fours, andgenerally perform a series of feats which I did not feel temptedto undertake with a heavy load on my back. Better for us tofollow the tiring but safer road. I did not yet know that thedays would come when I could not avoid playing the equilibriston rocks overlooking precipices!

I lacked another and much more useful piece of information.When looking at the hill and the perpendicular, narrow yel-low ribbon which crossed it, I thought only of the fatigueof the climbing, and did not suspect that the whole success ofmy journey would be in jeopardy before our ascent began. Idid not know, and so walked gaily down to the bottom of thevalley.

We found a pleasant place next a stream, and feeling some-what lazy, rested there for the remainder of the afternoon andthe night. We were even imprudent enough to pitch our tentto make ourselves more comfortable, although we knew that avillage was near us, beyond the stream.

Next morning, contrary to our custom, we did not makehaste to start. A man came and talked a long time with Yong-den, who invited him to drink a bowl of soup. And then welearned that we were loitering just in front of a Lhasa official’shouse!

We could only curse our folly, but what was donecould not be undone. The man who h^d spoken with myyoung friend was a soldier, a' retainer of the official. Thus, if

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any suspicion had. arisen in his mind, and he reported It to hischief, we could not escape our fate.

I suppose that, -when we left the place to proceed throughthe dreaded village, there' was something In our mien of peoplesentenced to death and walking toward the scaffold.

On and on we went. The track skirted the fields and ledrather far from the houses. We reached a chorten, aroundwhich I walked thrice with an edifying countenance, touchingit with my forehead.

Higher and higher we were going; the official’s dwelling wasnow far behind us and nobody had stopped us. Near by wasthe border of the wooded zone.

“Lha gycdo!” ^ We would shout it loudly when reachingthe summit above the village. What joy would then be ours 1Once more we were to escape!

"Oi! oir

A villager was running after us across the fields.

“You must come before the ponpo [chief],” he said.

These were the very same words with which I had beenstopped in Kham, after my hard journey through the snows,and the crossing of the “Iron Bridge.”

With perfect composure, Yongden immediately masteredthe situation. He put his load down on the ground, in orderto avoid the curiosity of the ponpo and his servants, who, hadthey seen it, would most likely have wanted to look at its con-tents. He did not even give me a glance, as if the thoughtnever occurred to him that an insignificant. old woman likeme could be worth the attention of a kudak (nobleman)!

“Let us go,” he said to the man, and the two went off, chat-ting together.

I humbly squatted on the path, near our baggage. Takingmy Thibetan rosary from my neck, I made a pretence of tell-ing the beads.

The words I had heard took me back to my previous adven-

* * **The Gods win I** /ui exclamation of triumph and good wishes ftfr

the victory of the good and the gods, which Thibetans otter loudly,specially at the top of passes and ot^ summits.

ture. Very likely the end, now, would be the same. Once again,all the hardships endured would have been in vain. I sawourselves escorted back to the nearest Chinese frontier, passingthrough the villages, a prey to the curiosity of the country folk.Not for one minute did I consider the idea of giving up thegame. I had sworn that a woman should pass, and I would.. . . But when, and how, if it was not to-day? ...

Some time elapsed. . . . Presently I heard a voice. Thesound grew louder. Yongden was returning, chanting a Thi-betan liturgy. If he came alone and singing. ... It was asudden hope, nay, a certainty, which flashed across my mind!

The young lama was before me, a mocking smile on his lips.He opened his hand and showed me a silver coin.

“He has given me a rupee as alms,” he said. “Now let usbe off quickly.”

Yongden had learned that the ponpo was stationed therespecially to watch over the road and see that no travellercrossing the pass should escape investigation. We could con-gratulate ourselves on our good luck, but we were far fromhaving finished with incidents of that kind. We had not longto wait before our nerves received a still greater shock.

The very same morning, a little farther on our way, we againheard about a ponpo from a soldier who came hurriedly down-hill to attend to some relay business.

This one was crossing the range which we had just begunto mount. The news terrified us. No escape was possible.The path lay along a steep slope that did not offer any hiding-place. The coming official would see us both. No doubt he-would question us.

These Lhasa men, of whom a large number go to the Englishstations in the Himalayas and even to India, have many oppor-tunities of seeing white people, and are much cleverer thanthe common folk of eastern or northern Thibet in detectingthem. Anyhow, we could not escape the meeting.

We spent a few hours of terrible mental agony, listening,for a noise to warn us of the dreaded apparition, looking des-perately to the right and to the left in the hope that, as in

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the old tales, a rock or a tree would open suddenly and shelterus till the danger was over. But, alas, no miracle happened!Fairies and gods left us apparently unaided.

In the middle of the afternoon we suddenly heard the jin-gling of bells. Just above our heads, on the winding path,appeared a well-dressed, sturdy man followed by soldiers andservants leading horses. He stopped, astonished at the sightof us. According to Thibetan custom, we threw ourselveshurriedly on the low side of the road, to show our respect.The official proceeded downward and stopped again before us,surrounded by his followers.

Now began the questions about our mother country, aboutour journey and other things. When all had been said, theponpo still remained looking silently at us, as did all who werebehind him.

I felt as if needles were piercing my brain, so awful was thetension of my nerves. Did these men doubt us? That silencemust be broken or something bad would come of It. Whatcould I do? . . . Yes, I knew.

With the chanting tone of the Thibetan beggars, only a lit-tle moderated by reverence, I Implored a charity.

^^Kusho rimpoche, nga tso la solra nang rogs nang [Noblesir, give us alms, please!]”

My voice broke the concentration of the group. Even phys-ically I felt the relaxation. The Thibetans had lost their, sus-picious manner. Some laughed. The good official took a coinfrom his purse and handed it to my companion.

“Mother!” exclaimed Yongden, simulating a most happysurprise, “look what the ponpo gives us!”

I manifested my joy In a way befitting my assumed person-ality, with a wish—^very sincere, and coming from the bottomof my heart—for the prosperity and long life of my benefactor.The latter smiled at me and I answered the favour of his smilewith the most respectful of Thibetan salutes. I put out mytongue as far as I could extend it.

^^Jetsunma [reverend lady],” said Yongden, a few minuteslater, “you spake truth indeed when you told me, in the forests

67

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

of Kha Karpo, that ‘yoii would make them dream and seevisions/ No doubt that fat fellow and his retainers, wholooked so long at you, have been bewitched.”

Standing at the top of the pass, we shouted, loudly andheartily.

^^Lha gyalo! De tamche pham [The gods win; the demonsare defeated]!”

But I did not allude to the two kind ponpos In mentioningdemons; quite the contrary. May happiness befall them tillthe last of their earthly days, and thereafter.

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CHAPTER III

The joy which our double victory had left us was notdevoid of nervousness. We were now on the alert andexpected to confront a ponpo at each turning of the path. Onour way down, the jingling of a bell that we heard comingin our direction gave us a terrible fright. The bell, however,was attached to the neck of a goat, which soon appeared,carrying some baggage belonging to an aged couple going on apilgrimage to the Kha Karpo.

The husband was a lean, tall khampa with bright eyes in abold wrinkled face suitable to a retired robber chieftain, andthe wife’s slightly stooping figure still allowed one to guess whatan energetic matron she had been. Together, with the goat bear-ing its queer head haughtily as if in utter disgust of the masterswho had enslaved her frail body but had not tamed her wildlittle mind, they formed a most picturesque group.

The vivacious animal took the opportunity of our arrival toturn its back and run away. The old peqple tried to run afterit, but they were not a match for that little demon, whichtrotted a few steps, then stopped and looked at them mock-ingly, and then started off again. It looked really intelligentand w'orthy of a better lot than that of a beast of burden.Yongden succeeded in catching it and leading it upward again.The pilgrim pair thanked him profusely. Beholding the goatwhich now waited patiently for them, the lama addressed thetwo villagers seriously.

“Be careful,” he said, “to be very kind to that beast. It hasbeen related to you in a previous life when it was a humanbeing. On account of some bad deeds it has been reborn inthe sorrowful animal kingdom. On account, also, of previousgood actions, it has now got the happy chance of genng to theholy Kha Karpo. Owing to the merit of that pilgrimage, ita 69

will be once more a man in its next life, and you three willmeet again, so do your best in order that feelings of friendshipmay be cultivated between you which will bear good fruits inthe future.”

The red hat of my companion, perhaps also the dark forestthat surrounded us and the first shadow of the evening thatspread all around, imparted a peculiar solemnity to that aston-ishing oracular pronouncemenL The old peasants lookeddeeply impressed and expressed their gratitude to the seerlama who had revealed to them such an important mystery.

Before we started I saw the woman taking a few packagesout of the goat’s load to lighten it, while the old man patted it.

“The little thing will be happy now,” Yongden told me, aswe continued to walk down the hill. “They will treat it kindlyand allow it to die a natural death.

“Why did I invent that story? Really, I could not tell; itcame by itself.”

“Could it not be,” I suggested, “that you yourself in a pre-vious life were related to the goat?”

My prophet friend stopped, gazing at me, trying to guessif I was joking or speaking seriously. He did not appear toappreciate that relationship much, even in a remote past.

I laughed.

“Well, well,” said Yongden, “after all, a good beast deservesmuch more esteem than many men who are but scoundrels.Let me be the aku. ^ of the goat, if you like. I do not mind.It was a nice little thing. . . .”

The incidents of the day had put a great strain on ournerves, and in spite of the little fun we had just enjoyed wefelt really tired and not in a mood either to walk the wholenight or to stay amongst talkative people in a village, even ifwe could have reached one, which was rather doubtful. Ourroad lay on the side of the range, which remained most of thetime in the shade, so that the streams were scalloped with iceand the ground deeply .frozen. That circumstance did not

* Aku, paternal uncle.

70

promise an agreeable camping; nevertheless, we decided tostay in a melancholy valley which crossed our path. Mostluckily, wood was lying on the ground in large quantities, buteven before a big fire we remained shivering, and the desolatelandscape seemed to add to the sensation of icy cold whichpervaded us.

To sleep unsheltered in such a spot seemed decidedly miser-able, I thought that, although in pitching the tent we lostthe benefit of our blanket, we should be more comfortablewith a roof over our heads. We therefore filled two rubberbottles with boiling water and slept with them under ourdresses, in the well-closed tent, whose thin cloth, however,was a very feeble barrier against the cold.

We did not reach the village situated at the foot of the Ku launtil the middle of the afternoon, Yongden visited a few housesto purchase food, and the good people pressed him to stay over-night because, they said, it was too late to cross the pass thatday. We knew It, but we had travelled so slowly during thelast week that we wished to push a little ahead. Moreover,1 had not yet slept amongst Thibetans since leaving Yunnan,and I deemed it prudent to delay until we should be fartherin the interior of Thibet before venturing on intimate contactwith the people of the country, thus giving them the oppor-tunity of observing us at close quarters.

So Yongden, taking advantage of the fact that I had con-tinued to walk while he was busy making his purchases,pointed me out, already high on the winding path, and declaredthat we should have thankfully accepted their kind hospitalityhad we been together, but that he could not now call his oldmother back.

We cooked some soup for our supper by the roadside, andcrossed the pass at about midnight. It was covered withforests, and a grassy slope free of trees rose from the pathitself. Perhaps in daytime one could get a view of the sur-rounding country from its summit, but it was of course impos-sible to ascertain it at night.

The climbing had warmed us, and tired us as well, so that

71

I felt tempted to pitch our tent among the evergreens thatgrew in clusters on the small flat piece of ground formingthe top of the pass. We were neither thirsty nor hungry, andcould have waited to drink tea until we had found water lowerdown on the next day. But Yongden objected that a travellernever spent the night on the summit of a pass, and that weshould be frozen to death if we were foolish enough to stopand sleep. It was nonsense; we should obviously have beencold, after the heat produced by our walk had cooled down, butthere was no fear of freezing. Be that as it may, it is difficult,even for one who has had a partly foreign education fromchildhood, to give up entirely the ancestral notions of his nativeland. True Thibetans never spend the night on the top of thepass, and the height of their mountains sufficiently explainsthat custom, but I suppose that even in the middle of thesummer, and in a warmer country, most of them would stillstrongly hesitate to depart from their time-honoured rule.

As my companion appeared so reluctant to halt, I did notwant to press him. We continued on our way. About anhour later we reached a partly level, wide ground shelteredby huge trees but free from undergrowth. In the night itappeared extraordinarily majestic; a mountain stream roarednear by against a wall of whitish rocks and added greatly tothe impression caused by the site itself. This was an idealcamping-place and we were not the only ones to appreciate itas such, for, after having wandered about a little, Yongdenand I discovered several primitive hearths marking the spotswhere travellers were in the habit of stopping to make tea.Near one of them we slept without pitching our tent. We hadheard about brigands rambling between the two passes, waitingfor travellers, and did not want to attract their attention. Still,we lighted a small fire to boil some tea.

1 had seldom had a more sumptuous bedroom than that natu-ral and immense hall whose talLpillars supported a roof of thickfoliage. It reminded me of the temple-like glade where I hadhalted one night while rounding the Kha Karpo. But thisplace was much larger and less gloomy.

7^

The next day, I enjoyed a lazy morning to compensate forour nocturnal tramp. We were eating a flour broth which mynaturally excellent appetite, much increased by the pure airand long daily walks, made me find delicious, when a manappeared. He was one of the villagers who had accompaniedthe baggage of the ponpo whom we met on the road, and hadWitnessed the generosity of the gentleman. To such a man wecould not be suspect, and moreover the smell of the broth keptwarm on the embers was an attraction sufficient in itself. Hecame straight to us, sat himself near the fire, and a talk fol-lowed our invitation to take his bowl out of his amphag'^ andto share our meal. This is never refused by Thibetans, whoare capable of eating any amount at any time.

As was to be expected, Yongden had to cast lots and theman went away, after having invited us to his house in thenext village, called Gyatong.

We again crossed a minor pass during the morning. Thencea steady descent on a good path led us to a cultivated area.On reaching it, we met a large party of pilgrims, who certainlynumbered more than one hundred, mostly lay people, men andwomen. Some of them stopped my companion for the inev-itable business of casting lots. This time, however, the monot-ony of that work was relieved by the subject proposed to thescience of the seer by one of the enquirers. This man hadbrought with him from his home a small ass which carried hisluggage. The object of the mo was to know if it was good,or not, to let the animal go round the Kha Karpo with hisowner. If it were foreseen that the journey would turn outbadly, the beast would be left at Pedo gompa and the ^dllagerwould take it home on his way back at the end of hispilgrimage.'*

The little’ long-eared fellow was not to be consulted, but itsgood luck had led it to a compassionate friend. Yongden after-ward told me that he picture4|^^to himself all the steep climb-ing that would be hard on the tiny feet of the poor donkey,

* Amphag, the breast pocket formed by the wide dress of the Thibetanstightly tied with a belt.

73

the high passes, now covered with deep snow, the frosty nightsto be passed in the open, and all the other troubles which wouldbefall the little slave. How much happier it would be to geta month’s rest in the pleasant grazing grounds of the PedoValley!

So, after appropriate gestures and recitations, the oracle de-clared that without the least doubt the beast would die if itonly came in sight of the Kha Karpo, and that such a deathhappening during a pilgrimage would greatly diminish themerits and blessed results which each pilgrim expected fromhis pious journey!

That community of interests was created to insure that notonly the master of the animal, but all his companions wouldlook carefully to it that the latter be left behind at Pedo!

Yongden was profusely thanked for his remarkable and mostvaluable advice, and a few presents entered our provision bagsin gratitude. While the young man was delivering his oracle,a well-dressed lama came into sight, accompanied by a fewretainers, all riding beautiful horses. As he proceeded Inoticed that he was looking at my son. Perhaps he too- har-boured in his mind some disquieting thoughts and would liketo learn the future from the “Red Cap nonshe^^ whose air, Imust admit, announced a high degree of proficiency. Buthis rank did not allow him to humble his fine travelling robeof brlght^yellow brocade by alighting on the dusty road. Per-haps he sighed when the ragged seer, who had by then fin-ished lecturing his pilgrims, passed near him without askinghis blessing or showing any special mark of respect. Twice helooked backward at him, but seeing me and being probablyashamed to be caught paying attention to a mere arjopa, hequickly turned his head, and I saw only his shining yellow backand his large gilded travelling hat of wood which was almostthe same shape as the roof of the monastery of which he wasthe lord. ^

As it was still early, we did not wish to halt, and preferredto dispense with the invitation we had received. So, insteadof looking for the house of our would-be host, we endeavoured

74

to cross the vUlage speedily. We had nearly reached the endof the inhabited zone when, passing by a farm, a door openedin the enclosure of a courtyard, and, lo! the man whom wehad already met several times appeared as if out of the wall,like a hobgoblin. I suppose that he must have been waitingfor us. Yongden tried vainly to parley with him, but thefarmer would not listen. Why did we wish to proceed, sincewe were certain not to reach the next village before night?The astonished villager put the question to us and we did notknow what answer to give him, for authentic arjopas sleep inthe jungle only when they cannot possibly avoid it. As a rulethey halt near some building, and when happy enough to becalled inside they never think of refusing the good luck, Iwas very much annoyed, but feared to seem strange in pre-ferring the jungle to the hospitality of a farm of comfortableappearance. We therefore stepped in, uttering thanks andblessings, and were shown to the top story, where lived thefamily, the ground floor being, as usual, occupied by stables.

This was the first time I had been the guest of Thibetansin my role of a beggar. A Thibetan house had nothing newfor me, but my present disguise made things very differentfrom what they had been in the course of my previous journeys.Although on those I did not indulge in Western customs, theservants who followed me, my fine beasts, and my goodlamaist attire kept my hosts respectful and distant. enjoyedall the privileges of quietness and privacy, or as much privacyas there is in the East. And the life of a lama of rank is farfrom being unpleasant. On the contrary, I could not nowexpect much attention, but only, at the best, the condescendingkindness of these coarse and common folk who would includeme in Yongden’s train, his dress as a member of the rdigiousorder commanding a certain respect.

I was to experience various things which until then 1 hadonly observed from afar. I should be sitting on the roughfloor of the kitchen, which was dirty with the grease of thesoup, the butter of the tea, and the spit of the inmates. Well-meaning women would offer me a scrap of a piece of meat

75

which they had cut bn the lap of their dress which had beenused, maybe for years, as a handkerchief and a kitchen towel.I should have to eat in the way of the poor, dipping my* un-washed fingers in the soup and in the tea, to knead the tsampa,and to do any number of things which disgusted me. YetI knew that such penance would not be without reward, andthat under cover of my inconspicuous garb of a poor pilgrimI should gather a quantity of observations which would neverhave come within reach of a foreigner, or even, perhaps, of aThibetan of the upper classes. I was to live near the verysoul and heart of the masses of that unknown land, near thoseof its womenfolk whom no outsider had ever approached. Tothe knowledge I had already acquired about the religiouspeople of the country I would add another and quite intimateone, concerning its humblest sons and daughters. For this itwas certainly worth while overlooking my disgust and makingthe even more difficult sacrifice of delightful hours of solitudein the enchanting jungle.

The man who received us was a rather wealthy villager.Nevertheless, he allowed us to cook our own food, a broth ofwhich he took his share, thinking, perhaps, that it was his duefor having supplied a few turnips which he cut without peelingor washing and threw in the pot. In any other country, thesand would have been noticeable in the soup, but I cannotsay often enough that Thibet is a land of wonder whichchanges everything for the best. At least it has always beenso for me. The broth was delicious.

Some neighbours called In the evening. They were allinformed by our host of the two Lhasa officials’ generositytoward us, and Yongden declared boldly that these good gen-tlemen of O and Tsang were religious-minded and that he wasaccustomed to receive such bounties.

I profited by the opportunity to enquire about places wherewe could expect to meet other officials. I said that we hadexhausted our money and we would want to beg from themfood or silver on our way back home. I had invented thatstory so as to inform myself as minutely as possible about the

76

ponpos^ residences. The peasants would think my eagernessto know the smallest details of the situation of the zongs ^ wasdue to the necessity of securing food. People who sought withsuch earnestness to meet officials could not but appear honestand respectable travellers who had nothing to fear from theauthorities. Had the Thibetans whom I met during my journeyconceived the least doubt about my origin, such enquiry, andthe reason given for it, would have immediately dispelled theirsuspicion.

That evening I heard that the military rolls were filled inthe Nu Valley in the very same way as in the north of Kham.A number of villagers were enlisted who could remain at homeand continue their ordinary work, but had to join the troopsas soon as they were ordered. As wages they enjoyed severaladvantages—exemption of taxes or of statute labour and some-times a small salary paid generally in kind.

A thing which had surprised me very much, two years before,in Kham, had been to hear the reports about the uncommonlylarge number of soldiers stationed at the new Thlbeto-Chlneseborder. One spoke of three hundred men in such a monastery,three hundred in such another, three hundred again in a third,and so on. The repetition of that number “three hundred”first attracted my attention. I was accustomed to find suchrepetitions in the sacred Scriptures of the Orient. It was aquestion, in some books, of five hundred followers, five hundredchariots, five hundred sheep, five hundred no matter what.One had to understand that the conventional expression inreality meant merely an indefinitely large number. In laterliterature the modest five hundred grew to be five thousand,eight thousand, till they reached the eighty thousand of theMahayanist Buddhist treatises, to which the good Thibetantranslators have still added a few thousands and hundreds oftheir own. Now, the Thibetan staff seemed to apply the samemethods to the reckoning of its regiments. I went to the bot-tom of the mystery and learned that strict orders were given

^2ong: originally a fort, but, by extension, nowadays any building thatis the seat of an official or of a local chief of tribes

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to the people all along the Sino-Thibetan border to speak ofpowerful troops stationed in the watch posts. Then,* when Imyself went to investigate on the spot, and discovered half adozen or ten warriors where three hundred were said to havetheir abode, I was told that the remainder were ^^at home.”That meant that the fifty or hundred which made up themythical three hundred were but villagers who would be pro-vided with a gun and sent to fight if the Lhasa governmentdeemed it wise. In the meantime the actual rulers do notappear to trust their countrymen newly ‘liberated” from theChinese rule. Several times I asked regular soldiers why theywere all men from central Thibet, and the answer was alwaysthe same: “If the Khampas had good guns they would fire atus.” On one occasion some of the regulars from Tsang toldme that a few years before, when they fought against theChinese in western Szetchuan, some of the Thibetan villagershad fled away and, at night, when the Lhasa troops werecamped in the conquered place, they returned with Chinesesoldiers and fell on them with their swords. In view of this,when it is considered indispensable to arm the reserve soldierswho remain at home, the government supplies them only withold-pattern Thibetan or Chinese guns. Men who held them intheir hands smiled when I asked the reason for it. “Thosefrom Lhasa,” they said, “do not wish us to be able to matchtheir own soldiers. They know what some of us might do.”

The hatred of the new Lhasa masters did not seem to havereached that degree in the Tsarong and Tsawarong valleys;but even though they are patiently accepted, it is easy to under-stand that they are not much liked.

We left the hospitable farmers at dawn, and proceeded onour way along the valley.

Few landscapes in the world can compete with the gracefulyet majestic scenery of the Nu Valley. We crossed largemeadows strewn with rocks of different sizes and shapes, wheretrees of various species grew, here, isolated, there in clusters,yonder forming groves, as if they had been trimmed andplanted where they stood by some artistic gardener. An air

78

of gentle mystery, of pristine purity, spread over everything.I seemed to be walking across a picture out of an old book oflegends, and would not have been very startled had I sud-denly surprised some elfs seated on sun rays, or come uponthe Enchanted Palace of the Sleeping Beauty.

The weather continued to be glorious, and, strangely enough,though shallow ponds and rivulets were frozen, the night wasnot really cold.

The queer glimmers of hidden fires that had puzzled us inthe Kha Karpo forest reappeared in the darkest recesses of thisnatural park. They became so much a part of the nocturnallandscape that we did not trouble any more about them, what-ever their cause may have been.

Every day we met groups of pilgrims journeying towardthe holy Kha Karpo. Villages were near enough to allow themto spend the nights in shelter. For my part, I preferred tosleep under the trees, shrouded in silence and serenity.

Wild animals seemed scarce in the valley. Once, when Iremained awake longer than usual, I saw a wolf passing nearus. It trotted by with the busy yet calm gait of a seriousgentleman going to attend to some affair of importance.Although it was well aware of our presence, it did not showthe least curiosity or fear, but went its way with the utmostindifference, as if intent on affairs of its own.

I have said that, when putting on my Thibetan disguise Iused Chinese ink to blacken my hair. It did not prove a veryfast dye; a great part of the stuff came off on the turbanwhich I wore after the Lutzekiang fashion. I therefore revivedthe jet-black colour of my plaits from time to time. Needlessto say, during this work my fingers got their share of dye!But this did not matter much, for the personality of the oldbeggar mother which I had assumed required me to be asdirty as possible, and I frequently used to rub my hands onthe smoky bottom of our kettle to match the colour of theseof the country womenfolk. So ink could not be conspicuous.

On one occasion when 1 begged in a village of the Nu Valley,

79

this dye gave birth to a comical, although rather unpleasant,Incident.

I had gone from door to door, reciting prayers according tothe custom of needy pilgrims. A good housewife called Yong-den and me inside for a meal, and poured In our bowls curdand tsampa. The custom is to use one’s fingers to mix them.So, forgetting all about the hair and ink business to which Ihad attended a few hours before, I dipped my fingers in mybowl and began to knead the flour.

But what Is this? It becomes black; dirty streaks appearand grow wider on the milky meal. . . . Oh, I see! The dyeon my fingers comes off. What is to be done?

Yongden, who has just glanced at me, sees the catastrophe.Comic as it is, the situation is nevertheless serious. It couldprovoke embarrassing questions, lead to the discovery of myidentity.

‘‘Eat quickly!” the lama advises in a suppressed but mostimperative tone. I try. . . . What a nasty taste!

“Eat, eat quickly!” urges my young companion desperately;“the nemo [hostess] Is coming back to us.” And shutting myeyes, I hastily swallow the contents of the bowl.

We proceeded through this beautiful country toward themonastery of Dayul. Though previous meetings with ponposhad all ended nicely for me, I had not the least desire totake willingly more chances of that kind. So, knowing thatan official resided at Dayul, I had decided to pass the placeat night.

The thing appeared plain enough. Yet for us who did notknow the region, who had no milestones as guides and whomoved in a dense forest, it was rather difficult to regulate ourgait in order to arrive at the monastery at the time chosen.One morning some villagers told us: “You will reach Dayulto-day.” This was news, but how vague! Was one to makehaste, or to take It leisurely so as to arrive during theday? We could not guess. The Thibetans, like mostcountry people, except the Chinese, have no precise idea of

8o

distance. The latter can at any moment on any road tell youhow many lis it is from one place to another.

Out of fear of emerging from the woods in front of thegompa before night had fallen, we spent a part of the day hid-den under the trees near the river, eating and musing, with theresult that, the monastery being farther than we had supposed,we tramped for a long time at night before discovering it.

Through the Eden-like valley, even more romantic in thedarkness, we proceeded in complete silence, straining our eyesin vain in an endeavour to discern shapes of buildings on theopposite shore of the river on which, we knew, stood the mon-astery. We had nearly become convinced that, having delayedtoo long on the way, we should not reach it before daybreak.

As the time passed my anxiety increased. I walked nerv-ously ahead when I saw white forms, like walls, in the middleof the widening path. We had arrived near two mendongs sep-arated by chortens and surrounded by a large number of mysticflags. We could still see no houses on the opposite bank, butI was too well acquainted with Thibet to have the least doubtthat we were in front of the monastery. A few minutes laterwe reached the bridge spanning the river in front of the gompaabout which we had been told. We knew that we did not needto cross it, although in addition to an important track goingto Dowa and other places, several bypaths existed, on the rightbank of the river Nu, which we could have followed: But Ihad decided to continue on the left bank, in order to avmdthe monastery completely.

The night was clear, stars shone in the sky without a doud,yet their dim light did not allow us to see far ahead. The pathwe had followed for many days seemed to end near a secondbridge, about which I had heard nothing. Anyhow, no otherpassage appeared possible and we were in a great hurry to befar from the gompa.

The bridge once crossed, we found ourselves walking onstones amongst which water streamed everywhere. We pushedon for some distance; then I became convinced that we had

8i

missed the way. We went back, crossed the bridge again, and,while nearing its end, we heard a feeble noise. In no timewe hid ourselves behind a wall close to the river. Then Ilooked around me. Heavens! We were in a small courtyard!A tew steps away people were probably sleeping who mightawaken and discover us.

Taking the utmost care to avoid being heard, we went outand walked toward the mendong to look for another way.But except for the two bridges, it really seemed that there wasnone.

We hardly knew what to think. We might have been mis-informed or have misunderstood the directions that had been^ven to us, but we could not remain there to ponder over thematter. We must make haste to leave the vicinity of the mon-astery and go wherever we could, at the risk of trying to findthe right way again on the morrow, if we had missed it, oreven of being compelled to change our itinerary.

Then Yongden went to scout beyond the bridge which wasin front of the gompa. At length I vaguely discerned thewhitish mass of the monastery outlined in a recess of thehillside. It reminded me of the chagzam * and of my lastfailure . . . and at. this particular moment such a memoryhad nothing pleasing in it! Under the feet of the lamathe planks of the bridge made an awful noise. Then silencefell for a long time, until finally I heard the noise madeby the young man in returning. It is impossible, I thought,that nobody has been awakened. Soldiers or servantswill come. I awaited a shout calling the night traveller,commanding him to come forward, show himself and tell whyhe was roaming at that hour. I feared even worse; shots inthe night; a bullet which, perchance, might hit Yongden . . .

The report of the scout was not encouraging. He had seenbut one path leading from the shore to the gompa; the tracksprobably started from behind the buildings.

* Chagzam, the “Iron Bridgcj” TThich I crossed in rather dramatic cir^cumstances in a previous journey.

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Whatever it might be, we did not want to risk ourselvesnear the monastery.

The noise made by my companion had rendered a quickflight still more urgent. We ran toward the first bridge we hadcrossed, passed again through the water and amongst thestones and reached a small shrine built under a tree. Thereour path divided in two. We turned to the left without know-ing why, climbed a steep winding path, and arrived at avillage. Beyond it, higher up, we lost ourselves amongstirrigation canals and fields built terrace upon terrace. Wherewere we to go? . . .

Once more Yongden put his load down beside me andstarted scouting. I sat on crumbling stones, fearing, each timethat I moved, to slide down the slope. A cold wind arose; Ishivered, crouched amongst the baggage. Suddenly a dogbarked above me and continued for a long time, tiring myover-strained nerves. Was the lama in that direction? Wouldhe find the road? He did not come back. Several hours wentby, as I could see by the radium dial of my small watch whichI consulted again and again. What had happened to him?

Far away big stones began to roll down. . . . What wasthat? A small landslide only, or an accident? J . . In thedark, a slip caused by a shadow is enough to send the wan-derer rolling down to break his neck on the rocks or bedrowned in the river. I stood in readiness to go and lookfor the young man. He stayed too long; something bad musthave happened. I went a few steps; all was darkness aroundme. How could I discover him? And if he came back whileI was away, how frightened he would be at the sight of theloads abandoned and myself gone. And would either he or Ibe able in the darkness to find the place where we had leftthe luggage? If no one remained there, who could signal asfaintly as possible to the one who came back? Prudencecommanded me to stay, and my inactivity added to the anxietywhich tormented me.

The scout appeared at last. I had guessed right. He hadfallen and been carried down with sliding stones. Happily,

83

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

he had stopped on a small platform, while a boulder jumpednear him and continued its course down. He was a littleexcited, as well he might be, after such a narrow escape, buthis main thought was about the road. He had found none.The situation was critical. We could not thiiik of remainingperched on that bare slope where we could be seen from allsides at the first gleam of dawn.

We must go down,. I said, if need be, as far as the mendongin front of the gompa. In that way, if people see us in theearly morning we will not appear strange, and can pretendthat we have slept at the monastery or near it. There wasnothing else to do. We once more crossed the village, butthe night faded as we wandered. As soon as we had reachedthe last house it was daybreak.

It was necessary, now, to go farther down. If askedwhence we were coming, we could answer quite plausibly thatwe were coming from the monastery. There remained only toascertain if the path on which we were was the right one.

Yongden left me seated against the fence around a field,and, going up again to the farms, he knocked at a door. Ahalf-awakened man opened a window of the upper story, andfrom him, the lama learned that we had but to clinib againto about the place where I had spent a part of the night, andkeep on to another village.

I quickly took up my load, and I for the third time, andYongdeh for the fifth, together crossed that tiresome village.We proceeded as silently and as quickly as we could, deemingit prudent to avoid the inhabitants. As for the man of whommy son had asked his way, he could speak of but one lonelylama pilgrim, for he had not seen me.

We arrived at the top of the hill, where we found severalbig houses. One of them looked particularly large and wellbuilt. Most likely it was .the abode of one of those pettyprinces who, before the Lhasa government had annexed east-ern Thibet, were independent rulers,, each one on his ownsmall territory. Or it might have been that the Lhasa officiallived there, and not in the monastery, as we had understood*

Froih there we could easily see Dayul beneath us.

People were already afoot. A woman appeared and I wentpiously round a chorten/vfYiith. is the proper thing for a pil-grim to do at the beginning of the day. There was a cross-road here, but my young friend did not see it. He thought thatmy wanderings meant that I had found no path on the otherside and disappeared at full speed up a road opening on hisright. I followed hastily to tell him that he was turning hisback to the river Nu, but before I could join him a man barredhis way and politely, yet with an inquisitive look whichturned my blood cold, asked him several questions about hiscountry, his journey, and the li^e; but to my astonishment hedid not look at me. Nervous, overtired by his exertion duringthe previous night, Yongden answered blunderingly. I wasdying of fear!

We learned that we had made a mistake, and had taken theChiamdo road, instead of that of Zogong. We retraced oursteps, but now we had been seen and that villager with hissuspicious look and his inquisitive questions knew which waywe had gone.

What a result for all the trouble we had taken during awhole night!

At sunrise we saw once more Dayul gompUy all white in itsnest of green woods. I feared the man would inform the ponpo.I calculated the time he would take in going down to the mon-astery, seeing the official, saddling a horse, and for a rider tocatch up with us. It could not have taken very long. Yetnobody appeared behind us. . . . But yes, there is a peasant!. . . He carries a bag; he is on foot. . . . The ponpo wouldnot send a man after us with a load on his shoulders. • • • Heovertakes us; he is gone. • . . The path is empty behind us.We continue our walk.

A jingling of bells makes us start. A horseman approaches.I straighten my back. 1 do not want to faint, but I feel theblood leaving my brain, everything around me jifrims anddarkens. I have just the time to move to the side of the path^

H 8/

r

to avoid being knocked down by the horse. The man haspassed us; the tinkling grows fainter and finally ceases.

We are still far from being completely reassured, but emo-tion and a long tramp have exhausted our strength. Belowthe road, cut high on the hill, a series of large natural terracesdescends in steps down to the river.

They, also, in the rosy light of the early morning, remindme of fairyland gardens. Autumn leaves blaze in their goldenand purple tints around the dark greens of the fir trees.Strewn on the grass, sprinkled in places with a fine snow, theymake a carpet such as no emperor has ever seen in his throneroom.

I tell Yongden to follow me down. We quickly boil ourtea and eat some tsampa with a ferocious appetite. Emotionsmay tire me, but can never prevent me from eating or sleeping.Sleep is especially needed. And now the sun is shining andwill keep us warm.

We continued on our way in the afternoon and reached ahot spring. There are quite a number of them all over Thibet,but we had not yet come across any since we left Yunnan. Ifelt delighted at the prospect of a warm bath. A rustic basinhad been built with stones for that purpose, near a rocky wallwhich sheltered it. I had only to wait until night to enter thewater without any fear of allowing the colour of my skin tobe seen by occasional passers-by!

Judge of my annoyance when a family of pilgrims—father,mother, and three children—came and pitched their camp nextus! I had not the least doubt that they would all sit in thebasin, for Thibetans are very fond of hot natural baths, andas they had not the same reasons as I for waiting until night,I would get the water in which they had already bathed!Although the spring bubbling at the bottom of it sent a con-tinual stream through the small artificial pool which overflowedthrough a specially built canal, I did not like that idea at all.But, of course, all happened ^s I had foreseen. Yongden,whom I told to hurry to enjoy the clean water, reported to me

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when he returned that his bath had been shortened by theentrance of the father and three sons into the water!

I could but wait, and-I waited long. The happy sensationproduced by the hot water in that cold country kept the fourThibetans under its spell for more than one hour. Night hadfallen and a cold wind promised little comfort for the moment,since on coming out of the bath I should have to dry myselfin the open with my one-foot-square towel! Still more delaywas caused by my desire to allow time for the water of thebath to be changed, but I started at last for the spring, afterhaving been earnestly entreated by Yongden to avoid washingmy face, which had now become nearly the orthodox colourof a Thibetan countrywoman.

A few days later, on a sunny morning, we were walkingleisurely on the bank of the river when two lamas dressed inlay clothes reached us, coming up from behind. They askedabout our country and many other details for a rather longtime, and one of them stared at me with peculiar insistence.They said that they were in the service of the Governor ofMenkong and carried a message from him to the officer residingat Zogong.

We both noticed the way one of them had looked at me, and,as anybody in our circumstances would have done, we beganto fancy the worst. Maybe some rumours had spread afterour leaving Menkong and had only recently reached the Gov-ernor, who had dispatched these two to inform his colleagueand order him to ascertain who we were.

Previous disquieting meetings had come to a quick end. Butthis one left a lasting terror in its wake. Zogong, where weshould know our fate, was still far away, and each day broughtthe same question. Were we not walking toward our doom?

We reverted to our nocturnal tramps. We had become 'again the scared game dreaming of the hunter. One morningat dawn a party of pilgrims met us and stopped to exchangea few words. According to my custom, I continued to walkslowly ahead while Yongden was talking with the men. When

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he rejoined me he was more frightened than I had ever seenhim.

“They are people from Riwoche/’-he said. “Who knows ifthey have not seen you when you went there with Thobgyal?. . . You are quite famous in that re^on.”

Riwoche is the site of a once celebrated monastery, now halfruined. I had stayed there twice during a previous journey inThibet after having entered the forbidden zone through theIron Bridge.

Our fears grew. . . . Hour by hour they became greater.At the sight of each group of men or women who happenedto pass us we trembled, thinking of the catastrophe thatawaited us. Truly, this way madness lay.

In that mood we reached a bridge on the river Nu, near abig village called Porang.

“Let us take a chance,” I said to my companion. “On thisside of the stream we run the risk of meeting old acquaintancesfrom the province of Kham, because that is the way by whichthey go to Kha Karpo. We shall also have to cross Zogong,where these lamas have perhaps spoken about us, even if theyhave not been sent to catch us. Here is a bridge—^there arefew in Thibet—showing that there is a trail of some impor-tance on the other bank. The Giamo Nu River flows in thatdirection. Let us try to reach it and we will then see what canbe done.”

We therefore crossed the bridge and bravely climbed thetrail beyond it, without knowing where it W'ould lead us.

That evening we slept at an isolated farm, and on the mor-row, continuing through wild forests, we crossed the Ra Pass.We had been told at the farm that the region beyond was com-pletely uninhabited except for a few dokpas, who moved withtheir cattle along the valleys enclosed between two high ranges.

Our good luck brought us on the second day near to anencampment of cowmen. They gave us some butter andtsampa, but did not allow us to sleep in their hut. There wereabout forty armed men assembled around it, and 1 guessedthat they were preparing a robbing expedition, so they naturally

did not wish to discuss their plans before unknown travellers.We begged from other camps near by and were given a gooddeal of cheese, butter, and tsampa. After a night spent in theopen, we started, heavily loaded, but certain that starvationwas not imminent!

The country we were crossing had none of the charms ofthe Nu Valley. It was colder and often barren. The trailswere difficult to find.

In the morning, after having set out from the dokpas^ camp,we crossed a clear river, climbed a very steep path, and thenmissed our way. We had already wandered about two hourswhen some sharp-eyed cowboys discovered us on the slope ofthe mountain. They themselves had wandered far from theircamp with their cattle, and now were almost beneath us, butat a considerable distance. Their shouts arrived faint andindistinct, and at first we did not understand that they wereaddressed to us. By straining our ears we succeeded in catch-ing some words. We were to turn back, and then to proceedupwards.^

From the Pang la, an endless descent through forests led tolarge rocky caves inhabited in the summer by cowmen. Atthat time of the year a torrent near by supplied them withwater, but It was now quite dry, so that in the absence ofwater we continued our way, although the shelter of theseroomy caves tempted us. Farther down we reached at dusk ahamlet composed of three farms. The looks of the men whocame out to examine us and enquired about our beasts andluggage were not very reassuring, but, though they were arough lot, they treated us well in the end.

In the evening, as we were seated with them near the fire,some one spoke about Lhasa, and, incidentally, uttered the

^ Besides being prompted by their natural kind-heartedness, Thibetansare always ready to direct a wayfarer because such an act is consideredby them as highly meritorious and bearing good fruits in this life andthe next one. On the contrary, to mislead any traveller is believed tohave serious results; the ^^consciousness” {nanuhes) of one who has doneso will roam painfully in the Bardo, after its separation from the body,at death, being unable to find the road leading to a new rebirth.

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MY JaURNEY TO LHASA

dreaded word “philings.’* They had heard about their exist-ence from some of their relatives and friends, who had beento Lhasa or in China, but they had never seen any and nonehad ever visited their country. Yongden boasted of havingmet two of them in northern Thibet, but for my part I humblyconfessed that I had never caught sight of any!

Two days later, from the summit of a sandy hill, we discov-ered, several thousand feet below us, a narrow glittering ribbon.It was the Giamo nu chu, the upper course of the Salween.

We had heard that somewhere in that region there was aplace called Tsawa, where the river could be crossed by a cablestretched from one bank to the other. But as passengers werevery few on that out-of-the-way path, the ferrymen lived farfrom the river and came there only when they were informedthat a number of people meant to cross. We poor lone pil-grims might have remained for weeks In front of the rope butfor the happy circumstance that a lama had performed somereligious ceremonies at the house of the very farmer whoseguests we had just been, and was returning to his monasteryon the othfer side of the Giamo nu chu, with a dozen of hisfollowers.

We waited only one day for his arrival in a pretty, shelteredplace between picturesque red rocks. The weather was glori-ously bright and the temperature mild.

To cross a river hanging to a cable was not new to us. Wehad done it in other places. But at these other places, twodifferent cables, one for each direction, were used to carry thepassengers, who, starting from a point much higher than thelanding-place, glided swiftly, as if on a switch-back.

Here there was but a single cable fastened to poles fixed atthe same level on either bank, and it sagged terrifyingly.

Only the strongest of the countrymen dared to venture tocross by it unaided, for the climbing up from the bottom ofthe sag by the sheer strength of one’s wrists was rather a feat.Most of them were therefore hauled up by ferrymen, as werethe animals and baggage.

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When my turn came, a Thibetan girl and I were bound withrough straps, and tied together to a wooden hook that wouldglide on the leather cable. Dressed up in that way, a pushsent us swinging in the vbid, like two pitiable puppets.

In less than one minute we were down in the middle of thedip, and then, from the other bank, the ferrymen began theirwork. Each jerk they gave at the long towing rope caused usto dance in the air a most unpleasant kind of jig.

This went on for a little while; then we felt a shock, hearda splash below us, and slipped back at full speed into thesagging dip of the cable.

The towing rope had broken!

The accident in itself did not endanger our lives. Men wouldcome to fasten the rope that they were drawing out of thewater. But giddiness might overcome us, suspended as wowere two or three hundred feet above the swift current.

The way in which we were trussed up afforded security fora conscious passenger in an erect position whose hands had astrong grip on the strap under the hook. But this was not tobe depended upon in the case of anyone who collapsed ordropped backward. My nerves are solid. I had no doubt Icould stand there even for hours.

But what of my companion? She was rather pale and lookedwith frightened eyes at the point where the strap to which wewere suspended was fastened to the hook.

“What is the matter with you?” I said. “I have called myTsawai lama ^ to protect us. You need not fear.”

With a slight motion of the head she indicated the hook.“The strap is coming loose,” she said, trembling.

If the strap came loose . . . then we would fall In the deepriver. . . . Tied as we were, swimming was out of the ques-tion. Even could I disentangle myself and drag the girl forawhile, there was no landing in that gorge where the riverflowed between gigantic walls of rocks. I looked attentivelyat the knots, but could notice nothing wrong.

^ Spiritual father.

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

^‘Shut your eyes ” I said to the girl. **You are giddy. Noth-ing is loose. We are quite safe.”

“It is loosening,” she repeated, with such a convinced tonethat I began to doubt. This Thibkan lass who had oftencrossed rivers in that way naturally knew more than I didabout knots, straps and hooks.

It was, therefore, only a question of time. Would the menhave repaired the towing rope and taken us on land before allthe knots gave? It might have been the subject of a bet. Ithought it over, and smiled inwardly. The slow way in whichthe ferrymen were working was rather irritating. At last oneof them proceeded toward us, hands and feet up, the wayflies walk on the ceiling. We swung again, and more than ever.

“She says that the knots of the straps are coming loose,” Itold him as soon as he reached us.

^'Larna kienoT^ ^ he exclaimed. He gave a l\asty look in thedirection of the hook. “I cannot see it well,” he said. “Ihope it will hold fast till you arrive at the bank.”

He hoped! . . .

Bless the fellow! I also “hoped.”

He went away, working with his hands and feet, just ashe had come. When he had joined his companions they beganto haul us again. Would the knots bear these repeated jerks?We continued to “hope” they would.

At last we had safely landed on a projecting rock of thecliff. Half a dozen women took hold of us, expressing theirsympathy In loud exclamations. The ferryman who had untiedus had ascertained that the knots had never loosened, andwere cursing the girl whose notion had given them such afright. The poor thing did not need that addition to hernervousness. She became hysterical, weeping and shrieking.It was a scene of picturesque confusion.

Yongden seized the chance of this general commotion to begfor “his aged mother, who had suffered such agony while

' '^Know it, O Lama!” a call asking one’s spiritual father to cast hislook on one who stands in distress and needs protection, but the habit ofrepeating it frequently has made it a mere interjection.

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MY J0URN|:Y to LHASA

hanging to that rope, and needed a good meal with which torefresh herself.” All those present gave really liberally andwe set out loaded with a fresh supply.

I had already noticed that my headgear, arranged after theLutzekiang fashion, attracted a good deal of notice. VVe beganto be rather far from the country where it was worn. It nowlooked conspicuous, and people questioned me about mynative land. The day after the crossing of the Glamo nu chuat Tsawa, the nemo of a farm where we had slept, and otherpeople there, made several embarrassing observations aboutthe way in which my hair was dressed and my turban fixed.At any rate, I needed a Thibetan hat, but none could bebought in the villages which were on my road, men and womencountryfolk going bareheaded. The time had truly come forthe plain bonnet of Kham, of a shape known and worn allover Thibet. I had done well to have washed it and kept itcarefully in my luggage. As soon as I began to wear it allquestions and curiosity were at an end. Later on I hadanother reason to bless it. When I crossed high passesamongst glaciers and snow, and when the blizzard raged aroundme, then the poor fur-lined bonnet kept my head and earswarm and protected me against frost and wind.

Who could still doubt that it had been sent to me, as I felton the day we found it in the forest? I often asked Yongdenthis question and we both smiled in answer. But I would notdare to affirm that at the bottom of my heart, after havingexperienced the various kinds of protection which it offeredme, I did not feel still more inclined to believe that it had trulybeen sent to me by some mysterious friend.

At any rate, I like to fancy It.

We were now in a more populated region. The whole ofthe low ground was cultivated, and the higher part of the hillscompletely bare. Our road crossed a large number of minorranges which cut across the Giamo nu chu valley. Each daywe had to climb up and down several thousand feet, and some-

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times that drill was even performed twice in the course of thesame day.

A new subject of anxiety agitated our minds. We had heardthat the Lhasa government had sent officials in remote partsof the country to establish a new system of taxation. Theseponpos, moving across the country with hosts of retainers,each more inquisitive and arrogant than his master, con-stituted a real danger to us. We devoted nearly all our timeto discussions as to the best way of escaping unwelcome meet-ings. It did not seem easy, though, to reach the Po countrywhich we had decided to cross on our way to Lhasa. We hadthe choice of two roads. We could go to Sangnachoszong ^ orwind a long way northward through the Sepo Khang Pass.But Sangnachoszong was the residence of a ponpo, and on theother road the envoys of the Thibetan exchequer werereported to be wandering in the neighbourhood of Ubes. Thegentleman seated in his house appeared more easy to avoidthan his colleagues, who might be met on the road unexpectedly.This ought to have decided me to turn in that direction, allthe more because the way was direct and saved us a longmarch in rounding a range. But I knew that Sangnachoszonghad been visited by some foreigners, while I had never heardthat any had ever crossed the Sepo Khang la and theneighbourhood,^ and this decided me to prefer the latter.

In a country so little known as Thibet it seems better toavoid following tracks that have already been trod, every timeone has the chance to do so.

Anyhow, I was still undecided when, after having slept atYu, I ascended the pass which led to the junction of the roadsof Sangnachoszong and of Lankazong. Evening came whilewe were crossing a cold slope whose streams were but thickblocks of ice. Happily we found, a little out of the way, anabandoned dokpas* camp and we spent the night in one of the

* More exactly Sang ngags chos zong, the fort of the doctrine of thesecret spells, or, as others call it: Tsang kha chu zong, the fort of thepure spring.

* Information gathered later on coiffirmed the fact that none had yetcrossed that mountain range.

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huts near a blazing fire. The morrow we crossed the pass. Aterrible storm rose in the evening and raged throughout thenight. In the darkness we failed to discover the road to thevillage which we knew was near, as we had heard dogs bark-ing.

The violence of the wind did not allow us to open our loadsto get out our tent-blanket and throw it over us. We remainedsquatted, shivering till daybreak, when the wind graduallyabated. Then we saw that we were less than half an hour’swalk from the village, near the gorge in which ran the roadto Sangnachoszong.

We had now to make a decision. I turned again towardthe Giamo nu chu. The country and its people interestedme. I did not want to miss the unique opportunity to seesome more of it and them, or to cut my journey short. As forthe Ubes ponpos, I would take my chance.

Since landing on the right bank of the Giamo nu chu ourexistence had become that of true Thibetan wayfarers. Weno longer hid ourselves in the forest. On the contrary,lingering in the villages had become a pleasure to us. Eachstage brought us amongst the countryfolk, and we stayed allnight with them, witnessing their customs close at hand, andlistening to their talk about the events happening in Thibet.No traveller other than one who was really believed by themto belong to the same peasant stock could have gathered thesame treasure of observations that I collected.

Such a life could not be lived without bringing adventuresin its train, and they were often adventures of a most unex-pected kind. Nearly every day supplied its contribution,pleasant or otherwise, but always full of humour. I haveamassed in that region a store of fun sufficient to keep ernemerry for years. It would be quite impossible to relate inextenso all these incidents, but the account of a few will givethe reader some picture of country life in Thibet.

One morning while kneeling on the pebbles, filling mywooden bowl at the river, I hear a voice behind me.

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“Where do you come from, Lama?”

I turn my head and see that a peasant has approached myadopted son. A few words are exchanged, and these arealways the same at every encounter: “What country do youcome from? Where are you going to? Have you anythingto sell?”

But this time, after having satisfied his curiosity with theanswers given to him, the man does not go away. He remainssilent for a few seconds, spits, and then begins:

“Lama, do you know how to tell fortunes ?”

Good! Here is another of them! Telling fortunes, we aredoing it all the time, and at any rate we cannot complain,for if our role of prophet is somewhat monotonous, it certainlyyields a useful profit and admirably conceals our identity.

Yongden allows himself to be entreated. Yes, he does knowthe art of mo, hut he has no time; he is in a hurry. . . ,

The peasant persists, exclaiming: “Lama, three days agoone of my cows disappeared. We have been looking for it invain. Has it fallen down a precipice? Has it been stolen?”

He sighs and, lowering his voice, continues, “The people onthe other side of the river are awful brigands.”

For my part, I cannot help thinking that “the people on theother side” may have the same flattering opinion of their com-patriots opposite, and that both parties have undoubtedly verygood reasons for their views.

“They are quite capable,” the man continued, “of havingkilled and cut my cow In pieces, and taken it away to eat.

. . . Lama, consult the oracle! Tell me what has become ofmy cow and whether I shall find it again. ... I have nothingto offer you just now, but if you will go to my house I willgive you and your mother something to eat, and you can bothsleep there to-night.”

I am the mother. The people of this country are astonish-ingly clear-sighted! It is useless to lie to them. They inventmany more wonderful stories about us than any we could pos-sibly concoct ourselves.

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Mendicant pilgrims, such as we appear to be, never refusean invitation of .the kind just Issued to us. I have no desireto appear a suspect, especially since I have learned of thepresence of the two officials who are retaking the census ofthe villages In the district.

I sign to Yongden to accept the fellow^s offer. He puts hisload down upon a flat rock, saying with a condescending air,“Well, I suppose I must grant your request, since it is the dutyof a lama to be compassionate.”

Many edifying phrases follow, and then the ceremony begins.Muttering the sacred formulae, but shortening them as muchas possible, my young companion counts and recounts the beadsof his rosary. I can follow his thought. He is asking himself:“Where is this unlucky cow to be found? I know nothingabout it. That is not the question, however. What is thebest thing to say to the poor fool who is asking me?”

The old Thibetan is squatting there, silent and attentive,awaiting the verdict of fate. At last the oracle is pronounced.

“Your cow,” the lama says, “has not been eaten. It is stillalive, but runs the risk of an accident. If you start lookingfor it at once, going down the river, you will find it, buteverything depends upon your cleverness.”

The vagueness of the last two sentences affords a widemargin for different interpretations. A prophet should neverbe too precise. The day is not far off when we are to havean amusing proof of this.

Somewhat reassured, the peasant describes his dwellingminutely. We shall find it, he says, on the river bank. Westart off upstream, while he hastens in the opposite direction.About half an hour later we see the house indicated.

A painter would have found a charming subject for a land-scape in this Thibetan farm, resting against a high back-ground of greyish rocks, in the midst of a wood of goldenleaves. In front of it flowed the low, wintry waters of theSalween, translucid and peaceful, scalloped with ice. In allprobability, no white traveller had yet seen it in this part of

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its course^, winding bett^een barefaced gigantic cliffs whosesharp crests point high toward the open sky,

I would gladly have rested there upon the sun-baked stones,to savour the beauty of the surroundings, the joy of the passinghour and the intoxication of adventure which had led mehither. But it was not the time to indulge in revery. Thepersonality of a decrepit beggar, which I had assumed, doesnot go well with poetic fancy.

Attracted by my companion’s shouts, some women showthemselves on the flat roof of clay. They listen rather distrust-fully to the account of our meeting with the master of thehouse, and how he was led to offer us hospitality. However,after lengthy explanations they allow themselves to be con-vinced. We are led first of all into the yard, and after a freshexamination of our faces and some more questions we are per-mitted to climb the ladder leading to the roof-terrace on whichthe family apartment is situated, the ground floor beingoccupied by stables.

A ragged cushion is brought for Yongden, the lama. As forme, the old and unimportant mother, I simply seat myself onthe ground. We have to tell the women around us the namesof all the holy places we have visited or are about to visit(for the most part, of course, wholly imaginary) and assurethem that we have no merchandise to sell, not possessing somuch as a blanket (which is on this occasion nothing but thetruth).

The weather is line but cold, and, being seated motionlessin the open air, I begin to shiver. As for our hostesses, theydo not appear to feel the touch of the cold north wind whichhas arisen. In order to work the more easily, they draw theirright arms out of the sheepskin coat, their only garment,which is held to the waist by a girdle, displaying dirtybreasts which no ablutions have ever touched!

After having been there for about two hours, something hap-pens. The master of the house reappears, driving the recov-ered cow in front of him. There is general excitement.

^^Oh, Lama,” exclaims the peasant as soon as he has joined

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us on the terrace, * true, a great nonshes cken! ^ All

your words, without exception, have come true. The cowwas found in a very dangerous position. She was stuck fastin a narrow path cut by a landslide. She could neither go on,nor turn back, nor climb up to the top of the cliff. ... It wasall I could do to get her out. Just as you said. . . . Yes, youare undoubtedly a learned nonshes lama!”

We enjoy this unexpected triumph. A good meal will prob-ably follow to feast the recovery of the lost cow and pay hon-our to the seer who has brought about this happy result. Inthe meantime a woman brings some tea, that buttered andsalted Thibetan tea, a soup, maybe, rather than a beverage,but so truly refreshing to the tired and benumbed traveller!A bag of tsampa is put down beside us, and we can dip intoit at will. I eat as much as I can.

Our host remains thoughtful. He asks Yongden; “Lama,can you read?”

“Certainly,” answers the latter, proudly, “I can read, andwrite, too.”

“Oh! Oh! You are indeed learned. Perhaps you are agcashes? I thought you might be.”

He rises, goes into the combined oratory and storeroom—^theusual arrangement in Thibetan farmhouses—and brings out anenormous volume which he places with deep respect upon alow table in front of my companion.

“Lama,” he says, “look at this book. It is a book tha(brings the most wonderful blessings and ail sorts of prosperityto those for whom it is read. You shall read it for my benefit.”

Yongden turns his head toward me with' a disturbed glance.What have we fallen upon now? The task to be imposedupon him offers no attractions. He is tired and in great needof rest and sleep. Nevertheless, he must answer the old fellow,whose eyes are fixed beseechingly upon him.

“It is a big volume,” he says. “The reading of it would

* NSnshe* cben: a great seer.

* A doctor of philosophy and literature.

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MY^^OURNEY TO LHASA

require several days, and I must leave to-morrow, Biit I canopen it.^ The blessing will be quite as efficacious.”

As this is a current practice in Thibet, nobody makes anyobjection. The book is opened ceremoniously, incense burned^a fresh supply of hot tea poured into our bowls, and Yongdenbegins^ to read in a very loud voice, after having ordered meimperatively: "Mother, recite Dolmal^^ ^

I obediently intone a psalmody bearing no relation to thewords read by my adopted son, the aim of which is, merely tokeep me occupied so that the woijaen cannot worry me withtheir questions. It is by injunctions of this kind that the youngman habitually spares me the fatiguing experience of long use-less conversations,^ in the course of which either my pronuncia-tion, or the literary turn of my speech might excite the wonderof the villagers.

At the sound of the noise we are making, some neighboursappear and wag their heads comprehendingly and approvingly.I must have repeated Dolma at least twenty times, and theKyapdo^ about five hundred times. The sense of the wordsI am repeating arrests my thoughts.

"In order that you may awaken to the supreme deliver^ce,free from fear and grief, turn your steps toward Knowledge!”

I ponder, and my pious murmurs cease. The lama noticesthis, turns his head toward me, and thunders out the words:

"Just as, in the sky, the clouds form and melt away, withoutour knowing whence they come or whither they go, and withoutthere being anywhere a dwelling-place for the clouds, so dophenomena appear through i: combination of causes andvanish through the operation of other causes, without ourbeing able to assign any of them a place where it may dwell.

* Literally, “open its mouth,” which means to remove the cloth inwhich the book is wrapped and read the first pages of it, or the firstline of each page.

®A hymn of praise to the goddess Dolma known in Sanskrit literatureas Tara. ^

*Kyapdo: “prostration,” because that recitation is often accompaniedby repeated prostrations.

lOO

(’HORTENS IN THE HIMALAYAS

. . . Fleeting in their essence, impermanent, are all these com-ponents of elements.”

It is by the reading of such treatises as these, although, beit understood, they do not comprehend a single word of them-r-that the country folk of Thibet expect their cattle to multiply,their sick to be cured, and their commercial enterprises tosucceed. Strange people and strange country!

I start, aroused from my revery by the martial tone withwhich the reader has pronounced the declarations of the SacredWritings, and I resume my chanting with, “Aum mani padviehum!” My ears are tingling. I feel exhausted. If only Imight sleep!

Night approaches. We have been reciting this sort of officefor several hours. The head of the family reappears, bringinga plate of barley and a bowl of clear water, which he putsdown near the book.

“Lama,” he begins, “it is not light enough to read any more.I beg you to bless my house and my goods so that they mayprosper, and to give us all holy water that we may be preservedfrom sickness.”

He is really tenacious, this worthy farmer! The recoveryof the cow must have inspired him with a blind confidence inthe magic power of Yongden. Now, faith in a lama is alwaysshown in Thibet by the donation of gifts, and the latter varyin value according to the extent of this faith. The old farmeris well off; that is to be seen by the number of cattle he hasjust had brought in from his pastures. Undoubtedly we shallbe liberally provided with food for our journey, and a few-coins will be added to the present.

I see by the expression on my companion’s face that he entersinto the spirit of the joke and is slyly rejoicing over the wind-fall which awaits 'us.

Behold hin), grave as an archbishop, patrolling the differentrooms of the dwelling, reciting words of benison from theliturgy. Sometimes he pauses for a moment, and I know thatduring the brief silence he is breathing an earnest wish forthe material and spiritual welfare of our hosts, for if he smiles-

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at the childish credulity of his unlettered compatriots, Yongdenis profoundly religious and a member of a mystic sect in hiscountry. When the tour of the house is finished, the peasantpoints the way to the stables. They extend far and are nevercleaned out, and this prolonged circuit in the sticky mud atlast proves irritating to the officiating priest. The adventurehas ceased to be amusing. He throws the grain broadcast uponthe heads of sheep and goats that are startled, horses thatprance, and cows that remain stolidly indifferent as if disdain-ful of all religious rites. Then, believing he has finished, heapproaches the ladder and mounts a step or two. But theproprietor, who has accompanied him as incense bearer, hurriesup behind him, seizes him by one ankle, and points out thatthe pigs have not had their share of blessing. He has to godown again. The unfortunate lama finishes as soon as hepossibly can with the foul-smelling animals, which utter weirdsounds as he angrily throws forth a hail of barley at them.With muddy shoes and cold wet feet he at last attains the roof.Now it is the turn of the human beings! The water in thebowl is blessed according to the orthodox rite. Then thefamily, headed by the father, advances in line to receive a fewdrops in their hollowed palms. The water is swallowed, andthe moisture left in the hand is used to wet the head. Theneighbours join in this procession.

When the devotions are at an end the evening meal is served.It is a soup of dried nettles without any meat. We are farfrom obtaining the feast we had anticipated, and it augursbadly for the present that will be offered on our departure.One may well fear that it will be no more substantial thanthe soup. > Nevertheless, one never knows. Thibetan peasantshave strange ideas. My concern about the alms we will or willnot receive amuses me. I have developed the true beggar’smentality since I began to play the part of a poverty-strickenwanderer! But our begging is not, after all, wholly a sport.It has a serious side, for the offerings which fill our walletsrelieve us of the necessity of buying food and showing that wepossess money, and therefore help to preserve our incognito.

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Finally, we are allowed to go to sleep. In the room whichwe are now permitted to enter there is a scrap of tattered sack-ing upon the earthen floor. It is about as large as a towel,and this is the bed destined for me! Yongden, by virtue ofhis clerical dignity, is treated somewhat better. He will havethe use of a ragged carpet which will preserve him, as faras his knees, from contact with the bare earth. As to thelegs, they do not matter. The lower classes in Thibet alwayssleep doubled up, like dogs, almost in the form of a ball, andthey never possess carpets or cushions as long as their ownbodies. To sleep with the body fully extended is regarded asa luxury pertaining to ^^the Quality” alone.

I lay down after having merely unfastened the girdle of mythick robe. In Thibet the poor do not undress when they goto bed, especially when they are guests in a strange house inthe course of a journey. Shortly afterwards my son joinedme, and with as little toilet preparations as myself he stretchedhimself upon his bit of carpet. We were both asleep when anoise and a bright light awakened us.

But are we really awake? The picturesque spectacle whichwe perceive between our half-closed eyelids almost makes usdoubt it. The room we are In is that in which the two daugh-ters of the house and the maidservant sleep. They have allthree just come In, and, to light themselves (lamps and candlesare unknown In this part of the country), they have thrownshavings of resinous wood into the brazier in the middle of thefloor. I see them unfasten their girdles, shake their black-ened arms out of their sleeves, drag hither and thither thegreasy and matted sheepskins which are to serve them for bedand blankets. They move about, chattering, their silver neck-laces tinkling upon their bare breasts. The flames which firstgleam and dance and then darken to mere glowing embers,surround them with a weird light. They look like three youngwitches preparing for their Sabbath.

Before the day has dawned I nudge Yongden quietly toawaken him. We must complete our toilet before the lightpermits the others to notice too many details about us. For

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me, this consists first in darkening my face with the black Iprocure by rubbing the bottom of our only saucepan with myhand. This precaution prevents my too fair skin from aston-ishing the natives. Then, beneath oiir robes we must arrangethe belts containing our gold and silver, our maps, thermome-ter, miniature compasses, watches, and other objects whichmust on no account be perceived.

We have scarcely finished when the mistress appears. Shecalls her daughters and the servant; the fire is rekindled, thesaucepan containing the remains of last night^s soup placed onthe brazier, and a few moments later we are invited to holdout our bowls for its distribution. The bowls were not washedlast night; it is not the custom amongst Thibetan villagers.Each one possesses a special bowl which he never lends. Helicks it carefully after every meal and that is the cleansingprocess. Poor me! I lack practice in the art of licking mybowl; it is still smeared over with a layer of soup and of teawhich has frozen during the night. But protesting nervesmust be subdued and the rising gorge swallowed, for the suc-cess of my journey depends upon it. Let us shut our eyesand drink off our soup though it is even more nauseatingthan last nighPs, because of the water added to make it gofurther.

Our packages are soon tied up. No present is forthcoming,and I regard with a look of amusement the discomfited coun-tenance of my lama who has poured forth so many blessings,chants, and official ministrations of all kinds. It is useless todelay any longer. The whole family comes for one more bless-ing by the imposition of hands, and I can guess that Yongdenwould willingly administer a sound cuffing to the old miserupon whose shock of hair he lays his hands.

We go down the ladder again, pass in front of the horseswhich eye us curiously, the goats whose odd and diabolical gazeseems to jeer at the. crestfallen lama, and the ever placid cows.Once outside, we walk for a while in silence. Then, out ofsight and earshot, Yongden turns suddenly and, having made

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some cabalistic signs in the direction of our host, he burstsforth:

“Oh, you rogue, you base deceiver, in whose service I toileda whole day long! . . . Telling me to go down the ladderagain to bless his pigs, forsooth! I take back all my blessings,unworthy old miser! May the wool never grow on yoursheep’s back, your cattle prove barren, and your fruit treesbe blighted!”

His comical Indignation, which was only half feigned, amusedme very much. For, after all, my companion was a real lama,and he had been cheated of dues that were justly his. But hehimself could not long withstand the funny side of the adven-ture, and we both burst out laughing in the face of the wintrySalween, which seemed to be singing as It wended its way overits pebbly bed: “That’s the way things are done in the finecountry of Thibet, my adventurous little strangers; you willsee many more such!”

That very day, after having again crossed a pass, we reachedthe vicinity of the dreaded Ubes. We delayed our walk throughthe village until dusk, and then, leaving behind a group ofhouses in one of which we supposed that the Big Man wassleeping, we allowed ourselves a short rest in a narrow creviceof the hill, the dry bed of a summer stream.

At dawn the first rays of light revealed a decorated buildingwhich was doubtlessly the present abode of the official. Asit was still early, we were lucky enough to meet no one in thevicinity.

We made great haste, and when the sun rose we had alreadyput about two miles between us and the dangerous spot. Wejoyfully congratulated each other on our escape.

In the middle of the afternoon, while we were still in this?gay mood, we were told that the ponpo had moved three daysago from Ubes to aYiother village situated farther on.

We tramped on again at night till we had passed the place.Perfectly convinced, this time, that our troubles were over,we slept happily in a chaos of rocks and thorns. The follow-ing morning, after ten minutes’ walk, we reached a large

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hbuse sheltered in a recess of the mountain. About thirtygood horses were tethered outside. Country people werealready crowding in, bringing grain, grass, butter, meat, andso forth.

! This was the place where the official had actually put up!A stalwart head servant supervised the entrance of the thingsbrought by the villagers. He stopped Yongden, and after atalk which appeared to me endless, he ordered a man to giveus a meal of tea and tsampa. We could not refuse this kindolFer. Beggars like us could but rejoice at this piece of goodluck. We made a pretense of it, seated on the steps of thekitchen, smiling, laughing, and joking with the attendants ofthe gentleman, but all the while we felt rather inclined to taketo our heels!

The thing which proved most tiresome, and even at timesbecame excessively difficult in the life I was now leading, wasthe part that I was always obliged to play in order to preservemy incognito. In a country where everything is done inpublic, down to the most intimate personal acts, I was forcedto affect peculiar local customs which embarrassed me terribly.Happily, our way lay at times through large tracts of un-inhabited land, and the greater freedom which I enjoyed theresomewhat relieved my painful nervous tension. There, espe-cially, I was able to avoid the indescribable soups which thekindly but poverty-stricken fellows, our hosts, bestowed uponus, and which we had to swallow down with a smile, for fearof suspicious comments. Once only did I depart from myaccustomed attitude of the beggar to whom everything tastesgood, but that day 1 . • .

We have arrived toward nightfall in a little village. It wasvery cold and the stark surroundings afforded no shelter. Wehad already been refused hospitality at several houses, whena woman opened her door to us—^the rickety door of anexceedingly miserable dwelling. We entered; a fire burned onthe hearth, and in this frosty weather this in itself affordedcomfort. The husband of the woman came back shordy after-wards, bringing out some handfuls of tsampa from the bottom

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of a beggar’s wallet, and we realised that no supper could beexpected from people who had nothing to eat themselves.After a few words of praise for the generosity of an imaginarychief who has given hini a rupee, Yongden declares that hewill buy some meat, if there is any to be had in the village."

‘T know of a good place,” said our host at once, scentinga windfall. From the corner where I was crouching, I insistedthat it should be of good quality. Most Thibetans eat withoutany repugnance the putrefied flesh of animals which have diedof disease.

not bring back the flesh of an animal which has died,nor a piece which is decayed,” I said.

“No, no,” said the man. “I know what I am about. Youshall have something good.”

About ten minutes passed. The village is not large, andthe peasant soon returned.

“There,” he said, triumphantly, drawing a large parcel ofsome kind from beneath his sheepskin robe.

What can this be? ... The room Is lighted only by theembers of the fire, and I cannot clearly distinguish anything.... The man seems to be opening something, probably acloth which he has wrapped round his purchase.

Ugh! ... A most fearsome odour suddenly fills the room,the smell of a charnel-house. It is sickening.

“Oh,” says Yongden, in a voice that trembles slightly, con-cealing the nausea that he is obliged to repress. “Oh, it is astomach!”

I understand now. The Thibetans, when they kill a beast,have a horrible habit of enclosing in the stomach, the kidneys,heart, liver, and entrails of the animal. They then sew up thiskind of bag, and its contents go on decaying inside for days,weeks, and even longer.

“Yes, it is a stomach,” repeats its purchaser, whose voice alsotrembles somewhat, but with joy, seeing the mass of foodstufffalling out of the now opened bag. “It is full,” he exclaims,“quite full! Oh, what a lot!”

He has placed the horror on the floor, is plunging his bands

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into It, taking out the gelatinous entrails. Three children whowere asleep on a heap of tatters have awakened, and arenow squatting in front of their father, watching him eagerlywith covetous eyes.

“Yes . . . yes, a stomach!” repeats Yongden, in consterna-tion.

“Here, mother, here is a saucepan,” says the woman, kindly,addressing me: “You can prepare your supper.”

What! Am I to handle this filth? I whisper hastily to myson, “Tell them that I am ill.”

“It always seems your turn to be 111 when something unpleas-ant befalls us,” Yongden growls, under his breath. But the boyis resourceful; he has already regained his self-possession.

“The old mother is ill,” he announces. “Why do you notmake the tupa [thick soup] yourselves? I want everybody tohave a share.”

The two peasants do not wait to be Invited a second time,and the youngsters, realizing that a feast is in course of prepa-ration, stay quietly by the fire, having no desire to go to sleepagain. The mother takes up a chopper and a rustic chopping-block made out of a log, on which she cuts the carrion Intosmall pieces. From time to time one of these drops upon thefloor, and then the children fall upon It like young puppies anddevour it raw.

Now this foul soup is boiling, and a little barley meal isadded. Finally the supper Is ready.

“Take some, mother; it will do you good,” say the husbandand wife. I confine myself to groaning, in the corner where Ihave stretched myself.

“Let her sleep,” says Yongden.

He cannot himself be excused. Arjopas who spend a rupeeon meat and do not touch it do not exist. To-morrow thewhole village would be talking about it. He has to swallowdown a full bowl of the evil-smelling liquid, but beyond thathe cannot go, and he declares that he, too, is not feeling verywell. I do not wonder at it. The others feast long andgluttonously upon the broth, smacking their lips In silence,

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overcome with joy at this unexpected bonne bouche, and I amovertaken by sleep whilst the family is still masticating noisily.

We travelled across more hills and more valleys; we passedby more gompas. We sat with more peasants, and met twoponpos on the road, one of whom bestowed on us most usefulpresents of food. Thus we progressed In the direction of theSepo Khang la.

At the foot of the pass one of those mysterious and inex-plicable incidents was to befall us, such as sometimes bewilderthe traveller in Thibet. A long tramp had brought us to agorge in which a clear stream flowed toward the invisibleSalween, which we were again approaching for the last time.

It was scarcely noorT, and we felt reluctant to waste a wholeafternoon in a village house when we could still have gone onfor several hours. We had been informed that It was impossibleto cross the range in one day, even if we started before dawn,so that we were bound in any case to spend the night on thehills. We therefore thought it wiser to continue on our way, andif the cold prevented us from camping, we could walk onthrough the night, as we had often done. But before startingon this long tramp I wished to eat a good meal. Water wasnow at our feet, and we could not guess when we shouldagain run across a stream. Yongden gladly agreed to make ahalt, and as soon as we had reached the bank we put our loadson the shingle, and my companion began to light a fire withthe few twigs that I had gathered under some trees whichgrew at the end of the fields,

A little boy whom I had noticed on the other side of theriver then crossed the bridge and ran toward Yongden. Hebowed down three times before him as Thibetans do in theirgreetings to great lamas. We were most astonished. Whatcould have made that child give such a deep token of reverenceto a mere beggar pilgrim. Without giving us time to put anyquestion, the boy addressed Yongden.

'^My grandfather, who Is very ill,” he said, “has told us all,this morning, that a lama coming down that hill, was to make

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tea in the dry part of the river bed and that he wanted to seehim. Since the sun has risen my brother and I have watchedin turn at the bridge to invite the lama to our house. Nowthat you have come, please follow me.”

‘Tt is not my son whom your grandfather expects,” I toldthe boy. “We are people from a far-off country. He doesnot know us.”

“He said the lama who would make tea on the stones/^ in-sisted the child; and as we did not comply with his request hecrossed the river again and disappeared between the fences ofthe fields.

We had just begun to drink our tea when the boy reappeared,accompanied by a young trapa.

“Lama,” the latter said to Yongden, “be kind enough tocome to see my father. He Is very ill and says that he isabout to die. He only waits for a lama who will arrive to-dayand who Is the one and only person who can direct him to ahappy place of rebirth In the next world. He told us all thismorning that you would come down that hill and make tea,here on the stones, near the river. All has happened as hesaid. Now please be kind to us and come.”

Neither Yongden nor I knew what to think about thi^ queeraffair. We persisted in believing that the sufferer meant somelama whom he knew and had some reason to expect on thisroad. Nevertheless, seeing the trapa weeping, I advised mycompanion to pay a visit to the sick villager. So he promisedto go as soon as we had finished our meal.

The boy and the young trapa—^his unde, I understood—went to report our answer to the; farmer. But presently I sawanother boy seated near the bridge observing us. These peoplewere certainly afraid that Yongden would fail to keep hispromise, and therefore kept him in sight. No escape waspossible, and why indeed should Yongden have disappointedan old invalid? The latter would evidently see that my sonwas not the one he expected, and all would end with no morethan ten minutes* delay.

IIO

All the family had assembled at the door of the farm. Theygreeted Yongden with the greatest respect. My companionwas then led into the room, and while he went toward thecushions on which the farmer lay I remained near the thresholdwith the women of the house.

The old man did not really appear as one who is neardeath. His voice was firm and his intelligent eyes showed thathis mental faculties were in no way dimmed. He wished to riseand bow down to my son, but the latter prevented him frommoving out of his blankets, saying that sick people need onlymean the respectful salute.

“Lama,” the farmer said, “I have been longing for yourcoming, but I knew that you were to come and I waited foryou, to die. You are my true tsawai lama; ^ no one but youalone can lead me to the ‘Land of Bliss.’ Have compassionon me, bless me, do not refuse me your help.”

What the old man wished was for Yongden to utter for hisbenefit the mystic words called Powa which are pronouncedat the deathbed of a lay lamaist or of any monk who is not aninitiate, when the latter Is quite beyond all hope of recovery.

As I have said, the old Thibetan did not seem to be near todeath, and for religious reasons whose explanations would beout of place here, my companion hesitated to yield to hiswishes. He tried in vain to hearten the sick man, assuringhim that he would not die, and oifering to recite the spellswhich “mend” life and give it new strength. This the farmer,however, obstinately refused, maintaining that he knew hishour to be at hand and had only awaited the spiritual aid ofhis lama to take his departure.

He then began to weep and order those present to entreatthe lama on his behalf. The family did so, sobbing and weep-ing, with repeated prostrations, until, overpowered, Yongdenfinally gave in. Then, deep moved he recited the ritual words

' Either the head lama of the sect to which one belongs, or the headlama of the monastery of which one is either a benefactor, a monk, or aserf. But in this case it means a spiritual father and guide with whomone has been connected in that way for several lives.

Ill

which loosen the ties of the ^^namshis,^ ^ and lead them safelythrough the labyrinthine paths of the other worlds.

When we left him the old farmer^s face expressed a perfectserenity, a complete detachment from all earthly concerns, hav-ing, It seemed, entered the true Blissful Paradise which, beingnowhere and everywhere, lies in the mind of each one of us.

I shall not venture to offer any explanation of this peculiarincident. I have related the fact thinking that It might interestthose who pursue psychic researches, but I would feel exceed-ingly sorry if my account provoked commentaries disrespectfulto the memory of the departed Thibetan. Death and the dyingare never to be made a subject of raillery.

Those who had told us that the road across the Sepo Khanghills was a long one, were certainly right. We walked on fromthe dawn, meeting nobody and mistaking our way on severaloccasions at the intersection of trails leading to dokpas^ sum-mer camps. At dusk we were still far from the pass. Ablizzard then rose, as we climbed a steep and waterless slope.There was no camping-place in the vicinity, and we had almostdecided to retrace our steps and shelter ourselves much lowerdown at a place where we had seen some empty huts, whenwe heard the tinkling of horses^ bells and three men appearedon the way up like ourselves. They were traders, and toldus that a little farther along on the road there was a farmwherein we could get shelter.

It was pitch dark when we arrived. I understood fromthe large stables, that the place was a kind of inn for theuse of travellers crossing the pass at a season when campingin the open is rather dangerous. We were admitted to thekitchen with the merchants who fed us with soup, tea, tsampaand dried fruits. These men belonged to a village in thesame neighbourhood as the sick farmer. Passing there inthe morning, they had heard all about Yongden, and brought

^ Namshes: consciousness, which is multiple. Not in any case to be trans-lated by souL

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us the sad news that at dawn, when we ourselves had leftthe village, the old man had smiled and died. I'he tradershad been deeply impressed by the account of their friend’s lasthours. The thoughts of all being turned toward religion, theybegged Yongden to preach them a sermon, which he did.

The kitchen, the only living room of the farm, was verysmall, and with the blazing fire that burned quite near us,we were half roasted. Then, when the time came to sleep,we understood that the owner and his wife wished to remainalone. The traders went down the ladder to the stable, wherethey slept near their beasts. As for us, we were told to accom-modate ourselves on the flat roof. What a change from thatovenlike kitchen to the cold air of a frosty night, with a bliz-zard raging, at fifteen or sixteen thousand feet above sea level!It was not the first time that I had experienced this kind ofhospitality. More than once villagers had invited us, treatedus to a good supper, and then sent us on the roof or into thecourtyard. Nobody apparently thought much of it in Thibet!

But that night I lacked the courage to lie down in the openair, and I begged permission (which was granted) to sleep nextthe kitchen in a shelter shut in on three sides.

The next day we crossed the pass and descended to theSepo monastery, beautifully situated in a lonely spot with anextended view in front of it. The traders were on horseback,and had reached the gompa long before us. They had stayedthere for a while and had told the lamas about Yongden, sothat when he arrived, meaning to purchase some food, hewas cordially welcomed and invited to remain a few days todiscuss matters concerning the Buddhist doctrine with some ofthe monastery’s learned inmates. As for myself, I could alsoget lodging in a guest house. But as I had not accompaniedmy adopted son to the monastery, and had continued my way,

I was already out of sight amongst the hills, so Yongden de-clined the kind invitation. I regretted it afterwards; but asniy role of a lay woman would very likely have kept meaway from the place where the literati of the monastery would

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hold their meetings with Yongden, I consoled myself with nogreat difficulty.

A little later in the evening, we met a woman going to thegompa who told us that we could'find a shelter in a partlyruined house that was easily seen from the road. The countrywas once more a complete desert, and we could not hopeto reach the lower valley on the same day. It proved moreand more true that the crossing of the Sepo Khang la was along one. We walked about an hour longer without discover-ing the house, but at last reached it when it was nearly dark.

It had been a really large and well-built farm with a goodnumber of stables, sheds, storerooms, servants’ quarters, anda pretty apartment upstairs for the owners. Everything wasnow in a dilapidated condition, but with a little work it wouldhave been quite possible to make the necessary repairs, for noessential parts of the building were ruined.

We had nearly finished our meal when the woman who hadtold us about that house arrived with a young boy, her son.She was the owner of the farm and had left it, though therewere good fields around it, after a terrible drama.

A few years before, a gang of robbers from the Po countryhad attacked this isolated farm and there had been a terrificstruggle. Four of the masters, the woman’s husband, her twobrothers, another relative, and a few servants had been killed,while others were wounded. The robbers also had left severaldead on the ground. Since then the unhappy housewife andher family lived in the village near the monastery. The fearthat a similar outrage would happen again, naturally kept heraway from her farm, which gradually fell into ruins.

But another and still stronger fear prevented her fromreturning to her former house. The farm was believed to behaunted by evil spirits. The violent death of so many menhad attracted them, and, with the ghosts of the murderersand their victims, they roamed about the buildings. For thisreason the woman had come back from the gompa to ask thelama to spend the night in her house, to exorcise it.

She could have requested the services of the lamas of Sepo,

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and most likely some of them had already performed therequired rites on her behalf; but, as I have already men-tioned, “Red Cap” lamas are deemed more powerful exorciststhan their colleagues of the yellow sect. Moreover, Yongden,for. obvious reasons, had a real success as a lama “Holder ofthe Secret Spells.” Had he established himself somewhere,clients would have flocked to his residence. But he hated thatkind of trade; he had seen it from too near.

Nevertheless, kindness compelled him to comply with thewishes of the woman. He told her that if she wished to culti-vate her property again, she could do so without fear of anydenizen of another world, but that serious precautions were tobe taken against robbers.

The following day we arrived in the Dainshin province, andhere again, as along the Salween, I was the guest of many. 1never regretted my roundabout tour in that country. It isout of the way of the great trade routes, and absolutelyunknown to foreigners. Yet it is a well-cultivated area. Largeand prosperous monasteries are seen in several places, thevillages seem to be well built, and the people are agreeable. Isaw some interesting soda fields from which Thibetans get thestuflF they mix with their tea when boiling it.

Once we passed a rich traveller on the road, carrying pres-ents to a gompa. He gave us two rupees each, without ourasking for money. We were naturally most astonished at thisunexpected windfall.

We did not always take our disguise as beggars very seri-ously. Once in the heart of Thibet, we preferred to save timeby purchasing our supplies. Nevertheless, unsolicited almscame our way several times. Never in my life have I madeso economical a journey. We used to laugh as we trampedalong the road, recalling all the stories we had read of travellerswho started out with many camels laden with heavy and expen-sive stores and luggage only to meet with failure more or lessnear their goal.

I could have done the whole journey without any money in

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

my pocket, but as we were extravagant beggars, indulging inmolasses cakes, dried fruits, the best tea, and plenty of butter,we succeeded in spending one hundred rupees in our fourmonths’ journey from Yunnan to Lhasa. One need not berolling in riches to travel in the blessed lands of Asia!

CHAPTER IV

I HAD been told at Tashi Tse: “To go to Po yul you canchoose between two roads. One follows the valley, theother cuts through the hills. The first one crosses many vil-lages and passes near several monasteries. Robbers are notmuch to be feared on that side; at the worst the traveller maymeet some petty thieves—three or four men roaming togetherat night, who do not generally kill those whom they attack. Itis also easy, on that road, to get food either by begging or bypurchasing it. The second is a mountain track, and, althoughfairly good, it runs through a wilderness. Until the first villagesof the Po yul ^ are reached, you will tramp in a desert prob-ably without meeting a single soul. And this is the best thatcan happen to you, for those you meet might be highwaymenfrom the Po country, coming and going on some looting expe-dition. They would certainly not trouble about the contentsof your beggars’ bags, but might possibly kill you, vexed tohave been seen and anxious to avoid any further talk. Youwill also have to pass two very high passes, and a large tractof land between. Snow has not yet fallen heavily this year.You may succeed in crossing the range, but you must beready to face the worst, for snow might close the road of thefirst pass, after your passage, so that, if you found the secondclosed also, you would be caught in a trap. If you risk theadventure, you must take a large supply of food with you.You may possibly meet a few dokpas camped between the tworanges, but they will neither give nor sell any food. They havescarcely enough for themselves to last until next spring.”

I did not give much time to pondering over this news. Thevalley road was marked on all the maps, but that does notnecessarily mean, where Thibet is concerned, that any for-

* Yvl means country.

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K

eigner has followed it. It often happens that the line markedon the map by the map-maker is traced, not from his actualknowledge, but according to information received from natives,and Thibetans are rather vague. If not quite fanciful, indescribing the roads and the country which they cross. Any-how the rong lam ^ in question was, I could well believe,rather well known by the Chinese. The other one, on thecontrary, was unexplored; maps Ignored it completely, as wellas the passes which it crossed. These passes were, no doubt,those at the foot of which sprang the river Po, referred to bythe English general who, strange as it might appear, had agood deal of responsibility in the choice of my present itinerary.

His name was Sir George Pereira. We often spoke of him,Yongden and I, and we meant to relate to him our prowess onour return. We were far from thinking that he would die ona road of the Chinese Far East, about the time we enteredthat Po yul which we had looked at together on the map.

General Pereira had arrived at Jakyendo when I had justreturned there after a tour in that part of Kham that extendsfrom the grassy desert to the southern trade road—^the pnegoing from Chiamdo to Lhasa. That trip, during which I hadgathered most interesting information, ended suddenly, a$ Ihave .related. I was stopped and prevented from proceedingsouthwards toward the Salween, No doubt the general hadlearned this from the servants or other people, but, as I didnot take him into my confidence as to my unpleasant adven-ture, he never alluded to it in our talks.

He spent a fortnight in an apartment situated opposite tomine in the same courtyard, and we often met to take tea orto visit some place of interest. He was a well-bred, elderlygentleman, a charming scholar, a geographer, and a tirelessglobe-trotter. He was suspected at Jakyendo of being chargedwith a secret mission by his government. Many things wererumoured of which I cannot say whether they were true ornot. It was a matter of indifference to me.

General Pereira was on his way to Lhasa by the northern

' Valley road.

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trade route, and he openly spoke of it.^ Although a Danishtraveller had been'stopped but a few weeks before on that verysame road, the general was certain that orders had been sentto the Thibetans to receive him with due regard, and thus itturned out.

He carried with him a quantity of maps, and himself sur-veyed the country through which he went, working strenuouslya part of the night to put his notes in order, and taking butlittle interest in the picturesque aspect of the customs, feasts,and the like of the country.

Very kindly he put his maps and some of his notes at mydisposal. I copied from them a number of useful points forthe future journey I had already planned. Some of theserough map sketches have accompanied me to Lhasa, hidden inmy boots, and, thanks to them, I have been able to verify onmy way how incomplete the geographical knowledge of thatpart of the world still is.

One afternoon, after having had tea together, we were speak-ing about Thibet. A map remained open on a table, and withthe tip of his finger Sir George Pereira followed the thin linemarking the supposed course of the Po.

“Nobody has ever been there,” he said. “There may be sev-eral accessible passes above the spring of the river. ... Itwould be an interesting way to Lhasa.”

Did he speak on purpose to give me a hint, or had his wordsno special meaning? I never knew.

More than once I had considered the idea of crossing thePo country. It was an old idea of mine, for I had discussedit with Yongden three years before, in the Kum Bum Monas-tery, but the vague facts I had gathered about Po yul fromtraders of central Thibet or the people of Kham had beenrather discouraging. Many maintained that the Popas werecannibals. Others, more moderate in their opinions, left this

^ Since then I have learned that the general’s itinerary was entirelydifferent from that which he declared he would follow when leavingJakyendo. He proceeded by the southern road which crosses an in-habited country. The Thibetan government supplied him with convey-ances all the way.

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question unsettled. But all united in affirming that anyoneforeign to the Po tribes, who entered their country, was neverseen again.

So I hesitated a little before risking this adventure, whenthe words of the general decided me—“Nobody has ever beenthere. . . All right. I would see these ranges and thesepasses! Truly it would be “an interesting road to Lhasa”!Hearty thanks to you, sir, who on purpose or by chance didme a real service.

I was now at the foot of the hills about which I had dreamedfor years. Hesitation was impossible.

Tashi Tse, where I chose the road which was to lead to somany adventures, is an important village situated in a widevalley near a zong ^ built on an isolated hillock.

Tashi Tse means the prosperous summit, or the summit ofprosperity. Both translations can be justified on the scoreof grammar. Since the bottom of the valley does not in theleast correspond to one's geographical notion of a summit, oneis compelled to look to the other translation, which, alas!appears as inexact as the first one. The poor countryfolk ofthe region are, I have heard, far from having reached the heightof prosperity.

Taxes, statute labour, and a number of other ways of plun-dering them, which the villagers lament, fill the strong box ofthe ponpo perched on his hillock, and it is very likely that itis to his paltry citadel we must look to find the “prosperoussummit.”

I reached the place rather early in the afternoon and hadtime to go round a-begging, the purpose of which was todeceive the official or his men if they happened to hear aboutmy presence. The poor peasants, to whom my apparent pov-erty and my beggarly attire gave confidence, described theirdistress in that country where the soil does not produce everyyear enough grain to pay the tax in kind.

To leave the country, to look for better land or less exactinglords, is not permitted. A few ventured the flight and estab-

^ 2ong: a fort, but nowadays any dwelling seat of an official.

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lished themselves in neighbouring provinces. Having beendiscovered, they were taken away from the new home they hadcreated and led back to Tashi Tse, where they were beaten andheavily fined.

Now many who had thought to imitate them, too fright-ened by the fate of their friends, remain resigned, all energydestroyed, growing poorer each year, expecting no deliverancein this life. Others looked toward China. “We were not ill-treated in this way when the Chinese were the masters,” theysaid. “Will they come back? Maybe . . . but when? Wemay die before • .

And so, in the evenings, around small fires in their miserablehuts, these women, whose tears have reddened their eyes, gazebefore them in the dark, picturing the range after range of hillsbetween them and the land where the Lhasa troops have drivenaway their old suzerains.

The distance which separates their country from that cer-tainly not perfect, but more hospitable, land, is not great, buthow is it possible to travel quickly without being detected,if one must take the grandmother who walks so slowly, thelittle ones so soon tired, and the infants who must be carried?And then, what of the ass and of the only cow, whose losswould mean utter ruin for those who would already be com-pelled to leave so many things behind . . . ?

How sorrowful was this “prosperous summit”!

I spent the night in a house where thoughts such as I havementioned haunted the minds of my hosts. The husband andhis wife were rather ill-assorted as to their age, and my foolishcompanion repented bitterly for days having mistaken therather young man for the son of the housewife, whereas hewas her husband. The grandmother knew that, once she weredead, the couple would try to escape with the children fromtheir jail. ..The poor old thing, in other circumstances, wouldcertainly have liked to live longer, but now she wished to die,so that her children might be free to start toward happiness,or at least a lesser misery. She wished to die, but she, too,dreamed of happiness, and as she was not to know the earthly

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one which perhaps awaited her family, she begged the lamaat night, when the others had retired to sleep, to perform therite which would bring her a happy rebirth in Nub devoa chen,the Western Paradise. Her daughter was a kind-heartedwoman. She did not, of course, desire the end of the tottering,white-haired grandmother, nor did the good young husband.Yet, with the increasing poverty and the taxes . . . and . . .and . . . ! I could have wept.

How heart-rending was the sorrow of these humble folk!It is on such occasions that one would like to be a God andto have at one’s command an Inexhaustible treasure of welfareand happiness to pour out to all alike: intelligent and simple-minded ones, so-called good and so-called bad ones, so thatall should smile and rejoice! Why could I not flood withtrue felicity that melancholic Tashi Tse, “the prosperoussummit.”

I started a little before daybreak, missed the road in thedarkness, and did not cross the river as I ought to have done.When I became aware of it the bridge was far behind. Toretrace my steps might have attracted the notice of someservants of the zong. I did not like to risk it, and so one ,wayonly remained—to cross in the water. The stream flowedrapidly; it was large and deep but clear. One could see thebottom, and did not risk losing unexpectedly one’s footing,as happened to me in the upper course of the Mekong duringa previous journey. On the whole, the crossing had nothingthat could frighten Yongden or myself, who had many times,on horseback or on foot, forded foaming torrents. But thebanks were widely scalloped with thick ice which told of thetemperature of the morning bath with which the deity ofTashi Tse meant to increase our comfort.

I went upstream looking for a ford, and reached a forkof the river. The small branch was shallow, nearly frozenover, but, for that very reason, the passage was still morepainful. In several places the frozen sheet broke under meand I fell amongst splinters of ice which cruelly cut my bare

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feet. Then followed the real bath, with dress lifted up andthe water just a little lower than my hips.

How welcome would have been a warm Turkish towel whenwe reached the stony shore! Such luxury, of course, was quitefar out of reach. True I had in my bag a one-foot-squaretowel, but I used it only when in hiding. Thibetans do notdry themselves after crossing a river, or, if they do, they usea flap of their wide robes. I tried to imitate them, but assoon as it became wet my thick dress of coarse wool stiffenedand froze.

We went along the river till noon; we then felt hungry anddeemed it wise to have a meal before leaving the valley, forwe could not guess if water would be found soon on the hills.Previous experiences had taught us the torment of remainingthirty-six hours without drinking. We preferred to avoid risksof that kind.

A torrent crossed our road. Once upon a time, in a dread-ful rush, it had rent and carried down a mountain and coveredthe plain, far away, with countless rocks and boulders. Now,at its winter low-water level, it divided in several rivuletswhich went winding among the obstacles accumulated in thedays of its strength.

I hastily collected whatever dry twigs or cow dung I couldfind among the stones, and Yongden lit a fire. Foreseeinggreater hardships than ever on the desert road of the highpasses, we decided that day that a specially good meal wasrequired: first the soup, then the tea. As a rule we had onlyone course, either soup or tea. The ordering of the menu wasmine. Thibetans begin with tea and end with soup.

The soup? Under what name could it appear on a bill offare? Would “potage Vatel” do? I disclose the receipt. Froma bag of the most orthodox local fashion—that is to say,greasy and black with dirt—I take out a small piece of drybacon, the gift of a kind-hearted householder. My youngcompanion cuts it into a dozen tiny bits, which he throws inthe pot full of boiling water. Then a pinch of salt, and asigh: "Ah! if we had a radish or a turnip!” But we lack these

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delicacies and the minute slices of bacon dance alone a livelyjig in the boiling broth, a turbid liquid the smell of whichreminds one of dishwater. Nevertheless, that scent is not un-pleasant to the needy vagrants which we have become. Pureair and long tramps are the best appetizers, and we have eatennothing since the meagre soup, with turnips but without bacon,that our host had given us the day before.

Now a few handfuls of flour beaten up in cold water arethrown in the pot. A few minutes later we begin to eat.‘‘How particularly good is the soup to-day! Really delicious!”But as, in spite of my long stay amongst Thibetans, I still keepa vague remembrance of French cooking, I add, “My father^sdogs would never have eaten such a thing.” I laugh and extendmy bowl to have it filled again.

Now it is the turn of the tea. I tear a small piece of thehard compressed brick made as much of branches of wood asof tea leaves. It is crushed into the water; salt and butter areadded. It is like a second soup, all the more because weadd tsampa in our bowls. Now the lunch is ended and wefeel perfectly refreshed, capable of climbing as high as the sky.We look boldly to the first range silhouetted against the horizonand behind which we shall meet so many others.

We have loaded our bags upon our backs and hold in ourhands our long pilgrim staffs. Let us go! I am entering avirgin country and only a few natives have ever contemplatedthe scenery yonder, which I shall see this very evening.

We found a hamlet higher up, in an immense upper valleythat ascended slowly toward distant ranges, where it becamea desert covered only with grass and shrubs. At first we couldsee trails followed by cattle-keepers in the summer, but soonthey disappeared under the grass or in the stony patches, andwe were left to our own cleverness to find our way.

Once we discovered, far away at the foot of the hills, anIntermittent smoke. It might be dokpas encamped there for thewinter; or, as the smoke looked so white, perhaps it was thevapour of sofhe hot spring, as there are a go^ number of thesein Thibet. To go to that place would have taken several hours,

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and I could not afford this. Although the weather was fine,snow seemed to be expected before long by the people of thecountry, and I was anxious, to be quickly over the first high passat least. I therefore pushed on, going straight toward theridge I could see before me.

The slight slope over which we were proceeding was not flatground, for hillocks, miniature ranges, and ravine springs cutit here and there. We plunged into one of the latter, andfound its bottom filled with the frozen water of a torrent whoseslippery surface made our progress difficult. When we emergedwe saw that the large valley turned aside. We had been toldto follow a river, but now we saw two-^one very far down in agorge, and another which wound close to us amongst shortgrass and moss. The information we had gathered mentionedalso a dokpas^ camp, deserted in the winter, where we couldspend the night in shelter. I was very desirous to reach it,for at that height the night would be extremely cold. I de-cided to follow the more important of the two streams, whichvery likely had its source farther away and probably in themain ridge. Thus we continued to walk. The sun set anda sharp cold wind arose. . . . We had not found any dokpas^huts. We began to think of stopping and making a fire insome sheltered place, to spend the night there, for the higherup we went the more severe would be the cold. As for water,there was none save the river, far, far below us. But we couldeasily do without evening tea after having had such a mealas our last lunch. We were discussing the place where wemight stay, when I noticed a long distance before us, on theother bank of the river, a yellowish spot which could not beautumnal foliage, because we were above the zone of thetrees, and which, I felt, was neither a rock nor any naturalobject, but a thing made by man—^maybe a thatched roof.Curiosity, rather than real hope, prompted us, and we walkedquickly forward instead of camping. Gradually the spot be-came bigger, but we still could not see clearly what it was.A little later it appeared as thatch raised on beams. It wasa roof, then, the dokpas* camp! When at last we confronted

12S

it across the stream, we realized that it was not a roof, butmerely straw that had been put high up on some crossedbeams to prevent the wild beasts, antelopes, and others, feed-ing on it during the winter, when the camp was abandoned.We felt a little disappointed.

“No matter,” I said to Yongden. “It is worth while takingthe trouble to go down to the river and climb up the oppositebank. We will get a few bundles of that straw down, builda kind of shelter with them and spread some as mattresses onthe frozen ground. That will keep us warm. We will alsofill our pot with water when crossing the stream, and makesome good tea.”

It was a long way to the bottom of the gorge, and then up.again by an exceedingly steep slope to the encampment. Butwe reaped the full reward of our toil, for, to our happy aston-ishment, we discovered on a small headland a real campwith a number of roofed pens for the cattle, and in one ofthem a separate place for the use of the men. It had ahearth, and dried cow dung lay in abundance all over thecamp. We had reached a paradise!

Most probably we were the only human beings on that hill,but not forgetting the warning we had been given about robbers,before we slept we set a kind of a trap between ourselves andthe entrance. A man entering the hut could not have takenthree steps without catching his feet in- one or another of theropes, stretched invisibly near the ground, and on his fallingthe noise would have awakened us. What mattered most wasto avoid being taken by surprise. Once awakened . . . Well,we each had a revolver and that still better weapon, in theEast—and perhaps everywhere'—^the “winged words” of the di-vine Ulysses and the artifices of the goddess Juno. I relied moreon these latter for my safety than on anything else, and the daywas near when they would justify the confidence I placed inthem by giving me the victory over a gang of Popas brigands.

In spite of the cold wind which made me shiver, I remaineda long time outside,> wandering through that summer resort ofthe wilds, beautifully lighted by an enormous full moon.

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How happy I was to be there, en route for the mystery ofthese unexplored heights, alone in the great silence, “tastingthe sweets of solitude and tranquillity,” as a passage of theBuddhist Scripture has it!'

We ought to haveieft the dokpas^ camp in the middle of thenight to cross the pass at noon. But we were tired, and thewarmth that we felt, lying next to a big fire, kept us sleepinglonger than we had planned. I shrank also from the idea ofstarting without eating and drinking hot tea, for on the higherlevel we would find no fuel. What would happen? Whatwould the road be like? We could not guess. Was the pass,even practicable? People had only told us that it might be.Yongden, of course, felt reluctant to go so far to fetch water,inasmuch as the few places where the stream flowed freelyin daytime might be covered with ice after dark. Anyhow,he went, and we drank our tea. But the day broke before wchad left the place.

Later in the morning we reached a latza, which, from a dis-tance, we had taken as marking the top of the pass. Behind itextended a completely barren valley enclosed between a highridge of crumbling reddish stones on one side, and perpendicu-lar cliffs of various pretty greyish and mauve shades on theother. In the middle of this valley we again saw the river, thewater of which we had drunk at our breakfast. It fell nearlystraight down in a narrow gorge from the upper valley to thelower one. I looked for traces of dokpas* summer encamp-ments—^those low stone walls forming enclosures in which cat-tle are penned, but there were none. I could understand fromthe barrenness of the landscape that cattle were probably neverbrought so high.

A nearly straight reddish line—the sharp summit of a ridgeIt seemed—^blocked the horizon at the end of that desolatevalley. The distance without * being considerable, appearedgreat enough to peoplte ascending with loads on their backs,in the rarefied air of these high altitude^. Still, the hope ofseeing the end of the climb gave us courage, and we en-

. 1^7

deavoured to accelerate our pace. One thing, however, mademe uneasy—I did not discover any latza on that ridge, andThibetans never fail to erect at least one, at the top of apass. The explanation came when'we had reached the pointfrom which we had supposed that we would descend the oppo-site side of the mountain.

How could 1 express what we felt at that moment? It wasa mixture of admiration and grief. We were at the same timewonderstricken and terrified. Quite suddenly an awe-inspiringlandscape, which had previously been shut from our sight bythe walls of the valley, burst upon us.

Think of an immensity of snow, an undulating tablelandlimited far away at our left by a straight wall of blue-greenglaciers and peaks wrapped in everlasting, immaculate white-ness. At our right extended a wide valley which ascendedin a gentle slope until we reached the neighbouring summitson the sky line. In front, a similar but wider stretch of gradu-ally sloping ground vanished in the distance,, without ourbeing able to discern whether it led to the pass or to anothertableland.

Words cannot give an idea of such winter scenery as we sawon these heights. It was one of those overpowering specta-cled that make believers bend their knees, as before the veilthat hides the Supreme Face.

But Yongden and I, after our first admiration had subsided,only looked at each other in silence. No talk was needed; weclearly understood the situation.

Which was the way, we did not know! It could just aswell be to our right, as ahead of us. The snow did not allowone to see any trace of a trail. It was already late in the aft-ernoon, and to miss the road meant to remain wandering allnight on these frozen summits. We had a sufificient expe-rience of mountaineering in Thibet to know what it wouldmean—^the exploration would be ended at its first step, and theexplorers would never live to tell their tale.

I looked at my watch; it. was three in the afternoon. Wehad still several hours of daylight before us, and, happily,

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the moon would shine brightly at night. We had not yet causeto be really alarmed—the important thing was to avoid miss-ing the road and to make haste.

I looked once more at the valley on our right, then decided:*‘Let us proceed straight forward.” And so we went.

I grew excited and, although the snow became deeper anddeeper, I walked rather quickly. We had not been able tofollow the advice of the Tashi Tse villagers and carry muchfood with us. Our host could only sell us a small quantity oftsampa. His neighbours had hardly enough for themselves.They informed us that we could buy some from the servantsof the ponpo. To avoid giving them cause to talk we hadsaid that we would go to the zong early the next morning,which, of course, we didn’t! My bag was, therefore, ratherlight, whereas Yongden, carrying the tent, its iron pegs, andsundries, was much more heavily loaded.

I forged quickly ahead. Dominated by the idea of reachingthe top of the pass, or of discovering if we were going in awrong direction, I tramped with the utmost energy throughthe snow that reached my knees.

Was the lama far behind? I turned to look at him. Nevershall I forget the sight! Far, far below, amidst the white silentimmensity, a small black spot, like a tiny Lilliputian insect,seemed to be crawling slowly up. The disproportion betweenthe giant glacier range, that wild and endless slope, and thetwo puny travellers who had ventured alone in that extraor-dinarily phantasmagoric land of the heights, impressed meas it had never done before. An inexpressible feeling of com-passion moved me to the bottom of my heart. It could notbe possible that my young friend, the companion of so manyof my adventurous travels, should meet his end in a few hourson that hill. I would find the pass; it was my duty. I knewthat I would!

There was no time for useless emotion. Evening was alreadybeginning to dim the shining whiteness of the landscape. Weought by then to have been far beyond.and below the pass.I strode on, now through the snow field, jumping sometimes

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with the help of my long staff, proceeding I could not say how,but progressing quickly. At last I discerned a white moundand emerging from it, branches on which hung flags coveredwith snow and fringed with ice. It was the latza, the top ofthe pass! I signalled to Yongden, who appeared still moredistant and tiny. He did not see me at once, but after awhile he too waved his staff. He had understood that I hadarrived.

There the scenery was grand beyond all description. Be-hind extended the waste I had crossed. In front of me wasa precipitous fall of the mountain. Stretching far below, blackundulating crests vanished into the darkness. The moon roseas I looked around in a trance of admiration. Its rays touchedthe glaciers and the high snow-robed peaks, the whole whiteplain, and some silvery unknown valleys toward which I wasto proceed. The impassive landscape of the day seemed toawaken under the blue light which metamorphosed it, sparksglittered to and fro, and faint sounds were wafted by thewind. . . . Maybe elves of the frozen waterfalls, fairies of thesnow, and djin-keepers of mysterious caves were to assembleand play and feast on the illuminated white tableland; orperhaps some grave council was to take place betweeh thegiants whose heads wore helmets of cold radiance. What mys-teries could not have been discovered by the inquisitive pil-grim who, hidden, dared remain there motionless till dawn.Not that he could ever have related the wonder of the be-witching night, for his tongue would soon have been stiffenedby the frost! *

Thibetans do not shout “lha gyedo” after dark. I compliedwith the custom and threw only in six directions the oldSanskrit mantra, “Subham astu sarvajagatam [May all beingsbe happy].”

Yongden, who, after having understood that he neared thelatza, had taken courage and quickened his pace, caught upwith me. We began to descend. Traces of a track were visiblenow and then, for on that side of the mountain the snow wasnot deep and the ground, a y^owish gravel, was often visible.

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What might have been the exact level of the pass we hadcrossed I would not venture to tell, as I could not make anyobservation.^ Still, from the comparison of the plants andvarious other particulars, -ond who has tramped for yearsthrough many mountain ranges, in the same country, maymake a rough guess.. 1 had carefully looked at the lichens,and observed a few other things; and I felt nearly certain thatthe pass was about 19,000 feet high, even higher perhaps thanthe Dokar la I had crossed about two months before, higherthan the Nago la and others that reached from 18,299 to 18,500.

Although we knew that we should have to walk a part ofthe night before we should reach a spot where fuel wouldbe available, we rejoiced at having found the pass open andat having crossed it safely. In this agreeable mood we reacheda valley whose bottom was almost entirely covered by a frozenstream. There, on the ice, no trace of a track was of coursevisible, and we began again to roam to and fro in search ofsome sign to show us our direction. To follow the courseof the frozen river was the safest way, if we did not find anybetter one. It would take us to a lower level, no doubt, butit could also happen that the stream would disappear into anarrow gorge or fall over a cliff. Still, I had decided to con-tinue on the ice—at least as long as the valley was open. Butthen I found the track again, near the foot of the hill, and wehad only to follow it down, proceeding slowly.

The walk was rather agreeable beneath a beautiful moon.Here and there we began to see a. few bushes scattered inpasture grounds. Otherwise the country was quite barren.We could not think of stopping without lighting a fire, formotion alone kept us warm. No shelter whatsoever was insight, and the cold wind from the snow rushed through thevalley, which had now become rather wide.

We tramped until two o’clock in the morning. For nine-teen hours we had been walking, without having stopped orrefreshed ourselves in any way. Strangely enough, I did notfeel tired, but only sleepy!

Yongden had gone in the direction of the hills in search of

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

fuel, and I found some near the river, in a flat place, whichmust have been a camping-place in the summer, where trav-ellers from the Po country go to the Dainshin pro\nnce, eitherto trade or on robbery expeditions. -

I called the young man back, gathered as much fuel as I' could, and, certain ^at nobody was wandering in that wilder-ness, we decided to pitch our tent in a low place among a fewbushes. The flint and steel which, according to Thibetancustom, Yongden carried attached to his belt in a pouch, hadbecome wet during our passage across the snow fields, and nowit did not work at all. This was a serious matter. Of coursewe were no longer on the top of the range and we had onlya few hours to wait before the sun would rise; but even ifwe escaped being frozen, we were not at all certain that weshould not catch pneumonia or some other serious disease.

“Jetsunma,”^ said Yongden, “you are, I know, initiated inthe thumo reskiang practice. Warm yourself and do not botherabout me. I shall jump and move to keep my blood moving.”

True, I had studied under two Thibetan gompehens thestrange art of increasing the internal heat. For long 1- hadbeen puzzled by the stories I had heard and read on thesubject and as I am of a somewhat scientific turn of mind Iwanted to make the experiment myself. With great difficulties,showing an extreme perseverance in my desire to be initiatedinto the secret, and after a number of ordeals, I succeeded inreaching my aim. I saw some hermits seated night afteriiight, motionless on the snow, entirely naked, sunk in medi-tation, while the terrible winter blizzard whirled and hissedaround them! I saw under the bright .full moon the testgiven to their disciples who, on the shore of a lake or a riverin the heart of the winter, dried on their bodies, as on a stove,a number of sheets dipped in the icy water! And I learnedthe means of performing these feats. I had inured myself,during five months of the cold season, to wearing the single

* “Jetsunma” or “Jetsun Kusho”: “Reverend lady” or “your reverendladyship,” is the highest honourific title of address for a woman belongfingto the religious order.

13?

M Y j p U E Iff E Y T O L H A S A

thi^ cotton ^rment of the students at a 13,000-foot levd. Butthe experience once over, I felt that a further training wouldhave been a waste of time for me, who, as a rule, could choosemy dwelling in less i^vere climates or provide myself withheating apparatus, t. had, therefore, returned to fires and,warm clothes, and thus could not be taken for an adept in thethumo reskiang, as my companion believed! Nevertheless, Iliked at times to remember the lesson I had learned and tosit on some snowy summit in my thin dress of reskiang. Butthe present was not the time to look selfishly after my owncomfort. I wanted to try to kindle a fire that had nothingmiraculous about it, but which could warm my adopted sonas well as myself.

“Go!” said I to Yongden, “collect as much dry cow dungand dry twigs as you can; the exertion will prevent you fromgetting cold. I will see after the fire business.”

He went, convinced that the fuel was useless; but I had gotan idea. After all, the flint and steel were wet and cold. Whatif I warmed them on me, as I had dried dripping sheets when astudent of thumo reskiang? Thumo reskiang is but a waydevised by the Thibetan hermits of enabling themselves tolive without endangering their health on the high hills. It hasnothing to do with religion, and so it can be used for ordinarypurposes without lack of reverence.

I put the flint and steel and a pinch of the moss under myclothes, sat down, and began the ritualistic practice. I men-tioned that I felt sleepy on the road; the exertion while col-lecting fuel and pitching the tent, the effort to kindle the fire,had shaken my torpor, but now, being seated, I began to doze.Yet my mind continued to be concentrated on the object of thethumo Hte. Soon I saw flames arising around me; they grewhigher and higher; they enveloped me, curling their tonguesabove my head. I felt deliciously comfortable.

A loud report awakened me. The ice on the. river waerending. The flames suddenly died down as if entering thtground. I opened my eyes. The wind was blowing hardand my I?ody burned. 1 made haste. The flint and steel .and

moss would work this time; I was convinced of it. I was stillhalf dreaming, although I had got up and walked toward thetent. I felt fire bursting out of my head, of my fingers.

1 placed on the ground a little dry -graU, a small piece of verydry cow dung, and I knocked the stone. A spark sprang outof it. . 1 knocked again; another sprang out . . . another. . . another ... a miniature fireworks. . . . The fire waslighted; it was a little baby flame which wanted to grow, toeat, to live. I fed it and it leaped higher and higher. WhenYongden arrived with a quantity of dry cow dung in the lapof his dress and some branches between his arms, he wasjoyfully astonished.

“How have you done it?” he asked.

“Well, it is the fire of thumo,” I answered, smiling.

The lama looked at me.

“True,” he said. “Your face is quite red and your eyes areso bright . . .”

“Yes,” I replied, “that is all right. Let me alone now, andmake a good buttered tea quickly. I need a very hot drink.”

I feared a little for the morrow, but I awakened in perfecthealth when the sun touched the thin cloth of our tent.

That very day we reached the end of the valley we hshi fol-lowed from the foot of the Deo la and entered another -vtidervalley, enclosed between high ranges. No trace of humanbeing was to be seen; the country was truly what Thibetanscall salong} The sun shone, although clouds wandered to andfro in a sky of a lighter blue than it had previously been.That immense space in which we were the only living beings,as if we had been the first inhabitants and masters of theearth, was extremely pleasant to the eye! We had no fear ofmissing our way, for we had as guide a clear river descendingfrom the range that blocked the end of the large valley.

The ground was neither sandy nor very hard, hnd its imper-ceptible slope helped our progress. This empty land had avery peculiar and refreshing charm. After a few hours’ marchI observed some black spots scattered over the grass. I was

* Empty land.

*34 '

far from being certain of their nature, but after what I hadheard at Tashi Tse about dohpas spending the winter shut inbetween the high ranges, I guessed that these black spotswere yaks. In the northern desert of grass one meets herdsof wild yaks, numbering several hundred animals, but such isnot the case in the' region which we were crossing and 1looked for the dwelling-place of the beasts’ owners.

For at least another hour we proceeded without discoveringany habitation. At last I saw a camp built of stones heapedtogether without any kind of mortar, as is usual in the Thi-betan highlands. A few huts were huddled together, withenclosures around them to pen the cattle. And a wall, a littlehigher than the breast, enclosed the hamlet which was shel-tered from the winds which swept through the valley. Achorten and a short mendong testified to the religious feelingsof the few inhabitants of the place. But in Thibet, as else-where, external demonstrations of piety are not always accom-panied by an effective practice of compassion, benevolence, andlike virtues. When Yongden begged a shelter for the nightand some food, he was told to pass on his way and to go to thenext camp.

The next camp was discovered late in the evening, and theanswer was still less courteous. However, before reaching itI had seen a place where we should have been well protectedagainst the wind. It was the place where the dokpas of thevalley put the bones of their dead.

When I speak of bones one must not fancy a charnel house.There is not such a thing in Thibet.

-i Thibetans prefer cremation to all other ways of disposingof dead bodies, and. their great lamas are incinerated in a bigcauldron filled with butter. But that kind of fuel is far tooexpensive for the common people, so in the barren regions,where wood is not available, the dead are placed on the hillsand abandoned there to the vultures and other wild animals.In central Thibet the prevalent custom is to cut the corpseinto pieces before leaving it on the cemetery ground. Whenthe fiesh has been eaten by the animals and ’the bones are

dry, the family collects them, or a part of them, and handsthem to a lama, who pounds them, mixing their dust with clay,and moulds a number of miniature; called tsa-tsa.

It is in this shape that the pulverfzed bones of the ancestorsare kept in places built for this purpose near the villages, ordeposited in caves and other clean spots. ’

Sufficient room still remained in the tsa^tsa hut which I haddiscovered to allow us to lie down, but there was nothing fitto burn near it, and as the dokpas^ door remained closed wehad to choose between the night under a roof without fire andwithout meal, or the open air with both. We chose the openair, and spent the night in a small rocky place surrounded bybushes.

The next day we continued to follow the river until wearrived at a bridge. Bridges are few in that country and I wasmost astonished to see one on that but little trodden summertrack. Yet you must not fancy a structure such as Western-ers are accustomed to meet on the roads of their countries.Four or five trunks of fir trees, long and thin, resting on twopiles, a few flat stones placed on them here and there to stepon—such was the bridge! It was used, I should imagine,when the melting snow considerably increased the volume ofthe water. At any other season men and beasts forded thestream.

That bridge, poor as It was, would not have been built with-out reason. The track certainly passed over it, yet I saw itcontinuing clearly marked on the side where we stood. Iwas puzzled. Should we cross, or not? We decided to cross,fell amongst thorny bushes growing in marshy ground, and,being tired out, had nearly decided to camp, leaving to themorrow the care of looking for a road, when we saw a fewboys tending cattle. I went toward them and learned thatsome dokpas had a camp on the opposite bank of the river,Vhich we had just left. The children told me also that I hadarrived at the foot of the three passes that led Into the countryof Po. One of them was blocked by the snow; they werecertain of it. Regarding the two others they could give no

13^

Information. It miglu be that one of them, or both, were stillopen.

Then a woman who .had seen us from a distance joined theboys and repeated what ‘they said about the passes. Sheadvised us to continue our way as far as we could on thetrack of the Aigni Id, and to rest a part of the night whereverwe found water and wood, so as to be able to begin to climbagain before daybreak, for it was a long way to the top ofthe pass, and even if It was open we would find high snowtoward the summit. The prospect was agreeable indeed forpeople who had just struggled hard to go over one highrange! Really the woman’s news was not cheerful.

Yet we were prepared for such news, having been told that asecond pass, difficult to negotiate, even if it was not entirelyblocked, lay on our way. We realized the necessity of pro-gressing quickly toward the villages of Po, for we had buta small quantity of food left, and our appetites, after dailymountaineering, were enormous. Why did we not rejoice tonear that last range and to think that the next day we shouldvery likely climb down into that Po yul of which we hadspoken and dreamed for years? I could find no reason, exceptfor our recent rather trying experience at the Deo la. Wehad not much time, however, to waste in analysis of our feel-ings; the most important thing was to reach the summit ofthe hill early on the morrow, in order to have as long as pos-sible to look for the road, if doubt rose about it, or if we werehindered and delayed in any other way. So we had decidedto continue our way and to camp higher up, when a mancarrying a load of wood emerged from the thickets.

Yongden was once more compelled to relate the false storiesof our pilgrimages, native land, and other kindred matters.Then, in his turn he questioned the dokpa about the passes.The answers he got confirmed what we had successively heardfrom the boys and from the woman. The man also advisedthe passage of the Aigni la. He said that it was longer thanthat across the Gotza la, but much less steep and easier onthe opposite side of the mountain which we had to climb down.

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

We also would find on that side, he continued, some cow-men’s summer huts, empty at the present season, which wouldafford us shelter.

I felt most anxious to put some questions about the springsof the river flowing all along the Po country; but, as beggarpilgrims, unless they have already travelled the road before,are not supposed to have any geographical knowledge of whatexists in the region which lies ahead of them, and as, more-over, they do not care in the least for such things, it wouldhave been imprudent to ask anything directly. I turned thedifficulty, pretending to be concerned with very material cares.

“What about water?” I enquired. “Will we get some beyondthe pass ?”

“Have no fear!” answered the man. “You will follow ariver to a place where there are pasture grounds. I only knowso much, I have never been further.”

“Is there water also on the Gotza la side?” I asked again.

“Yes, but the stream is much smaller.”

“And what about the third pass?”

I was insisting too much, I felt, but as snow and other cir-cumstances prevented me from wandering at will on the. moun-tains, I wished to get whatever information possible, and wouldhave chosen the Gotza la had I had some reason to believe thatjourney to be more interesting.

“What?” replied the man, frowning. “You cannot crossthe Yontsong la. It is blocked by the snow. . . . Dokpas saythere is a large river on that side. . . . What does that matterto you?”

Yongden quickly interfered.

“Ah,” he said, laughingly, “you do not know thei old mother.She always fears to miss her tea. Her eyes are continually insearch of water and a plaice to stay to make tea. If I listenedto her we would spend more than half of the day drinking!”

The dokpa echoed the lama’s laughter.

“Ah! ah!” he said. “Truly tea is a good thing, especiallyfor women who do not drink as much spirit as we do.”

But Yongden had a sudden inspiration.

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mV journey to lhasa

"Elder brother,” he said to the man, "it is a good thing toacquire merits by performing good deeds. It is useful for thislife and the next.

"You see, I am a lama and here is an old woman, a nagspayum/ my mother. We are both neskorpa? and to help uswould be, without any doubt, a most meritorious action. Gethorses for us and lead us to the top of the Aigni la, for we arevery tired indeed.”

It was a rather bold attempt. To persuade a dokpa to dosuch a service free is, as a rule, impossible. Hidden in ourbelts we had valuable arguments which could have decided theman easily and spared a lot of diplomacy, but we did not deemit safe to produce them in that country. Seated on the ground,I observed with interest the mental wrestle of the two cunningfellows. But the dokpa was not capable of competing withmy adopted son, who, in some ways could have taught Ulysseshimself. Yet his victory was not complete; he obtained onlyone horse, which we were to ride in turn, he and I, and thedokpa would carry our load on his back. Such a piece of goodluck, however, seemed wonderful.

As it would be out of the question to take the horse thatevening and camp on the road, and as, on the other hand,Yongden did not like to part with the dokpa lest the latterescape from his influence and break his promise, he asked tobe allowed to spend the night in the house. The dokpa thoughta second or two, and granted the request.

Now we had to recross the river, the cowmen’s camp beingsituated on the bank we had left at the bridge. I feared totake off my high felt boots and show my white legs. Thesewould, no doubt, be noticed, so, pretending that, on accountof rheunvatism, I could not tramp in iced water for fear ofsevere pain, I turned my steps toward the bridge, althoughit was rather far. But the good man, who had already had

^Nagspa yum: The wife of a sorcerer who has herself received aspecial ordination.

* A tteskorfa: Literally, one who circulates from one place of pilgrim**ge to another one—a pilgrim.

139

a little religious talk with the lama, declared that he wouldtake us, one after the other, on his back, and put us downon the other side of the stream.

I was greatly pleased to be relieved from a rather long walk,but at the same time I felt embarrassed about my revolver,the bag in which I carried our small provision of gold, andthe belt filled with silver which I wore under my dress.

When I am on that man’s back, I thought, he will thinkthat I am rather heavy for my size and feel that I have hardobjects on my breast under my robe. ... If he thinks ofhidden money that may be our death. Had our future guidebeen alone, I could have more or less easily changed a littlethe place of the various dangerous objects so that they couldnot be so easily detected, but the woman and the boys whofollowed us, chatting, deterred me.

Anyhow, simulating the gesture familiar to all Thibetans, ofone who (I beg your pardon, my readers!) feels uncomfortableon account of lice and looks for the unpleasant animals in hisdress, I succeeded in pushing my automatic pistol under myleft armpit, the small bag of gold under the right one, and inlifting the belt a little higher up. Nobody, of course, had givenany attention to my actions, the motive of them being clearand habitual to all.

Our arrival at the dokpas^ encampment did not excite muchcuriosity. Yongden and I were quite commonplace, poor trav-ellers. A man led us to a small hut which had shelteredgoats—^the ground, covered with a thick layer of rima^ clearlytold its tale. Maybe the beasts would share it with us nextnight—such familiarity between animals and human beings isnot rare amongst Thibetan cowmen. I nearly regretted hav-ing met these boys and the woman who first delayed us onour way. Had they not seen us, we should have camped aloneamongst the bushes, in a much cleaner place than this goatpen,and. we could have explored the hills at leisure. Now weshould be compelled to keep stricdy to our role of destitute

^ Rima: Goat or sheep dung*.

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neskorpa, for the people of those parts have a sinister nameas robbers.

In Thibet, unless one is convinced that he has been seen bynone, it is always safer to stay with the people of the country,even if it is certain that they are regular thieves or highway-men. The reason for it is that Thibetans, unless they aredrunk, fighting for their own lives, or have some other excep-tional reason, shrink from killing. That feeling is the result ofthe Buddhist teaching of the respect for life which has perme-ated the mind of the Thibetans, although only very dim notionsabout the Buddha’s doctrine have spread in their country.But if the man whom they have robbed is set free and canindicate the scene of the robbery, the robbers run the riskof being denounced by him to some chief. Of justice there isnot much in Thibet and officials do not, as a rule, listen tothe travellers who have met with misfortune on their way,unless they be rich traders from whom valuable presents maybe expected. Anyhow, villagers or dokpas prefer robberiesto take place at a distance from their homes, so that they cananswer all enquiries which may be made with; “We do notknow about the thing. We are not the thieves. They musthave been travellers from another country who were on theirway.”

The highwaymen of Thibet do not form a special class ofpeople exclusively employed in brigandage. In some parts ofthe country all men, without exception, are robbers, even tothe extent of leaving husbandry entirely to the womenfolk, amore profitable work claiming the males of the tribe! This isperhaps an uncommon case; but in the outer provinces manypeasants or cowmen with all the appearance and ways of honestfolk, occasionally unite in a gang to form a plundering expedi-tion in a neighbouring district or to attack a caravan, and, inany case, are prompt to despoil the travellers who cross theirpath. The terrible or amusing stories 1 have heard aboutattacks on the hill roads, or in the desert steppes, the numberof the robbers’ tdctims I have seen, compel me to believe thatinsecurity prevails to a large extent in the fairyland of Thibet;

but ;I owe it to its inhabitants to testify that personally/though I have had a few disquieting meetings, I have neversuffered any loss. I may say the same about China, althoughI have travelled in the midst of’ the civil war as well asthrough the wildest regions of the remote Szetchuanese andYunnanese far west. Some will think that I have been uncom-monly lucky. I shall not disagree; but luck has a cause, likeanything else and I believe that there exists a mentalattitude capable of shaping circumstances more or less accord-ing to one^s wishes.

Thibetans are simple men. Brigandage is for them merelyan adventurous sport, in which they do not discover anythingfundamentally wicked so long as it does not cause death. Noone is ashamed to practise it. The shame is for the one whohas been robbed, who has not been able to defend himself bysheer strength or by cleverness.

^‘Elder brothers, give me a man to accompany me for afew days to the shore of the lake,^^ I said once, when spend-ing the summer amongst the famous Gologs robber tribes,“and, during my absence, look after my camp, my luggage, andmy horses. You old brigands know the tricks of the trade!Shame on you if some one is able to take away what is aroundyour tents 1”

They laughed heartily, not offended in the least, but ratherproud of my appreciation of their valour as bandits. Afterall, they may have unconsciously felt the power of my sym-pathy, and my love for their land and for themselves—wildchildren of the wild heights!

To return to our dokpas^ camp. We knew that we wouldbe safer in their midst than isolated at some distance, and wehoped also to be able to go round a-begging and get some foodas alms, for to show money in such a place would have beenunwise. However much one may trust in one^s good luck,one must not forget to be sensible.

I asked for some burning pieces of cow dung to kindle afire, and enquired about the dogs. Might I safely go to theriver to fetch water? But a woman brought us curd and tea,

and I delayed lighting the fire until I had refreshed myself.During that time the chief of the family had come and talkedwith Yongden. Feeling satisfied with what he had learnedabout us, he deemed us worthy to be shown into his owndwelling. We were told that we did not need to worry aboutfire and water, for We should get our meals in the house ofthe master.

The large kitchen we entered was like villagers’ kitchensall over Thibet. The hearth occupied a large place on thebottom of it. All around, the walls and shelves, some in wood,others in stone, supported various household utensils, big storeboxes, bags of wool to be spun, sheepskins, and sundries, allcovered with a thick layer of dust and blackened by the smoke.Windows there were none, the smoke hole being at the sametime the light hole. But between the roof and the top of thewall there was a gap which allowed a certain amount of lightto enter the room. Moreover, with the exception of the upperclasses living in towns, Thibetans are accustomed to darkdwellings.

The sun had already set when we entered the kitchen. Abig fire was burning, and on a large iron tripod somethingboiled in a huge cauldron, which was evidently of great inter-est to the inmates of the house, for they all eyed it withthe greatest attention.

We were received rather politely. The head of the familyspread a ragged carpet for the lama in the most honourableplace, next the hearth, and the women who spun at the lowerend of it told me to sit on the floor next them.

Then began the tiresome talk, always the same, about ourcountry, our pilgrimages, and the like. Moreover, the masterof the house and the other members of the family wished, asusual, to take the opportunity of a lama’s presence to getfrom him an amount of ecclesiastic service at least equal to thevalue of the hospitality they gave him.

Again Yongden had to pay in prophetic oracles, blessings,and the like for the tea, the tsampa, and the shelter we bothenjoyed.

.143

He did not like, he told me later on, the look of his host,thinking that he had all the features and the ways of a robber.Partlj^ because, as I have said, we really needed some provi-sions, and partly to impress upon the minds of the dokpasthat we were real paupers, he asked leave for a time to goon a begging round through the encampment. Such being thecurrent practice of arjopas, nobody showed any astonishment.

“My mother is tired,” he told the people of the house. “Shewill sleep now, because we must start at night for the pass, andshe needs rest.” And addressing me, “Come here, mother!”he said. “Lie down! I shall not be away very long.”

He went and I took his place on the carpet, my head rest-ing on my own bag which was placed against my son’s in such away that It was not possible to move one of them without shak-ing the other one. Travellers in Thibet become experts in suchdevices, for, unless they spend the night at the house of relativesor well-known friends, they must always fear petty thefts.

I made a pretence of sleeping, but remained, of course,fully awake, observing the doings of our hosts, listening totheir talk, ready for any event. I did not move when Iheard the head of the family saying to the others in a low,subdued tone, “What can they be carrying in their bags?”Maybe he was prompted by mere curiosity, but it was doubt-ful. Would things turn out badly? ... I waited.

He spoke again with those next him, but his voice was solow that I could not understand what he said, and throughmy lowered eyelashes I saw the tall fellow coming slowly,noiselessly toward me. I noticed also that he had no armsupon im. As for myself, my revolver was at hand under mydress, but it would have been of no use in a camp full ofcowmen. Strategy would be a better weapon and I wonderedwhat trick I could Invent if the situation required It, when theman extended his large hand and cautiously felt the bag whichI had used as a pillow.

I moved a litde and he drew back his hand immediately^saying, with a vexed intonation:

“She is waking up!”

144

But I had found my stratagem.

^^LagSy lags, Gelong lags [Yes, yes, reverend monk]!” I said,imitating the voice of one who speaks half in dreams. I thenopened my eyes widely, looked around as if bewildered, andasked in a natural way: “Is my son, the lama, not here? Oh,strange! I have just heard him telling me: ^Awake mother!Awake quickly! . * . I am coming!'”

“He has not yet come back,” answered the nepo^ wholooked rather frightened. “Do you wish me to send for him?”

“No, no,” I replied. “I do not want him. I would not dareto trouble him. He is a learned and saintly gelong? He willcome soon, I know. ... I am all right here with you all, nearthat good fire. . . .”

“Have a cup of tea,” said a woman.

“Yes, I will. Most kind of you,” I answered, politely, pro-ducing my bowl.

Yongden entered the room. His arrival, coming on top ofthis incident, caused a sort of sensation.

“I heard you well, Gelong lags^^ I said, “when you told meto awaken, and I did so. I really thought you were in theroom. Is it not so, nepo?*

“It is so, it is so,” grumbled the nepo, whose mind was verylikely a little agitated.

Yongden understood that something had happened that hecould not guess, but which he must follow up with me.

“Good! good!” he said in the deep voice of the lamas whenthey chant in the choir. . . . “Be awakened! . . . Be awak-ened! • . His eyes turned in all directions, and seeingnothing in particular to justify that order, he looked rathercomical. He had collected some butter and a little tsampa,and even a small piece of silver that he could not refusewithout arousing suspicion.

The story behind it was a sad one. The only son of a cow-man had died some months ago, and a lama belonging to amonastery situated far beyond the passes had performed the

^ Master of the houses the mistress is called nemo,

*A lama who keeps the rule of celilwcy.

145

rites for the dead. Nevertheless, the sorrowful parents werenot satisfied, and still entertained some doubt about the situa-tion of their little one. The boy was.about eleven years oldwhen he departed to the next world, and they begged Yong-den to stay a few days to perform a supplementary ceremony.As he declined, explaining that for various reasons he mustproceed quickly, they had instantly begged him to utter atleast the mystic sentence that lights the lost wanderer throughthe various roads of the beyond and, as if taking him by thehand, leads him to the Western Paradise, the Land of Bliss.^

Who could refuse these simple-minded ones the innocentillusion that meant so much to them? And so, accompanyinghis religious performance with a sermon on morality addressedto a number of dokpas, men and women, Yongden had seatedthe little cowboy on a lotus in the Heaven of Chenreszigs.

The nepo, now even more conwnced of the greatness of thelama, drove me away from the carpet where I had remainedseated, listening to the story of the dead boy.

“Go, go, mother! Sit behind now. Let the lama be com-fortable!”

I moved back to the bare floor, in obedience to custom,casting on Yongden a glance which ordered him to say nothingand to be seated on the carpet.

The mystery of the cauldron was now revealed. The coverwas removed and a long iron hook was dipped into the boilingbroth. It brought out the heart, the lungs, and the liver ofa yak, together with its stomach and bowels, which had beenfilled with meat and tsampa to make a kind of sausage. Thewhole flabby mass was placed on a large wooden tray, care-fully covered with a piece of sacking . . . and put aside.

Then tsampa was poured into the broth, and ten minutesafterwards, the lama first, then the nepo, and I amongst thelast, filled our Bowls. In view of the effort which I shouldhave to make to climb the pass, I endeavoured to feed myselfas much as possible, and drank off three full bowls.

^ After the meal the nepo, evidently pleased to chat with a

146

traveller who could tell of so many distant places of pilgrimage,began an endless and most uninteresting talk. hardly lis-tened to it, thinking of the country of Po, from which I wasseparated only by a single range, and recollecting variousobservations made during the day, when a few words mademe start as if I had been struck.

have heard,” said the nepo^ ^^that some phUings have beento the Kha Karpo.”

Philings? ... to Kha Karpo! ... Was it possible thatrumours had spread about us? Or could it be that the officialhad searched for us on the direct roads to Lhasa, and that weowed our liberty solely to the devious route we had chosen?Who could tell? But if such was the case, they would beon the lookout around Lhasa, and would perhaps catch usnear our goal.

Yongden tried to gather where the news came from. Asusual in Thibet, the man did not know. He had heard it fromsome travellers, who might themselves have heard it fromothers. News hawked in such a way might well be several yearsold and have no connection whatsoever with us. An Englishconsul and his Thibetan wife had toured the Kha Karpo threeor four years ago. Perhaps they were these phUings, Or hadthe American naturalist, whom we had left in the Lutzekiang,attempted to pursue his researches in the now forbidden zone?We could not guess, and the unpleasant feeling of huntedgame, from which we had been freed for a few weeks, troubledus once more.

Yongden was no longer in the mood to continue entertainingthe nepo with stories of remote places of pilgrimage. Hedeclared that he wanted to sleep.

But the nepo, without appearing to have heard him, pro-duced a request. dokpas, he said, felt much anxiety aboutthe snow which had fallen in but small quantity that year.The ground remained dry and would not store sufficient mois-ture to ensure a full growth of the grass on the pasture land.And what of the cattle which needed abundant food, after thehalf-starving period of winter? Would the snow fall soon?

H7

MY JOTJRNEY TO LHASA

. . . The lama could tell. He could also, by his art in thesecret spells, c&use it to come down from the sky and coverthe earth. . . . Would he not do what was required to bringabout that happy result? ...

Yongden was tired out, but it was unsafe either to displeasethe dokpas or to let ^em believe that he was not a quitecapable lama, j

“Several days are needed,” he answered, “to perform theserites, and as I must proceed to Po yul, I cannot call down thesnow that will block the very passes which I must cross. Whatyou ask is rather a complicated piece of business.”

All those present agreed that it was.

“Let us see,” continued my young friend. “Yes ... inthat way ...”

He produced a small piece of paper out of a sack andasked that barley be brought to him, if they had some. Hethen placed a few grains on the paper and holding it out-stretched on his open palms, lapsed into a deep meditation.A chanting followed whose slow rhythm and whispering soundgradually grew louder and louder until it rolled like thunderbeneath the low, ramshakle roof of the large kitchen.

The dokpas looked really terrified.

Yongden stopped abruptly, which caused everybody, includ-ing myself, to start up.

Then he divided the grains that had been used for the per-formance of the rite into two parts, putting one half aside in acorner of his handkerchief, and leaving thd remaining part inthe paper which was folded in a peculiar and complicated way.

“Here, take it,” he ordered the nepo, “and listen! Youwill open that paper to-morrow at sunset, and throw the grainit contains toward the sky in the four directions. I myselfwill at the same time recite the ngags [spells] needed to makean abundant fall of snow. Now, if you open the paper beforesunset, before I have uttered the ngags; the deities, not beingpropitiated in the proper way, null feel irritated and revengethemselves upon you all. So be careful!”

The man promised to follow eza^y the orders he had re-

,148

Thihktans of thk Hot Valleys in the Forest

ceived, and at last the thought arose in his mind that he hadperhaps exacted from the lama more than the value of themeagre hospitality he had shown us. So he told his wife tofetch a piece of meat that lire might carry as provision on theroad The woman brought a quite excellent piece, but herhusband snatched it out of her hand before she had time topresent it to the lama, hung it up again, and carefully chose askinny bit which he gave with the utmost gravity to my com-panion. We were hard put to it not to laugh aloud, so muchhad we enjoyed the fun.

cannot,” declared Yongden, who is perfectly conversantwith the religious monastic rules, ‘‘thank you for a gift ofmeat, which is an impure thing, the result of the great sin ofkilling; It would be ajs if I rejoiced at the slaughter of thatanimal, because I have a pie^ of its flesh to eat. But giveme some tsampa and I will bless your home.”

The words of the lama were most edifying and strictly ortho-dox, but they had still another quality, in that they were toprovide us with some barely flour, which, however small inquantity, would prove very useful. "

A big bowl heaped high with tsampa was placed before him.Yongden threw a few pinches of it in various directions, calledhealth and prosperity on the host, his^family, and his belong-ings. And before the nepo had time to take back the flour,which he had only lent for ritualistic purposes, my son pouredthe contents of the bowl into our bag, which I had promptlyextended toward him, kneeling in a most devout attitude.

We now hoped that the old miser, who looked rather aston-ished at the sight of his empty bowl, would allow the lama torest. We were anxious to sleep a few hours before startingon a new tiring march whose end we could not foresee. Thepass might be blocked, or other obstacles might arise on ourway. Who could ever tell? As for dokpas^ we felt safe.I had very well understood the cunning of Yongden, whowished to prevent any of the cowmen froni following us. Thenext* morning the stoiy of the grain would spread, and «vel^one would feel far ^oo interested in its sU^eess to attex^pt

149

M

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

anything that could hinder the magic work which was to bringthe desired snow. Then, when the grain had been throwntoward the sky, the dokpas would wait for the result for atleast another full day. We should be far away by that time,amongst other people. At least, so we believed, but eventswere to take a very different turn.

Two women arranged the couch of the nepo for the night.I cannot say the “bed,” for Thibetans, as well as a large numberof Asiatics, including Japanese, have no bed. Rich Thibetanssleep on thick cushions covered with line tapestry; poor oneson the bare floor or ground. Between these two extremes thereexist countless degrees of thickness and beauty in the cushions,until one comes to a single piece of ragged sackcloth or ofgreasy sheepskin. But in any case, the blankets, or whatevertakes their place, are put aside during the day and broughtout when they are needed for the night.

When all was ready, the old dokpa took off his robe, keep-ing on his trousers, according to the general custom of Thibet,where women as well as men sleep with the upper part ofthe body naked. Then he slipped between the sheepskins whichwere spread at the best and warmest place near the hearth. Abucket was placed in the middle of the room to spat^ thepeople of the house the trouble of going out at night. I hadnever seen such a thing elsewhere. Village people, as a rule,have regular closets, pardy for cleanliness’ sake, but especiallyto accumulate manure for the field, that supplied by the cows,sheep, and goats being reserved as fuel. Dokpas in the soli-tude, who have large spaces before them and no agriculturewhatever, do not feel the need of special accommodation andas a rule retire outside their tents at night as well as indaytime.

Most of the men and women had not waited for the masterto lie down. Young married couples rolled themselves in alarge blanket with their children between them; elder peopleor bachelors rested alone; and the youngsters heaped them-selves together like so many puppies, laughing and fighting fortheir share of the covering rags, till sleep silenced them.

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CHAPTER V

TT" OW many hours have I slept? I cannot guess. I fedI I as if I had shut my eyes only a few minutes before.

“It is time to start,” repeats the man whose voice has awak-ened me. He throws a few branches amongst the smoulderingembers; the flame illumines the sleepers, some of whomgrumble and roll up more tighdy in their blankets. We arequickly ready. Dressing consists merely of tying our beltsand our garters, for our loads have not been opened. We areoff in no time.

"Kale pheb^ lama!” says the nepo from between his sheep-skin covering as we pass the door.

The moon, screened by a high peak, sheds but a dim lightupon the valley. The wind blows hard. I feel exceedinglycold and my fingers freeze. Even wrapped as they are in thelong sleeves of my thick dress, I have difficulty in grippingmy staff. The shallow river which was flowing the day beforeat the place we crossed it is here covered with thick ice. Onthe opposite bank the narrow trail winds between thickets. Itbranches several times, and other tracks cross it. We shouldvery likely have wasted a good deal of time in that labyrinth,had we not been guided. I decline, as does Yongden, the invi-tation to ride. It is too dreadfully cold. I prefer to keepon walking until the sun rises.

The landscape, as much as I can see of it, is very differentfrom that which extends between Tashi Tse and the summit ofthe Deo la. The latter was truly majestic, whereas the nar-row valley which we now follow breathes occult hostility andtreachery.

After a few hours’ walk, a pale-green dawn breaks andrather adds to the uncomfortable impression pr<^ced by

’ “Proceed slowly,** a polite farewell to departing guests.

the landscape. There is but little snow on the track we arefollowing, but enormous quantites are heaped in the gorgeswhich score its sides.

The sun rises shyly amidst the clouds. We cross smallpastures covered with wet grass, wintry and yellowish. I ridefor a while, but soon get off and linger behind, leaving thehorse to Yongden. The dokpa who walks at his prth annoysme with his uninterrupted twaddle. I like silence when wan-dering across the hills. So many voices may be heard there bytrained ears and an attentive mind.

A little later, snow begins to appear on the path and growsdeeper as we continue. A gigantic white mound marks thebeginning, says our guide, of a summer track leading to anotherpass. Seeing it, I understand that I must give up all ideaof roaming about on the range, as I should have liked to do.Explorations in those regions ought to take place during thevery short period between the time when the mud caused bythe melting of the snow and the summer rains is somewhatdried, and that of the first important snowfall, an interval ofscarcely six weeks.

That year, owing to that scarcity of snow which alarms thedokpas, the Aigni la is easily practicable. We reach it^ latzabefore noon.

Our guide has laid down the lama’s load, which he hadcarried until then. He is about to leave us and take hishorse back to the camp.

Although our disguise and our care for our safety did notallow us to be over-generous, I had always meant to give alittle present to the good man. Yongden’s sermon on themerits inherent in the services rendered gratis to lama pilgrimswas aimed only at convincing the dokpas of our poverty. Thenight before, when all had been asleep, I whispered in myyoung companion’s ear what he was to do. And now he obeysmy instructions.

Slowly he produces two coins from his purse and, wrappedin a piece of paper, a pinch of dried cypress leaves.

‘This money,” he declares, solemnly, “is all that 1 have got.

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I have received it from the ponpo of Tashi Tse, for the welfareof whom I read the Sacred Scripture at the zong. You havehelped us both, my mother and me. I therefore give it to youas well as that sang ^ which comes from the far distant holynes [place of pilgrimage] called Kha Karpo.”

Though the price we give for the hiring of a horse with itsdriver is small, money is so rare amongst dokpas that theman cannot but be satisfied. We are confident, also, that hewill hide the silver and keep silent about it, lest some oneshould rob him of it. Thus do we mingle prudence andrighteousness.

Yongden adds some words meant to impress the man andhis friends, to whom he will doubtless repeat them, and to lettfiem know that we are not devoid of protection in the countrywe are entering. This detail may easily influence the dokpasand prevent them from following us.

“Take the money, elder brother,” insists the lama. “Wehave arrived on the territory of the Po gyalpo [king]; hisanchos [chaplain] is an old friend of mine. We both belongto the Sera monastery at Lhasa, so, if I am in need, he willask the king to help me.”

“Of course he will, kusho [sir],” agrees the man, in arespectful tone which shows how much the poor travellers haveprogressed in his esteem. “But I prefer to take the sangalone. It is most precious. As for the money, if I accepted itI would lose the merit of having served a lama. . . . No, Ishall not take it. I like better to keep the merit. It is usefulfor the next life as well as for this one. . . . Please give meyour blessing, kusho, I must make haste now. Kale pheb.Lama! Kale pheb, mother!”

With that he was gone, happy with the dust of a few dryleaves and the belief that he had sown a few seeds of future

^ Sang; dried leaves burned as perfume in purifying and exorcist rites,as is incense in the Roman phurch. Cypress and fir trees are moregenerally used, but, on some hills, azalea leaves and young fern shootsare burned. In the Himalayas a kind of “feverfew” is also gathered forthe same purpose.

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felicity in this world or in another one. The poor thing! Myhearty good wishes followed him.

We stood near the latza. We had not shouted the habitual^‘Lha gyalor as Thibetan custom requests. We had nothingof that joyful excitement which makes one enthusiasticallysalute the conquest of the summit at the end of an exhaustingclimb. Accustomed to long tramps, that short ride had beena real luxury to us. For the first time since we had leftChina, we had reached a pass without fatigue, and perhaps itwas that which prevented us from being cheerful.

Anyhow, it was neither the time nor the place to tarry andponder over psychological problems.

^^Lha gyalor

The shout was rather listless.

“It will snow,” said Yongden, who looked unusually grave.

“I suspect it since the sun has risen in such a melancholyway,” I replied. “But will it snow to-day? Could our nepohave thrown, before the appointed hour, the grain you gavehim yesterday?”

The joke found no echo in the lama.

“Let us be quick,” he said.

I did not like to see him in such a gloomy mood, so I contin-ued: “Do you remember that Nagspa lama of the KoKo Norwho could, so the cowmen said, make the snow and rain andhail fall or stop at his will? Me has taught me some of hisngags. Let us bet on the result. You have called the snow.I will try to prevent It.”

The young man did not even smile.

“The poor fellows need snow for their pastures,” he said.“Let them have it.” And he began to stride down the steepwhite slope.

His strange attitude impressed me! Why was he so greatlyconcerned about snow? We had seen much of it in previousjourneys. It was not a thing to frighten us, especially as wewere so near the villages. Perhaps he felt unwell.

I hastened to join the lama, who was already far below. Inspite of my efforts the distance between him and me increased

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rapidly—which annoyed me. I tried to run straighter, avoid-ing the loss of time caused by long windings. Then, I supposesome invisible and compassionate little mountain fairy, seeingmy trouble and wishing to'do me a gracious service, pulledme by the foot. In the tenth part of a second I fell and slidjust as in a toboggan'race, yet with the noteworthy differencethat I was myself the toboggan and its driver, all in one! Ihad happily succeeded in grasping my staff low enough to useit to steer. In such wise, dispensing with any “tacking,^^ Ipassed Yongden with the speed of an express train and pulledup far ahead of him.

He hurried as quickly as he could and joined me as I shookoff the snow that covered my dress and my load. Satisfiedwith my answer that I had not hurt myself, he declared thatmy performance looked quite pretty and had spared me a gooddeal of exertion.

It had another result, which I appreciated still more, forYongden had recovered his good-humoured laugh.

What vague premonition had for a moment thrown a gloomover the cheerful mind of my young companion? I did notventure to offer any explanation. But truly we were approach-ing rather trying circumstances.

Judging from the scenery, I could guess that the countrytoward which we proceeded was entirely different from theupper Salween basin in its physical aspects.

The air was charged with moisture, the ground wet, evenslightly marshy, in some places. Snow had already fallen inquantities and the dokpas of the region had no reason to feelanxious for the growth of the grass, as did those living on theopposite side of the mountain range.

Soon we entered the zone of trees and followed the shoreof the river springing at the foot of the Aigni la. It led usto large pasture lands which occupied the area at the inter-section of three valleys. We had walked down through one ofthem, another opened just opposite, beyond the pastures,and a stream, larger than that coming from the Aigni pass,issued from it. The third received the united waters of

the two rivers which would, far away, flow into the YeruTsangpo (Brahmaputra) and bring the melted snows of themighty range I had crossed into the Indian Ocean.

I had now been able to discover one of the springs of theriver Po, whose upper course is unknown to geographers. Thesecond interested me greatly. It originated, it seemed, in thevicinity of the pass which the dokpas had named Yon tsong laand which was blocked for the present. That much-to-be-regretted circumstance left me no hope of climbing it to inspectthe range on that side. But I wished at least to follow theriver up as high as I could, and to gather whatever observa-tions I might be able to make in my humble way. I was farfrom suspecting that this bit of rough scouting, such as I hadso often done in Thibet, was to lead me into a short but ratherexciting adventure which turned out all right, but could haveended otherwise.

Briefly, I explained my intention to Yongden.

Still more laconic, he answered curtly: “It will snow, andwe have no food.^’

These were words worthy of some reflection.

The snow? ... I did not fear it. As for the food, I openedthe bags, inspected their contents with the lama, and we agreedthat there remained a sufficient quantity for three meals. Threemeals meant three days, for we had not come to these ThibeUnwilds to indulge in gastronomy. Moreover, I did not intend tolinger in the upper valleys; a mere glance would satisfy mycuriosity and enable me to supply a few general facts to thoseinterested in that virgin river.

“Forward! . . .”

After sunset the snow began to fall, lightly at first—^just afew butterflies whirling "among the black trees. Then it grad-ually became more and more dense, one of those slow snow-falls, whose flakes descend from some inexhaustible heavenlystore, shrouding the mighty peaks and burying the valleys.

“Let us pitch the tent,” I said. “We will light a fire insideit and have tea.”

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We really needed some refreshment. Since the evening soupof the day before, eaten at the dokpas^ camp, we had taken nofood.

Dry wood was scarce. To cut and collect some while thesnow fell kept us busy for a long time. Nevertheless we gath-ered enough small branches to boil the tea. Our frugal mealhaving been hastily eaten, we threw the remaining embers out-side, for the heat melted the snow on the thin cloth and waterdripped freely on us. It also became evident that our pil-grim staffs, which were used as tent poles, could not bear theweight of the snow for long. Since we could not run the riskof breaking them, we established, with the cloth only, a kindof sloping shelter fixed with a few stones on an adjacent rock.We then lay down beneath it, and as it was not very cold wesoon fell asleep.

A sensation of painful oppression awakened me. I lifted myhead, and immediately knocked it against our roof. Over-loaded with snow, it had sagged and we were being buried.There was, for the time being, nothing tragic about the matter.Anyhow wc had better be quick and get out while it was stilleasy.

I pushed Yongden, who was asleep. He needed no explana-tion to understand the situation, which was plain enough! Ionly said:

^‘Let us turn slowly and then get up together, pushing thecloth with our backs. . . . Ready? . . . Gee up!”

We were out of our grave, and none the better for it. Snowfell and we had no hope of fixing another shelter, for we wouldhave been buried again before long. No rest being possible,it was better to walk and keep warm.

We tramped the remainder of the night and all the nextmorning without making much progress. The soft snow madewalking difficult. Then, when we had reached a higher level,we began to slip on the miniature glaciers formed by previoussnowfalls, that had repeatedly melted and frozen again andwhich were now treacherously hidden under a thick new layer.

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A sa phug ^ which we discovered a little after noon washailed with joy. >

We established ourselves on its dry .ground. Our tent, hunglike a curtain to some roots above our heads, added to theprotection afforded by the cave. No fuel was available, but weate a little tsampa and quenched our thirst with snow which wemelted in our mouths. Then, overtired, after two nights spentnearly without rest, we slept soundly till the morrow at dawn.

When we awakened, the snow was still falling. We couldsee that it had not ceased the whole night, for it was heapedmuch higher in front of our prehistoric refuge and formed awall that had kept us warm during the night.

I decided to leave our bags in the sa phug and to attempta reconnaissance higher up. We should walk the more easily,carrying only our mountain staffs. As we were compelled toretrace our steps to reach the Po villages, we would pick up ourbaggage again on our way down. As for thieves, they werenot much to be feared in that deserted land, on the road to ablocked pass.

We started. Snow continued to fall in the same slow, inex-orable way, as it had done for more than forty hours. Wefound it forming impassable barriers at some points whereIt had accumulated on old layers already thick. It was impos-sible to follow any regular direction. With great exertion Ireached a ridge from where, through the moving curtain ofthe white soft flakes, I faintly discerned summits which lookedlike sloping, undulated tablelands. But who knows if the snowhad not leveled the ground and changed their aspect? It is acommon thing, well known to all alpinists, that mountainswhich assume rounded lines in their wintry garb show, in thesummer, sharp spurs and rocky peaks like needles.

I went down with still greater difficulty than I had experi-enced in climbing up, and endeavoured to reach another spotfrom which I hoped to ascertain if a stream joining the mainriver issued from what appeared to be a small gorge. I waspushing forward when I heard a cry behind me. Yongden^

^ The sa fhug is an earthen cave, the thag fhug a cavern in the rodc«

while looking for a short cut, had slipped and fallen into aravine. This was not very deep, yet, shut between nearlyvertical banks, its access -was anything but easy. When, aftera few minutes, I reached my poor companion, he looked piti-able enough, lying in his ragged lama dress on the white snowstained with drops of blood.

‘‘Nothing, nothing serious at all,” he said, answering myquestions. ‘T must have knocked my head against a rock whenrolling down. The skin is a little cut, but there is nothingmore. Do not be afraid. The shock only made me giddy.”

Then he moved to get up, uttered a moan, whilst he becamepale, shut his eyes, and whispered: “Oh! my foot!”

He tried a second time to stand, but without success.

“I cannot,” he said, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. “Icannot stand.”

I felt terrified. Had he broken his leg?

What should we do in that case, alone in that wilderness,without food and the snow growing higher hour after hour?

I immediately took off his boot and examined his foot. Hap-pily, the bones were unbroken. He had merely sprained hisankle and somewhat bruised his knee. The accident in itselfdid not endanger his life or his general health. At least, itwould not have done so in any inhabited place, but outhere. . . .

He understood as well as I did the gravity of our situationand again endeavoured to rise. With my help he succeededand remained op one foot, leaning on his staff.

“I shall try to carry you,” I said. “We must go back to thesa phug, and there we will think over the matter.”

In spite of my good will and strenuous efforts I was sooncompelled to realize that I lacked the strength necessary tocarry my adopted son across deep snow, with stones and pitshidden under it, which made me stumble frequently. Yong-den, who had reluctantly obeyed my express command to lethimself be carried, then endeavoured to proceed, leaning on meand on his staff, creeping rather than walking, and stoppingevery ten minutes. Drops of perspiration caused by the pain-

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ful effort fell from the lama cap which covered his forehead.It took us hours to reach the sa phug.

I massaged Yongden's ankle, and bandaged it with his belt.I could do no more.

As on the day before, we had no fuel and shivered as we layon the frozen ground. The snow which we had eaten toquench our thirst on the road, as well as the icy water broughtfrom the stream to drink with our meal, had increased thepainful sensation of internal cold that kept us awake.

Yet, had it not been for my concern for my young com-panion, I should have found a peculiar charm in my situation.Indeed, that charm was so powerful that it triumphed over mypreoccupations and my physical discomfort. Until late thatnight I remained seated, motionless, enjoying the delights ofmy solitude in the absolute silence, the perfect stillness of thatstrange white land, sunk in rest, in utter peace.

And the snow still continued to heap itself around us.

In the morning, when I opened my eyes, the first thing Isaw was Yongden standing on one leg, leaning on his staff,with his back against the earthen wall of the sa phug. Hisattitude reminded me of that of certain Chinese spirits in theTaosse Temples, and he would have been quite comical in anyother circumstances, but tears were in his eyes.

“I cannot walk,” he said in despair. “I have already triedseveral times, but I cannot stand on my foot.”

His ankle was swollen. The foot remained twisted out of Itsnormal position. It was Impossible to start.

We spent the first morning hours in discussion. I thoughtof leaving my companion with the baggage and the handful oftsampa that remained and of trying to reach some village toask for help. But Yongden doubted whether anyone wouldfollow me and take trouble for mere beggars, as we appearedto be. As for showing money or offering a reward of someimportance, such a thing would prove more dangerous thananything else. Perhaps my son was too pessimistic in hisopinion of the Popas, but more serious objections could .beraised against my plan.

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We did not know how far the villages were, and which werethe roads that led to them. Two days ago, when comingdown from the Aigni la^ we had seen three tracks. All tracesof these would now be hidden beneath deep snow. The riverremained the only guide, and it was not a reliable one. Itcould not fail to flow down to the inhabited region, but wewere not certain that we could follow its course all the way.Mountain streams frequently enter narrow gorges, while trav-ellers’ paths cling to the hills far above them, although theyboth meet again miles away.

What if I missed the right path and had to retrace my steps?I might wander several days, meet with an accident as mycompanion had done, or starve and fail to reach my goal.

I could not deny that Yongden’s apprehensions, gloomy asthey might appear, were well grounded. As for me, I feltvery frightened at the idea of abandoning the lame young manin that cave, where wolves, bears, snow leopards, or other hun-gry beasts might attack him at night, while he could not evenstand on his feet to protect himself.

So time passed while we made plans and rejected them, oneafter another. I eventually decided to follow the valley downas far as I could, in search of dokpas. I would return by eve-ning. I walked the whole day, seeing two deserted encamp-ments, but not one living being. I was overcome with sorrowat the thought of the lama who had remained shivering in thesa phug. How much better he would have been in one ofthose abandoned huts, in which fuel left by the dokpas couldhave warmed him! At any rate, I ought to bring some backwith me. i But how could I carry it? I had no bag nor anypiece of cloth with me, and only a thick woollen material couldprevent the cow dung from becoming wet on the way. As 1had no choice, I took off my upper dress made of coarse Thi-betan serge, packed the fuel in it, tied the load with my belt^and, having fastened it on my back, I started.

It was an exhausting tramp. The snow had not ceased tofall, and my thin Chinese underdress was but an insufiicient

i6i

protection against It- Before half an hoilr elapsed I felt as ifI were in an icy bath.

Night came while I was still far from the cave. I could notmiss my way, the stream being there as a guide, but in thedarkness I failed to find the exact place of the sa phug. HadI proceeded too high up the valley, or- was I still below thespot where the cave was situated? I realized that I did notknow. (

I was on the point of shouting to the lama when I discerneda small light a little higher up. No doubt Yongden was thereand he had lighted, to guide me, the roll of taper which wehad in our bag. Such, indeed, was the case.

“I was half dead with fear,” he told me, when I joined him.‘'‘I fancied the very worst, when evening came and you did notreturn.”

The fire, and a bowl of hot tea in which we threw a fewpinches of barley flour, cheered us, even though our wretchedplight had grown rather worse. Our food supply was nowreduced to three or four spoonfuls of tsampa, and a little teadust. We were still in ignorance as to the distance that sep-arated us from the villages, and the path that led directly tothem, and poor Yongden was still unable to walk.

not worry about me, Jetsunma,” said the lama as I wasdrying myself near the fire. know you do not fear death,and I do not fear it, either. I have massaged my foot againand again to-day and now I will put a compress of hot wateron it. Perhaps I shall be able to walk to-morrow. If not,you must go away and try to save yourself. Do not be sorryon my account. All that happens comes from some cause.This accident is a result of my previous deeds. No gods ormen or anybody but myself are responsible for it, and it wouldbe useless to lament about it. . . . Now let us sleep. . . .”And we both slept soundly while the snow still fell and fell,without ceasing.

The next day Yongden could stand. I tied his bag andmine in one load, which ,1 carried, and, as I had done whenleading him back to the sa phug after the accident, I helped the

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lama to walk. We were progressing at a snaiPs pace. Whenwe again reached the wooded hills I cut a branch at the endof which I fixed a short piece of wood and wrapped it roundwith our empty provision bags to form a kind of cushion. Thisprovided the young man with a primitive crutch and he couldthus proceed without my help.

During my scouting tour the day before I had seen thevalley narrowing in a way which made me fear that we couldnot proceed close to the stream. I had more confidence in atrack which we had seen climbing through the forest whencoming down from the Aigni la. It branched a little beforeentering the pasture land and very likely it followed the samedirection as the stream higher up, having been cut throughthe jungle because the bottom of the valley was not passable.We could, no doubt, have found some short cut to it with-out going as far as the spot from where we had just noticedIt, but it would have been imprudent to attempt steep slopesthrough the bushes with Yongden who had great difficulty inwalking, even in the trodden tracks.

So we went a long way, knee-deep in the snow;, until wereached the path which was well marked by a neatly cut linebetween the trees.

The weather cleared at that time, and had it not been forthe difficulty of proceeding in the snow that sixty-five hoursof continual fall had accumulated, and the sorrow I felt atseeing the painful efforts made by Yongden, the walk wouldhave been rather pleasant. We were now in the midst of finealpine scenery which must have been charming in spring andlater summer, after the Wet season. Unfortunately, I began toshare something of the physical misery of my friend. Thatmorning I had noticed a small gap in my boot through whichmy right big toe began to appear. Hours of tramping hadtransformed the little hole into a wide mouth that opened andclosed at every step, as if my leg tnd^d in a strange animal,feeding on snow as it went. As for my left foot, it did notfare much better, for the sole of the. boot had become almostentirely unsewn on one side. I begah to suffer cruelly. Fresh

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snow is especially dangerous; it burns and causes sores. Thi-betan hillmen, though their skin is rather tough, take greatcare to avoid direct contact with it.

It was getting late, and we had fibafidoned all hope of reach-ing a village that day. No trace of cultivation, no cattle wereseen, and it also seemed that we would find no shelter. Forwe had searched in vain for the dokpas^ summer huts which,according to the man who had accompanied us to the top ofthe Aigni la, existed on the path going down to the inhabitedvalleys. Covered with snow, they were perhaps not easy todiscover. Or could it be that, unlucky till the end, we hadmissed our road? That question formed the topic of the fewwords which we exchanged. We had given up asking eachother about our respective efforts and pains. We knew thatwe were both struggling with all our might and unable torelieve each other’s suffering. Prattling about it was useless.Later on, we also dropped, as idle and tiring, the question ofthe dokpas^ huts or whether we had missed our way.

Night came and snow began to fall again. The sky waspitch dark, but a dim, dull light, that made me think of Hades,seemed to ascend strangely from the white ground and issuefrom the snow-clad trees.

White from head to foot, mind and body benumbed, wecontinued at a limping gait our silent tramp. In that fan-tastic landscape, we looked like two queer ghosts en route toanswer the call of a Thibetan wizard, or the ragged attendantsof some needy Father Christmas of the wilds.

Father Christmas. • . . An association of ideas took posses-sion of my thoughts. Were we not in December? Yes. Butthe concordance of dates between the Gregorian and the Sino^Thibetan calendar, which I had used for years—^was not clearin my memory. ^ I would consult, when free to do so, theChinese-foreign calendar I had in my bag.

Gradually Yongden fell behind and I continued to dragmyself aimlessly along. Villages, huts, any kind of shelter,seemed out of reach. To camp in the deep snow was impos-sible. . . . Then . . . what . . . ?

A sudden shock shook me from my torpor. I had knockedmyself against something hard. I looked. It was the top ofa rustic fence. ... A fence! . . . The dokpas* summer camp,of which our guide had spoken! We were on the right way,and here was a shelter to sleep in!

I could hardly believe it. I laid my hand on the wood andfollowed along it as if I feared that fence and huts wouldvanish, slipping away from my hold. I arrived at the gate ofthe enclosure and from there vaguely discerned a large squarecabin and several smaller ones.

I shouted the good news to the lama:

"Dim! Dim! Kampa chik dug! [Here! Here! There isa house!]”

Without waiting for him I entered the camp. Next themen’s room was a horse shed. I put my load down under itand began immediately to clear away the snow heaped highbefore the door. Yongden arrived while I was thus busied.

We happily found a good quantity of firewood and dry cowdung under the shed, and we first lighted a fire there, the roomitself being too dark to locate the hearth. As soon as theburning branches gave us some light, we carried them into thehut, which we found rather large, with a fireplace' and, on bothsides of it, boards covering the ground to sit and lie on. Thehappiest discovery was another supply of fuel. After the nightsspent in the sa phug, the warmth that spread into the closedroom thrilled voluptuously in me the epicure which is alwayslurking in the corner of the most ascetic hearts.

Before sleeping, we drank a bowl of hot water sprinkledwith tsampa, leaving the tea for to-morrow’s meal, and Yong-den put a hot compress around his foot. I consulted my calen-dar; it was the 22d of December.

Yongden’s foot was less stiff and less painful on the follow-ing morning. But the young man still needed his crutch. AndI was now in trouble, in my turn, for I could not proceed with-out sewing new soles on my boots. The day before, my toes

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had been burnt and half frozen. Blisters and bleeding soresmade my gait as lame as that of my son. It would have beenreally dangerous to start, practically barefooted, on a newtramp in the snow.

Nothing in his monastic study had prepared the lama fora cobbler's work, and he found it very difficult. As for me, Iknew nothing whatever of this craft, and the only help I couldgive him was to unstitch the worn-out piece of leather.

It was one o’clock when the boots were ready. We hesi-tated to start. The existence of a dokpas’ abandoned summercamp at this spot had shown us that we were still far fromthe permanently inhabited region. Most likely, travelling atsuch a slack pace, we should not reach it before darkness came.That meant one more tramp at night and we began to feel theeffects of prolonged fasting on our overtaxed endurance. Onthe other hand, to rest the remainder of the day was to increasethe length of our starvation. The choice between these equallyunenjoyable alternatives was hard.. The bright fire tempted us;we decided in favour of the warm shelter during the nightand a very early start before daybreak.

The weather did not clear; it snowed without interruption.A little before sunset, Yongden, who wished to ascertain ifthe condition of his sprained ankled had improved, went toanother dokpas* enclosure situated in the same clearing, andtold me that he had seen from there the path we would followon the morrow.

The fire was revived long before daybreak. We turned ourtea bag inside out and shook it over the kettle so that thelast atom of tea dust would fall into the boiling water. Then,after a brief, purely liquid breakfast, we proceeded straight tothe place Yongden had marked the day before. It was srilldark and snow fell heavily. The path seemed to be nar-rower than it had been above; but Thibetan tracks grow asthe forest makes them, and the forest is a capricious road-builder.

We walked painfully until nearly noon, gnd then, to our

dismay, we realized that we were going in a wrong direction.We ran into thickets and steep slopes, with no more tracesof a path. Had we wandered after having started in theright direction? I doubted it. Most likely we had been wrongfrom the beginning, entering one of those trails on which cat-tle roam in the hills, of which a number are always to befound near pasture grounds. Be that as it may, we could butretrace our steps to the dokpas* encampment. Any attempt tolook for the track from our present position would but lead usstill farther astray.

We had not gone far. Neither the lama, who still used hiscrutch, nor I with my sorely bleeding feet, could progressquickly. But far or near, it was the time needed to reachour starting-point that was of importance. The consequenceof such a mistake for people who had already fasted three dayswas really serious.

We did not always find our tracks easily. The snow hadpartly effaced them, and Yongden had frequently to rest, whichcaused more delay.

The ranges which we were crossing were covered with forestsof holly-oak trees, and reminded me once more of Christmas.It was Christmas Eve, and 1 pictured the joyful agitation ofso many in Western lands, and the sorrow of too many otherswho do not even receive “the crumbs which fall from the richman’s table.” How far I was from all these things, in thatsolitary woods! I broke a small branch of holly-oak, meaningto give it, later on, to a friend of mine, if I escaped from thesemountains and that snow which seemed determined to keep me.But so unexpectedly do things happen, that when I broughtthe holly of the virgin Po forest to the Western land, the manfor whom it was meant had departed for a still more mysteriousland than that of the Popas.

<*A bowl of hot water was again the only refreshment wecould get when we arrived at the dokpas* hut. I wanted to goscouting immediately, for we ought at any rate to avoid anothermistake the next day. We both began to feel very giddy. We

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heard strange sounds of bells; and although we did not suffermany pangs of hunger, it was certain that unless we got somefood before long, we should lack the strength necessary to reachthe villages.

Yongden insisted on going himself to look for the road, whileI rested near the fire. I yielded to his kind entreaties, andthe poor fellow started again over the snow, his staff in onehand and his crutch under the other arm.

Time passed. The lack of provisions dispensed with thetrouble of cooking. I had but to fill the kettle with snow, tomelt it and boil the water. Then I could lie down and think!

I fancied a few of my acquaintances in my place. I sawsome of them swearing at God, the devil, their companions,and themselves. I saw others weeping and praying on theirknees. Most of them, I know, would have blamed my quiet-ness and that of my young companion. ... A pali verse sungsweetly In my memory:

^‘Happy indeed we live, ainon^ the anxious unanxious. . .

It was nearly dark when Yongden returned. This time hesaid that there could be no mistake. He had but faintly seena trail the day before and had taken it for the main path.Darkness and snow, when we had started, had prevented usfrom discovering the mistake, which was really an absurd one,for the true track, although its entrance was hidden by firtrees scattered all around the clearing, was not very difficult tofind. Nevertheless, he had followed It for quite a long time.There was no need to worry about the matter. It was really theright one.

The news was most comforting, but I did not like the lookof the young man. He was pale, with glowing and feverisheyes. He drank two bowls of hot water and immediately fellasleep.

I remained for a while watching him. He was restless andfrom time to time he moaned. Gradually, however, he becamecalmer and I closed my eyes to sleep.

A noise of steps on the boards and a confused muttering

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awakened me. The dim light of the smouldering embers dis-closed the lama tottering toward the door, his staff in his hand.Where was he going? In.no time I was on my feet.

“What is the matter with ybu?” I asked. “Are you ill?”

“Snow Is heaping up . . . heaping up,” he answered witha strange voice, as if dreaming. “We sleep here, and it falls., . . Let us start. ... It will be too late. . . .”

He was only half conscious and undoubtedly under the influ-ence of a nightmare. I tried to calm him, to persuade him tolie down again. He did not appear to understand, and waslost in his own idea. He wanted to start. I could see thathe was raving. His hand was burning with fever. It was theresult of the long tramps in the snow, the fasting, and the paincaused by the sprained ankle.

With sudden violence he reached the door and opened it.

“Look,” he said, “it snows!”

Heavy snow was falling. A new white mound could be seenblocking the passage which we had cleared several times sincewe had first arrived at the camp. A draught of cold air blewinto the hut.

“Do not stay here,” I commanded the lama. “You are ill.The cold will make you worse!”

“We must start, start at once,” he repeated obstinately, and,trying to drag me away, he cried: “You will die, Jetsunma!Come quick! . . . Come!”

I gave him a push, kicked the door shut, and endeavouredagain to make him lie down near the Are, in spite of his strug-gles. Fever and the wild idea of saving my life had increasedthe natural strength of the sturdy young fellow. He staggeredon his bad foot and did not appear to feel the pain.

What would happen if he succeeded in breaking out? Iremembered, terrified, that the clearing ended in a precipiceonly a few feet away.

I succeeded in throwing a few branches on the fire, andthe sudden bright light" broke the trend of Yongden’s feverishvagaries.

“What? . . . What? . . he said, looking around. And heno longer resisted my efforts to make him lie down.

I made a big fire and placed some iresh snow on the youngman’s head. He then fell asleep 'again, but I dared not relaxmy watch and remained seated the rest of the night.

Did I doze and dream? ... I heard'the feeble jingling ofa bell, lower down the hill. Who could be travelling in thatsnow, and at that hour? ... I listened, fearing that some onemight enter, but after a time the jingling died away.

Such was my Christmas Eve in that land of Po.

When day broke I did not dare to awaken my companion.Sleep is a powerful medicine and I placed more faith in itthan in the few tabloids I carried with me.

It was already late when he opened his eyes. I saw at oncethat he was better. He had but a faint remembrance of whathad happened in the night, and thought it was altogether adream. We prepared the hot water that once more constitutedour breakfast.

Had we had only a little butter or one or two pinches oftsampa to throw in it, we might have felt a trifle refreshed,but that plain water, even boiling hot, was nothing of acordial.

'As I expressed my feelings aloud, ending jocularly with thewish that some compassionate mountain god might bring useven the smallest piece of butter or fat, Yongden looked at mein a peculiar way.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“Well,” he replied, hesitatingly, “if you were not too par-ticular about the fat, I might be the mountain god.”

“What do you mean . . . ?”

He laughed.

“You are somewhat Thibetan in your ways, but perhapsnot enough to do what a true Thibetan, in your case, woulddo. . . .” .

“Go on. Have you something left in your bag . . . ?”

“Yes,” he answered. “A bit of bacon with which I rub thesoles of our boots to keep them waterproof, ^nd some bits of

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skin ^ which were left from the new soles I cut the day beforeyesterday.”

“Throw them all in the pot and add a little salt if there isany left,” I ordered, the soul of a true Thibetan arising in me.

He did so, and half an hour later we were tasting a turbidbeverage whose flavour was a matter open to discussion. Butto a certain extent it satisfied the craving of our emptystomachs.

Christmas merriment continued.

The weather cleared and the sun appeared shyly soon afterwe had left the dokpas* camp. As we descended we found thesnow less deep. The path continued through thick forests,and we met another dokpas* encampment, which was not agood omen for the nearness of our goal. A little below it, wecrossed a third feeder of the river Po, a small torrent rushingdown from the side of the Gotza la. We also saw the pathwhich led to the pass itself.

Neither villages nor fields nor anything that could suggestthe neighbourhood of human habitations could yet be dis-covered. Evening would, come soon. . . . Was our fast tocontinue?

Below the path, in a narrow clearing, I noticed a small hutwhich I pointed out to Yongden. Would it be wise to stopthere? We had just time to collect some wood before dark-ness had set in beneath the big trees. To mention food wasuseless. That topic seemed as if it were to become foreverforeign to us and we were to live like the gods of the etherealregions, feeding on scents and pure air. We grew bewildered.We should not reach a village that day.

^ On approaching the hut, we were most astonished to see aman standing at its door. This was our first meeting with aPopa in his own land, and the strange stories about robbersand cannibals that are current all over Thibet about that

* One must understand tliat it is a soft skin that has undergone nopreparation whatever.

>71

dreaded tribe, rose immediately in our memories. Yet we didnot show any sign of our thoughts. I simply asked, politely:

^'Kusho [sir], may we be allowed to enter to make a fire?”

“Come in,” answered the Popa brieily.

We went down the road, crossed the clearing, and our aston-ishment became still greater when we saw about a dozen menseated inside the cabin around a fire. What could they bedoing in the midst of the forest?

We were politely welcomed. The men manifested extremesurprise and looked at one another with an air of mysterywhen they heard that we had crossed the Aigni la. Yongdendeemed it useless to tell them about our supplementary prome-nade in the other valley, so that they thought we had comestraight down from that pass.

“Certainly,” they said, “you both have got powerful Po lha ^and Mo Iha.^ Without their help you would have perished inthe snow, for the pass is now completely blocked.”

The special heavenly protection which we enjoyed impressedthe Popas in our favour. A place of honour was given to thelama next the fire, and we were invited to produce oUr bowlsfor some tea, while the men apologized for the lack of tsampato eat with it. They had just finished their meal when wearrived. Even without tsampa, the generously buttered tearefreshed us delightfully.

After some more enquiries about our country and our pil-grimages, one who appeared to be a personage of superior rankamongst the other Popas asked the lama if he knew the artof mos; and all of them appeared greatly pleased when heanswered that he did.

What followed was first-rate material for a novelist, and atthe same time threw some light on a picturesque and interest-ing side of Thibetan home politics.

As nothing, or but very little, is known, in the West, aboutthe true condition of Thibet, a few explanations are neededhere to make the matter understood.

It is an error to fancy .Thibet as a homogeneous whole under

^ Gods of the paternal and maternal ancestors.

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a central government. Outside of the 0 and Tsang provinces,the various tribes have always lived in independence under anumber of petty rulers who were styled gyalpos (kings). Dur-ing the Chinese suzerainty t-he imperial officials did not inter-fere much with these local customs, but since they have beendriven away by his troops, the Lhasa ruler has undertaken tobring under his direct authority the whole of the Thibetanterritory which has escaped Chinese control.

Those tribes who have greeted the departure of the Chineseofficials as meaning entire freedom for them do not feel in theleast inclined to accept as governors men from Lhasa who lackthe prestige of the Chinese literati, representatives of the greatChinese Emperor, who is, according to lamaist belief, an incar-nation of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom: Janpeyon!^The Dalai lama is worshipped by them as a spiritually exaltedpersonality only, and though some of them may even go asfar as to bow reverently to him from a distance, they stronglyresent the appointment of governors or other dignitaries torule over them, and especially their power to tax them andcarry away to Lhasa the product of their levies.

So, the inhabitants of Chos Zong had simply stoned theirgovernor appointed from the capital, and besieged him in hiszong, where he had run In haste for shelter.

The enraged official had, however, been able to flee at nightfrom Chos Zong and to dispatch secretly a messenger to askhelp from the Kalon lama, a kind of Viceroy reigning overeastern Thibet, whose seat is at Chiamdo. The men of ChosZong had in their turn learned of the departure of the messen-ger, and fearing that on the order of the Kalon lama soldiersmight be dispatched to their country on a punitive expedition,they had sent some of their friends to overtake the messenger,seize the letter he carried, and "suppress” its bearer.

Our hosts were notabilities of the proud city which hadstoned the alien governor. There was no question of canni-

' Better known in the West under his Sanskrit name of Manjushri, aBodhisatvi of the Mahayanist Buddhism, very likely a deified hero.

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balism or of robbery; the lama was merely required to tellwhether the messenger would be caught.

The joke this time had a serious side. It might prove dan-gerous for the seer if his oracle turned out to be wrong. Thegiant fellows seated around the fire were no doubt not easy tomanage when irritated. My companion'and I are both shortof stature, and we looked amongst them like “Tom Thumb”of the nursery tales, in the ogre’s den. But in this case theogres numbered fourteen, and although we could almost feelconfident that they did not eat the flesh of lost travellers, theycould certainly not be fooled with impunity.

The lama asked them many questions about the roads whichthe ponpo’s messenger might have followed in order to leavethe country, and thus I secured a good deal of geographicalinformation. We also learned that a man had been dispatchedtoward the Aigni la, but had turned back, and this explainedthe faint jingling of a horse’s bell that I had heard before‘daybreak. The man had deemed it useless to proceed farther,realizing by the quantity of snow already heaped up at thatlevel that the pass must be completely blocked. Thereforethe astonishment of the Popas had been all the greater whenthey had seen us coming from the other side of the range.They enquired again and again if we had seen nobody or notraces of steps. But we had truly seen neither, and certainlythe ponpo's messenger had not taken that road.

After a good deal of muttering and gesticulation which werewatched with deep attention by the interested spectators, thelama declared something to this effect: “If your men run fasterthan the ponpo’s messenger they will catch him.” But of coursethis was said in oracular style, wrapped in a quantity of solemnwords and was really very impressive.

What prompted me, then? ... I could not say. The ro-mance of that political intrigue of the wilds, these WilliamTells of an unez{ffored land, plotting in the heart of the forestagainst a Gessler from Lhasa, may have tempted me and awak-ened the desire to play a part in the drama. Be that as

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may, in the silence which followed the prophecy of Yongden,1 pronounced, as if speaking for myself:

“No harm will be done. All will end well."

The fourteen conspirators and my astonished companiongazed at me dumfounded.

“What? . . . what?'. . . What does she say?” they askedafter a while. “Is she a pamoV' ^

“Not exactly,” answered Yongden. “My father was a blacknagspa^ and she was his initiated consort.”

“Indeed! . . . indeed! . . .” replied some of the Popas.Then, huddling themselves closer together, to give me roomnear the fire, they invited me to approach.

“Do not stay in that corner, tangs Yum.* You must feelcold. . . . We are sorry that you have come too late to shareour meal. ... So, truly, all that trouble will end well for us?”

“Yakpo chung yong [Good will arise],” I ansv;;cred, thengazed into the fire, apparently sunk in profound thought.

The Popas did not feel very comfortable. I could see it.They rejoiced over the favourable oracles, but the company ofthe black nagspa’s yum in the middle of a forest after sunsetseemed to them rather disturbing. So they took leave, request-ing the lama to say that they had all gone home, if some oneshould come and ask about them.

The men had told us that we were not far from a villagecalled Cholog, but what appeared a short distance to the^esturdy hillmen might be a long one for tired, lame, and ex-hausted people like ourselves. We had drunk a quantity ofbuttered tea and had received a small piece of butter and ahandful of tea, and these secured us a liquid breakfast for themorrow. It was better to spend the night under shelter.

We may be certain, I told Yongden, that these Popas 'mil

^ A woman who, during: mediumisde .trances, is possessed.)^ a god or ademon who speaks thaough her mouth. If the medium is niin he is calledfawo,

* Nagsfa: A knower of the secret spell, a dreaded kbd of sorcerer.

* Literally, *^cret mother.” A polite title to address the mystic consort^d helper of a magician or any lama belonging to a Tantric sect.

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not come back to rob us. They are too busy with their ownbusiness, and, moreover, they fear me.

The young man agreed, but he di^ not think that the hutwas a safe place in which to spend' the night. The followers ofthe ponpo may have learned, he said, that his enemies havemet here, and come at night to take them by surprise and killthem. They could mistake us for those who had stoned theirmaster. We risked getting bullets through the door or beingdragged before an official to explain who we were, or havingto answer countless other embarrassing questions.

I could not deny that he was right to a great extent. Butit was already dark beneath the trees, and, not being acquaintedwith the path, we could easily have met with an accident ofthe same kind as that from which Yongden was still suffering.As for being fired at or arrested, this could as well happento us when tramping at night in the forest as in the hut. Iwould stay!

Once we had decided to stop there, Yongden went into theforest to cut wood. I gathered as much as was lying aboutnear the cabin, and when I had finished I sat near the fire.

All of a sudden, without any noise, a head appeared over thetop of the door, which closed only about three-quarters of theentrance.

A man looked hurriedly into the hut and pronounced a fewwords which I did not understand. He did not give me timeto ask him to repeat them, and disappeared while I shouted, sothat he might hear it, what the lama had been requested to say:

“They are all gone!”

Those could not be, it seemed to me, very compromisingwords, and if some one were looking for the conspiring Popasthey would not come to trouble us.

Anyhow, the romance was to continue at the expense of ourrepose. A little later we heard a noise in the bushes, stepson the fallen leaves, dry twigs broken under the feet of aninvisible wanderer.

Yongden called from the door: “Arau! Arau! [comrade]you may come.”

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But no one appeared. I felt inclined to believe that wildanimals were roaming about, and we threw some stones in thedirection where the noise was coming from, but this did notstop it in the least. This Confirmed Yongden in his opinionthat human beings and not beasts were there.

However, as they did not attack us, we left them to theirbusiness and went back into the hut. We barricaded ourselvesas well as we could, covered the fire, and lay in a corner wherewe could not be easily seen or fired at through the gap in thetop of the door. That was all that we could do; and in what-ever case, when one has done one^s best, worries of any kindare superfluous and unwise.

Thus reflecting, we fell asleep and slept so soundly that thesun was already high in the heavens when we awakened.

We drank a bowl of tea with pleasure, but my tired bodycried out for some solid food. This was the sixth day of ourfast, and, without appearing too gluttonous, I can confess thatwe were hungry!

Cholog, the first village we were to come upon, was not sonear to the hut as the conspirators had told us the day before.We reached it at noon.

We had at last arrived amongst these Popas, heroes of somany strange tales, about whom Yongden and I had spokenfor years. Up till now all had gone well, and we were full ofconfidence in the future.

The village was situated in a narrow valley surrounded byalpine scenery and partly covered with snow. Neither itswooden cottages nor the few people visible had anything espe-cially threatening about them.

I felt really safe as to my disguise, after having passed thesehuge mountain ranges. No one would ever think that a foreignwoman had dared to venture on that road. No one wouldever suspect the pilgrim tramping over these distant trackson which a white traveller was never seen. This feeling ofsecurity was a great comfort and allowed me to enjoy tbbcharm of my adventure more freely.

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We could not begin our wanderings In the land of Po in abetter way than by going round a-begging. It was in accord-ance both with our programme and our present needs. Wetherefore knocked at the door of ‘the first cottage we found onour road.

When we answered the usual question, “Whence have youcome?” by saying that we had just crossed the Aigni la, thewoman who had interrogated us burst into loud exclamationswhich attracted a few neighbours. How could we have comethrough the snow? It was a real wonder! And again theunquestionable protection of our Po lha and Mo lha cameforward.

We were invited to sit down and produce our bowls, whichwere filled with hot soup.

Was it good, was it bad? I could not say. I only felt theinner animal joy of the starving man at his first contact withfood, after a long fast. It seemed to me that beings rushedup from the depth of my body toward my mouth to feed uponthe thick mixture of tsampa, water, curd, and turnips that Iswallowed eagerly. Other good people gave us tsampa anda little butter, and taking our bags in hand we went throughthe village to continue our begging. We quickly gathered aquantity of tsampa sufficient for two days. As we were nowin an inhabited country, we could renew our supplies, and didnot need to load ourselves with heavy bags. Thus we leftCholog and followed the river downwards.

We had left the village, when a strange idea took root in mybrain. That soup which we had eaten—the woman had takenit out of a pot standing In a corner behind an open door.

. . . Why had that earthen pot been put in such a place? . . •Could it be? . • . No. I revolted at the mere thought of it.And yet . . . in a corner . . . behind the door. ...

I turned toward my companion.

^‘Gelong lags/'^ I said, very politely. “Methinks we haveeaten the dog’s soup.”

^ Honourable monk.

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The lama, who was enjoying the pleasant sensation of excel-lent digestion, started:

“What do you say? . .• . What, dog’s soup?”

I explained to him calmly* the particulars on which my sus-picion was grounded.^ He turned pale, the expression of hisface reminding me of those one sees among the passengers on asteamer’s decks in rough weather.

Then, amongst the details of our meal, I remembered thatto fill our bowls our benefactress had dipped in the soup a ladlewhich was hanging near the hearth, with the kitchen utensils.A Thibetan would never touch the dog’s soup with a ladleused in cooking. I could therefore be certain that the soupwas men’s food, and I reassured the trembling lama.

“What a fright you have given me!” he said, laughing.

“What a fool you are!” I answered. “Men’s or dog’s, thesoup refreshed you. Why make yourself unhappy and sickover a mere idea ?”

“I fear,” replied Yongden, “that under your hermit masters’guidance you have made too much progress in the thul shugsj-In the future I shall carefully examine the contents of ourpot when you make our broth.”

“I hope I shall not have to fill it again with boot-leatherbroth as you have done.”

The good soup that 1 had so unjustly calumniated kept usjolly.

We were proceeding in that gay mood when we saw threewell-dressed and handsome men coming toward us across thefields. Long hair falling freely on their shoulders, fur robes,cloth vests in shades of warm green and dark red, beautifulswords with jewelled sheaths stuck in their belts, they lookedvaguely like those knights of yore one sees in old paintings.The mystic landscape of fir trees in the background, the clearriver, and the narrow path that wound through the fieldsadded still more to the impression. It made me think of theMemling paintings I had seen in my youth in Belgian galleries.

'An ascetic and philosophic doctrine whose adepts practise completeindifFerence in all respects,

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MY JOURNEY tO LHASA

They politely requested the lama to make some mos aboutthe very same affair on which he had already been con-sulted the day before, in the forest.. The men sent after theGovernor’s messenger had not yet come back. Had ^eycaught him, or not? It appeared that the whole country feltgreatly concerned about the matter. Yongden told them thatthe gods had already been consulted and that it was neitherfit nor prudent to trouble them again. Still, he could say that,according to his previous vio, all things would end well. Thetwo knights seemed satisfied, and with a most graceful dignity,went back to their houses near by.

A few minutes later a villager passed us and stopped mycompanion to ask a mo about some private business; and, asthe latter satisfied him, a lama rode by on a horse and, havingalighted, requested the same kind offices from his humblepedestrian colleague.

Human credulity, be it in the East or in the West, has nolimits. In India, the Brahmins have for centuries kept theircountrymen to the opinion that offering presents to those be-longing to their caste, and feeding them, was a highly meri-torious religious work. Nowadays this cunning old device hastaken in its snare the very ones who invented it, and on vari-ous occasions Brahmins are compelled by the custom to givegifts to other Brahmins. In the same way, a Thibetan lama,adept in ritual, cannot perform the magic rites for his ownbenefit and must rely on the well-remunerated services of acolleague.

Hermits (Gompehen) alone can escape. Some of them havecompletely renounced all religious ceremonies, whereas otherscondescend to oblige the believers who beg their help, butnever perform any rites on their own behalf, or ask anyoneelse to do so.

The views of these lonely ascetics and the teachings theyimpart to those whom they take as disciples are interesting inmany respects, and may be a revelation to those who considerThibet a land of benighted savages. But to return to Yong-den, I must say that although they are more numerous and

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Tin; Chair in Which thk Dalai I-ama Rkti:rsi:i) from India to Lhasa AktkrTHK Dkkeat of thk Ciiinkse 1 roofs

Head Lama of the Monastery and His Monks Lamas at the Monastery of Tashilhlmpo, Shicatze

more powerful, as members of the State Church, the lamas whobelong to the “Yellow Cap” sects acknowledge the superiorityof their brethren in the various “Red Cap” sects in all ques-tions more or less connected with magic and occult science.Humble and dirty as it was, my companion’s red hat enjoyedmuch success.

A contribution of tsampa and butter entered our bags asa result of the delivery of these various oracles. Truly thebeginning of our adventure in the country of the dreaded Popaswas quite encouraging.

We soon entered a narrow, dark gorge, and being temptedby the provisions we carried, we thought of taking a rest fora while, and eating some barley flour and butter. We werealready seated on the trunk of a fallen tree when a man passedand advised us to proceed quickly because we were still a longway from the nearest village and the road was anything butsafe. Robbers, he said, roamed In the region even during theday and were much more to be feared after dark.

The news agreed with what we had been told about Po yul. Westarted immediately, our revolvers in readiness under our dresses.

The sun had set when we reached the end of the gorge.

There three wide valleys opened and their very large inter-section wa$ entirely cultivated. Farms were seen here andthere, and a cluster of houses forming a hamlet. The valleyon the opposite side of the river led to Chos Zong, where thereis an important lamasery, the very place where the Lhasamandate had been stoned.

We crossed a bridge, well-built, although Jt had no breast-work, and were allowed to spend the night in the mill room ofa small isolated farm which was extremely clean. As a rule,the place where grain is ground is thie cleanest in a Thibetanhouse, and very often only the inmates are allowed to enter^-it, for fear lest it be defiled by strangers.^ '

^Professional beggars are more or less c^idered as impuK, althoughthe system of castes does not really exist in Thibet. As for travellers,they may, so think the Thibetans, have Come into touch with impureobjects or be accompanied by evil spirits.

o i8i

Our hosts sent us a few pieces of dry cow dung to light afire, but refused to give or even to sell us enough fuel to cooka meal. I went outside, along the* river and in the fields,gathering whatever branches I could find. When I came back,Yongden had some visitors, and the .question of the Gov-ernor, his messenger, the men sent after him, etc., was oncemore the topic.

Other people appeared later on, and requested from our hosta contribution in grain to feed a party of armed Popas whowere mustering to go somewhere—we were not admitted intoconfidence as to their destination. It looked as if the countrywere rising. The next morning some more armed fellows cameto the lama for mos about the Governor, who had succeeded infleeing from Chos Zong and had taken refuge in another lama-sery at Sung Zong.

Spies of both parties were certainly wandering through thecountry, such being the Thibetan custom. We might be takenfor spies ourselves, and get into trouble. We therefore re-crossed the river, and strode away, endeavouring to put SungZong behind us as soon as possible.

Pilgrims returning from the holy Pemakoichen mountainscalled us to drink tea on the road and made us a little present.We again crossed the Polung tsangpo and proceeding now onits right bank, we entered a narrow gorge where I met with apeculiar accident. I merely knocked my toes against a stonesticking out of the ground and did not hurt them, but feltsuch terrible pain in the bowels that I nearly fainted. I re-mained lying on the ground for quite a long time, incapable ofstanding, and as a comical element was never absent in evenour most unpleasant adventures, Yongden did not dare tothrow water on my face when he saw that I was fainting, lestit should remove the accumulated dirt and special ^^make-up”that constituted a part of my disguise.

The enthusiastic opinion which we formed of the Popas,after our first meeting with them, did not last more than asingle day.

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That evening on emerging from a gorge we saw the valleysuddenly widen. A number of farms were scattered over thefields, and near the road .we noticed two or three half-ruinedand* abandoned houses. I proposed to Yongden that we stayfor the night in one of these tumble-down habitations, but heobjected, with reason, that the fire which we should light wouldattract the attention of the villagers, and that undesirable visi-tors might call on us.

As we thought it imprudent to spend the night alone in thevicinity of the village, we had to beg shelter somewhere, andwe thus made a real acquaintance with the Popas’ hospitality.

At the first farm a young shepherd left his flocks as soonas he caught sight of us, and ran as for his life, to inform theinmates of the house that arjopas were coming. Instantlydoors and windows were closed and no one answered whenwe called and shouted outside. All had been done so quicklyand so artlessly that it was really amusing. I nearly laughedaloud, but as such gaiety would not have fitted my disguise, Iendeavoured to appear sad whilst proceeding to another farm.

“We were wrong,” said Yongden, “to go to such a smallcottage. Poor people have none too much for themselves, andfear the beggars because they have nothing to give. On theother hand, they do not like to refuse alms to a lama pilgrim,for it is ‘a bad deed, so they cleverly manage to avoid seeinghim. Did you not notice that they fastened the door and theblinds without looking outside? They may even have made apretence of not hearing me when I shouted at them, or theymay have said amongst themselves: 'Here is one of thoserascals wfio imitate the lama’s way of begging to deceive house-holders.’ ^a^the cunning ones are blameless, since they pre-tend not to knbw that a lama was at their door. What a won-derful trick! ...

“Let us go to a rich farm!”

At the chukpo*s (rich man) house no one shut the doors,but five "big dogs were allowed to attack us freely. While 1worked hard with my iron-spiked staff to keep the beasts away,

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Yongden endeavoured to express his request loudly enough tobe heard above the furious barking of animals. Nobody an-swered at first. Then a young womap appeared on the flat roofand asked us many questions, without ordering the dogs toleave us. Yongden answered with angelic patience, while Icontinued the fight around him. Her curiosity satified, thewoman retired inside the upper-story apartment to report tothe nepo about us and our request. This lasted another goodten minutes, and finally she came back bringing a negative an-swer. We were not allowed to enter the house!

Thibetans, like many other people, are very much like sheep.The traveller may be certain that if he is refused hospitality byone farmer, all the other villagers who may happen to know itwill close their doors to him. We had not the least chanceof success in the vicinity of the owner of the ferocious dogs.

We went away, already resigned to walking a few morehours, and if we did not come to any village on our way, tosleep hidden in the woods. But the last house at the end of thecultivated area happened to present a good appearance. Justas we passed, a woman opened the door of the cattle pen tolet the cows in. Yongden begged that we might be allpwedto stay inside the farm until the next morning. As he wasspeaking with her, another woman appeared at a window, andhe repeated his request.

The answer was that the permission of the master of thehouse was needed, and that she would ask him.

After a while, the same woman came down with a plate oftsampa, sent by the nepo, who did not wish to receive us.

*We do not ask tsampa” explained Yongden. “We onlywant netsang.^ We will eat our own food and trouble nobodyfor alms. Let us only come inside.’^

The woman returned upstairs with the flour, and very prob-ably the fact that we had refused it inclined the nepo to be-lieve in our respectability. We were admitted into an exceed-ingly clean and well-built room such as I have seen only in thedwellings of quite upper-class Thibetans. A servant lighted

^ Hospitality, a place in which to sleep.

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the fire and gave us a plentiful supply of wood. Our opinionof the Popas, which had fallen very low after the experiencesat the other farms, rose a little. We cooked some soup, andwhile eating it we had an Interesting talk about the economicaland political conditions of the country with a man who belongedto another part of Thibet, but who had settled in Po yuL Thenepo came also with several women, and Yongden had to com-ply with the usual requests for mos.

One of the women noticed a turquoise which the lama hadhung to the rosary he wore around his neck. Like coral andpearl, turquoise Is a very prized part of Thibetan jewellery.But what goes under the name of yu (turquoise) in Thibet isseldom genuine. It Is mostly polished malachite, or even somegross imitation made in China. The stone in Yongden^s rosarywas of a pretty colour. It greatly pleased the women, whoexamined it again and again. Finally one of them wished tobuy it, but with the cunning of peasants in every country,she tried to take advantage of our apparent needy conditionto acquire It practically for nothing, and her friends did theirutmost to help her.

It was quite amusing to hear them talking about imaginarydangers, thieves along the road which we were to follow, andhow food would be more useful to poor travellers than a use-less precious stone. There was no one amongst them whodid not recognise the spiritual superiority of an ordained lama.They would not have failed to ask his services in case of Illness,death, or epidemic among the cattle. They would have calledon him to bless the harvest or the house, and to make mos^but, nevertheless, they endeavoured, with all the clevernessthey possessed, to cheat the poor holy one delivered by Fate—as they believed—into their hands.

The lama refused to accept the price offered, and as I knewthat he had inherited some really fine turquoises on his father’sdeath, I thought that this was one of them which he wascarrying with him.

Was it the talk about robbers, or the many mos he had made,or other causes that troubled Yongden’s sleep?

.185

I was suddenly awakened in the night by a rather loudexclamation.

“Where is the gun?” said the lama. “They have taken mygun!” and some incomprehensible muttering followed.

At first I did not realise that he was dreaming aloud. Iquickly extended my hand toward the two revolvers whichwe had, as usual, hidden with our money under the tentspread over us as a blanket in Thibetan fashion. (I have al-ready said that poor Thibetan travellers do not undress tosleep.) The covering allowed us to part with our heavy beltscontaining the money. When we thought it unsafe to use itfor fear that so much cloth might awake our hosts^ cupidityand thus endanger our safety, we were compelled to keep thesebelts, as well as our arms, under our dresses. Their weight onthe breast during a whole night was, I need scarcely say, mosttiring and unpleasant. It often prevented me from sleeping.

Our revolvers and belts were there, but the young man con-tinued to speak aloud.

There were two people beside ourselves in the room: thestrange man and his Po wife. Our companions might awake,throw a piece of resinous wood on the fire to get a light to seewhat was the matter. Even if convinced that the lama wasdreaming, they might persuade themselves that his dream hadroots in something real and that we were really hiding a gun.Knowing the passion of all Thibetans for firearms, I wasafraid that anything might happen if our hosts happened tosuspect that we owned one. To what extreme means wouldthey not go to secure it?

I gently pushed the dreamer. But it was no use; he con-tinued to twaddle about the gun. I then crawled close tohim and shook him, whispering in his ear to be quiet. Thepoor fellow was tired and enjoyed the sound sleep of youth.He did not awake, although he opened his eyes. I gave hima slap. I blew on his face. I did not known what to do tosilence him! At last he turned on one side and ceased hismuttering. Already our companions moved in their corner.I took our belts and the revolvers, and buckled them all hastily

»«6

under my dress, so that no sign of them could be seen if someone made a light and came over to us to enquire about themeaning of the noise.

I did not dare to slee]3 again, and watched Yongden till alittle before daybreak, when ne awakened.

While we were drinking our morning tea, two women cameagain to try to buy the turquoise, and after we had takenleave and were proceeding on our way, the one who wantedit ran after the lama ^with a small piece of butter and sometsampa. Still thinking that the yu was one of his genuinestones, I scoffed at the silly female who believed that she couldacquire a beautiful stone at such small expense. But in orderto prevent any of her male relatives or friends from followingus with the desire of getting the precious jewel still cheaper,I added: '‘My son is a pure gelong. He forgets too often thathis father was a nagspa, as his elder brother still is in ourcountry. That yu has been hung on his father’s totreng^ andanyone who is not connected with the ngags will find to his costthe result of wearing it. All but an initiated nagspa, or anagspa^s near relative. Is na mi thet^ to It, and would die Ifhe became its owner.”

This was sufficient to cool the coquettish person. She under-stood that the turquoise was definitely out of her reach. Per-haps she considered herself lucky to have been informed ofthe danger of wearing it. Perhaps, at the bottom of her heart,she regretted the niggardliness which had prevented her fromacquiring it, when she could have hung the sky-blue stone ather ear or on her neck without suspecting Its origin.

She went silently away, carrying back with her the butterand the tsampa. ft

"Why should you sell your turquoise?” I asked Yongden."We do not need money. It is better to keep it and give it,later on, to one of your relatives.”

rosary made of loS small disks of bones taken from xo8 differenthuman skulls.

*A peculiar exprmion meaning that one is not worthy of the objectof which he use, and that he cannot bear iu special power or

dignity.

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

"They do not care for such yu," he answered, laughingly.

“What? . . . They do not like turquoise?'’

“Yes, they do . . . genuine ones.”

“But this . . . ?”

“It is an imitation from China. The tsampa and butterwould have been a good price for it.”

And I had taken it as genuine, as, of course, had the womanat the farm! Anyhow, that kind of fun was not to be repeated.It would have been too absurd to get into trouble with robbers,and be killed for a supposed precious stone of which one couldpurchase about a pound for less than twenty cents. The tur-quoise was therefore removed from the rosary.

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CHAPTER VI

Having crossed a dense forest, we reached the neighsbourhood of Sung Zong a few days later.

A reading of the whole Khagyur had taken place in a vil-lage, at the conclusion of which the io8 big volumes, loadedon yaks, were taken back to the monastery by a few countryfolk. Amongst these an old woman ambled leisurely, walkingat a slack pace before her hairy bullock, which enjoyed anoccasional graze. The good grandmother chatted with us, andseeing that I was eating dry tsampa as I went along, she pro-duced a piece of bread out of her amphag^ and gave it to me.

Who could tell in what strange and dirty places that breadhad been? Of course, I could not refuse it, and I was evencompelled to make a pretence of eating it. But the first morselwas far from being unpalatable—quite the contrary. I quicklyovercame my disgust, and with the solid appetite of a way-farer I ate the last crumb of it.

We came upon Sung Zong as I was finishing this rustic deli-cacy. Groups of houses forming hamlets were scattered hitherand thither. The lamasery itself stood isolated on a sniallhillock, between the Po and Nagong rivers. The latter emergesfrom a valley that opens behind the lamasery, and the rangeswhich bound it. This provides a commanding background forthe insignificant buildings of the large monastery.

Although Sung Zong is one of the most important placesof the Po country, and is of considerable geographical inter-est, being at the junction of two large rivers, it has not yetbeen charted on the maps. The whole region Is still terra

^ Amfhag is die pocket formed on the breast by the large Thibetandress tied at the waist with a belt. Thibetans have no other, and thequantity and variety of things they carry in it, often next the skin (forpoor people do not wear underddthing), is really astonishing, and makesthe leanest of them appear big-bellied.

incognita to geographers, and I could not but deeply regretthat the odd disguise I had been compelled to assume pre-vented me from gathering the few observations that my modestability would have allowed me to make.

In all my travels, including this last journey, I have beenuncommonly successful in my search for documents pertain-ing to the field of my own studies, and I should havebeen glad to do something that would prove of interest toothers in different fields of knowledge. If I have failed, thefault is not mine. During the whole period of my stay inChinese Thibet my movements were closely watched by thespies of the border posts. The Lhasa officials In charge ofthem had received strict orders to prevent me from enteringthe part of Thibet under British influence. My small baggage,containing some instruments and requisites for plain scientificwork, which I had once tried to smuggle Into the country, ledto my detection, and I was stopped on my way.^ Under suchcircumstances it only remained for me to start as I did, empty-handed.

I enjoyed too much these months of free life to entertainunkind feelings toward those who forced upon me the hard-ships and dangerous risks of my pilgrimage as a beggar. Ifeel rather grateful to them for having led me to that wonder-ful experience. Yet one cannot but lament the fact that suchefforts are hindered and not allowed to bear their full fruit.

It is beyond the scope of the present book to deal with geo-graphical matters. Nevertheless a few words may be of interest.

I have already mentioned that the region around the uppercourse of the river Po is unsurveyed. Maps mistake theNagong for it, but the former has its source farther to thesoutheast. Ttj.

No one Is to be blamed for this error, as no white travellerhas ever gone up the river higher than Showa, which is situ-ated far from Sung Zong, downstream. If I am not mistaken,only one English officer has visited the former place.

The Nagong springs from the foot of a small pass, near a

^ See Introduction.

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monastery called Dugang, in the range that divides the basinof the Salween from that of the Brahmaputra. On the oppositeside of the pass flows jthe Daishin River, which joins theSalween.

As the Nagong is an important stream, some might like todiscuss the question as to which of the two rivers that unite atSung Zong is the main one, and which is the tributary. Butthe natives have answered this definitely. The river formedby the three streams which I discovered on my way to Po yulthey call the Po. One of these three comes, as I have said,from the Po Gotza pass.

Above Sung Zong, the river Po receives two important tribu-taries emerging from wide valleys, the upper one leading toChos Zong and the second in the direction of Chundo, whereis situated the parent monastery of the two large lamaseriesof Chos Zong and Sung Zong.

The maps of that region, which have been drawn from re-ports and not actual surveys, indulge in many fancies which arefaithfully copied in successive editions. Amongst them is theinvention of a town called Pozong. In reality Po Zong means“the fortress of the Po countryIt is a title rather than aname, almost like our own word “Capital.’^ But the Popas donot agree as to which of their towns is entitled to bear it.While the people of Pomed (the lower Po) declare that Pozongis Showa, where the King of Po has his residence, the inhabit-ants of Potod (the upper region, extending downstream alongthe river Po as far as Dashin) affirm that the Pozong isChundo.

This is not the only peculiarity offered by the maps ofThibet. In fact, in most parts of the north and the east theyare of but little use to travellers, if indeed they are of any useat all. The names written on them seldom correspond tothose one hears from the natives. The rivers and mountainranges are not really in the places they are shown to be, and anumber of them are completely ignored, as are also the roadswith the exception of a few main tracks.

Geographers arc wanted on that side of the globe—geog-

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raphers and other scientists. For I doubt if any land is morewonderful than that unknown and still forbidden Thibet!

The most annoying but unavoidable necessity of revictualingdelayed us at Sung Zong.

The environs of the monastery were full of animation.Country people could be seen moving hither and thither, lead-ing yaks or horses loaded with wood, meat, or grain. Pettychiefs rode amongst them giving orders with an important andbusy mien. Trapas also ran to and fro, in and out of the gateof the gompa. From the distant spot from which I witnessedthis agitation, the lamasery with its unwhitened mud housesseemed an anthill occupied by diligently working insects.

The fugitive official had taken refuge at Sung Zong, andwherever a chief stays, the inhabitants of the region are notonly compelled to feed him, his retainers, servants and beasts,but also to offer him daily presents. This explained the pro-cession of poor ants going to fill the storerooms of the ponpo^shousehold.

The prophecy with which I had surprised and* gratified theconspirators in the forest cabin, was nearing its fulfilment.Several great lamas had intervened as peacemakers betweenthe offended Governor and the braves of Chos Zong. Oneof them had passed by us while we were eating, seated neara stream.

Looking at the pretty procession of riders clad in gold bro-cade and bright-yellow satin, with their dark-red travellingcoats and zens^ we had entirely forgotten that humble folksuch as ourselves ought at least to stand up to show ourrespect. The great lama, who was a young man, did notappear offended, and smiled at his less fortunate brother in theOrder, who had become indescribably ragged by this time.The Thibetan servants, always more arrogant than their mas-ters, looked at us angrily. But the Tulku^ had smiled and

* A long shawl of dark-red colour—it is sometimes yellow 'ail|l>ngstsome hermits of Amdo—worn by the members of the religious orj^er.

"Literally, illusory body created by magic. A Tulkuy according topopular belief, is the reincarnation of some powerful-minded being, man

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they had to refrain from beating us, as they would haveenjoyed doing.

Yongden remained abput three hours at the gompa. Hemet some nice obliging trapas who gave him goods in additionto the provisions he had purchased, such as a liberal amountof bread, and dried apricots. Such kind treatment gave himno chance of shunning the long chat which Thibetans enjoy^ much, or of refusing to drink the tea so cordially offered.Thus time passed quickly (and rather pleasantly) for my com-panion, but rather dully for me, who remained seated with our^ wild and barren spot swept by a piercingly cold

wind.

For company I had first a few children minding cattle, whocame to sit near me. I learned a few things worth knowingfrom their candid mouths! After them came a well-to-dotraveller, accompanied by several servants. He stopped toask for whom I was waiting, as he saw my two loads and sounderstood that I had a companion.

I told him that my son, a gelong, had gone to the monastery.This looked quite respectable, and the man dismounted to askme more questions about my native land and other topics.

At that time I had again adopted a new mother country—the far-off Ngari. The traveller had only heard about It, buthe had once been to Shigatze, the capital of the Tsang province.As I had stayed there some years before, I was quite at easein discussing it, and the man having seated himself on theground, we had a pleasant chat together, in which the servantsjoined. He was coming from the Kongbu province and car-ried some cakes of dried molasses, of which he gave me two.When the lama returned proudly with his provisions, andboasted of the presents he had received, I enjoyed puzzlinghim with my two sugar cakes, which I said that a lhamo (god-dess) had given me.

The country which we entered soon after leaving Sung Zongmust^Wfithout doubt be admirable in all seasons, but winter^had

or god.^Yery improperly foreigners call these lamas ^^Living Buddhas.’’That name, as well as the idea which it conveys, is unknown to Thibetans.

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now tranisformed it into a bewitching fairyland. For mileswe proceeded under cover of gloomy, silent, and mysteriousforests. Then, an unexpected clearing suddenly revealed, behindthe dark line of tall fir trees, .extraordinary landscapes- ofshining snow-clad mountains, towering high in the blue sky,frozen torrents and glittering waterfalls' hanging like giganticand immaculate curtains from the rugged rocks. We looked atthem, speechless and enraptured, wondering If we had notreached the confines of the human world and were confrontedwith the abode of some genii. But as we continued on ourway the forest again surrounded us, and the vision disappeared.Yet to-morrow or the day after a new fantastic apparitionwould rise before us In the same instantaneous way!

I tarried long In that beautiful region, making long devia-tions from the direct road, walking leisurely during the day,sleeping generally in the open, at the foot of a tree or in a cavewhen lucky enough to discover one on my road at the timeof camping. But the beauty of nature was not the only objectof interest offered by Po yuL

We did not always spend the night in the forest. On reach-ing hamlets. Isolated farms, or monasteries, we often beggedhospitality. Sometimes it happened that we were forbiddento enter. More than once we had to defend ourselves againstdogs left loose to keep us away; and with utmost gravity wesometimes discussed the degree of ferocity of the caninewatchers of the different places we passed. We had been givenenough opportunities to make a study of it! Other selfishpeople answered our request by saying that there was a sickperson in the house, and this was equivalent to a strict pro-hibition to approach It.

A superstition, having nothing to do with the desire to avoidthe propagation of diseases, is at the bottom of this custom.Thibetans, as I have already mentioned, never believe that anyillness or accident has a natural cause. These are consideredas the work of evil spirits, which are hunting for the vitalprmciples of the beings to enslave them or feed upon them*A strong and healthy person is supposed to be more difficult

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to catch and kill than one already debilitated by sickness,just as a swift deer is a harder match for the hunter thana lame or already wounded one.

Now, Thibetans suspect all travellers coming from afar ofbeing accompanied by devils,^ so that, if introduced In thehouse where a man is ailing, undesirable and invisible visitorscould enter it In their train.

Needless to say, the cunning Thibetans often take advan-tage of this superstition to shut their doors even when all theinmates enjoy perfect health. I once terribly frightened awoman who used this excuse to send us away. Before sheclosed the blinds of her only window I had had time topeep inside and to see that no one was lying down. Then,assuming an inspired air, I exposed her lie and prophesiedthat, as she had falsely told saintly pilgrims that one of herfamily was ill, real sickness would indeed come on her house.This declaration was accompanied by brief choregraphic exer-cises in which I shook the lap of my large dress as if I wereliberating a host of devils who had been sheltered in it. Thecomedy ended with a present of butter which the selfish house-wife, who was now weeping, offered us. She also begged usto spend the night under her roof, but we refused. Still, toconsole her, Yongden blessed the small farm from outside tocharm away the sickness I had foreseen. It may be that myperformance has benefited, in the course of time, some tiredand hungry arjopa to whom the woman has not dared to refusehospitality.

But all doors were not closed to us. Far from it! Thisgave me most interesting opportunities of witnessing from theinside, as we had done along the upper Salween Valley, the lifeand customs of the inhabitants. Familiar talks allowed me tostudy their peculiar mentality, their views and beliefs. I heardwitty stories and terrifying legends. Thanks to the time Ihad allowed for slow progress and wandering at random, I

^Explanations of that peculiar view would be too long to be^givenhere. 1 shall discuss the subject in a special book devoted to the studyof Thibetan religion and superstitions.

m

was also quite unexpectedly favoured with two unforgettablemeetings, most valuable for my observations on Thibetan mys-ticism. However, for the present, I must confine myself tothe brief outline of my adventures of travel, putting aside themore special topics which will find their place elsewhere.

The first important place we reached after Sung Zong wascalled Dashin. It is the seat of a large monastery.

The day before we arrived there, we met on the road twovillagers, husband and wife, who had bought a cow somewhereand were leading it to their house at Dashin. As was nearlyalways the case when coming in touch with people, Yongdenwas requested to make mos about some land business. Wewalked several hours with the pair, and as we stopped todrink tea, they went on ahead, promising a hearty welcomein their home. However, toward the end of the afternoon,while crossing a village, we saw the cow tied before a door,and its owner shouted at us from the threshold, ^‘Go slowly.We will join you soon!” But evening came and the peasantsdid not appear. We understood they were spending the nightat their friends^ house. It was too late to beg hospitalityat the first village we reached. People were certainly asleepand would not open their doors. The Incident did not troubleus in the least, for by that time we had become quite accus-tomed to remaining at night in the open. We found a pit inthe forest and lay in it with our baggage; and, as patches ofsnow were to be seen here and there, we spread our tent overus in the old way. The sky generously came to our assistanceand sprinkled real snow on our sham snow during our sleep.We were therefore really well hidden, and kept warm allthe night.

The next day, after having passed a village, we stopped totake our breakfast on the bank of a wide mountain stream.We were just finishing when the couple appeared with theircow. They explained that they had been delayed and hadslept at their friends^ house, and pressed us to proceed withthem to their house.' We went together, and very likely outof the desire to get payment of their hospitality beforehand^

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they asked Yongden to make mos again, about various affairs,even while walking. 'One of the mos concerned the health ofa man very seriously ill, Would he still be alive, or not,when the two villagers reached Dashin?

Although he was, as a rule, a seer full of prudence, Yong-den was bored by the' importunity of the peasants, and saidbluntly, “He is dead!” -

I could not tell whether the news brought them sorrow orpleasure. We did not know if they were the anxious heirs ofthe supposed departed one, or his loving relatives. At anyrate, they spoke together in a low tone, and then kept silent.

About half an hour later, a man passed us, coming fromDashin. Our companions at once asked about the fate of thesufferer.

“He Is much better,” was the answer.

The prestige of the lama fell immediately, and when thegolden roof of the Dashin monastery emerged from the forest,those who were to be our hosts went their way without takingany more notice of us.

We did not attempt to follow them or try In any way toclaim the hospitality which they had promised us. We reallycared very little for it. It was indeed a happy time in mylife when the many nights spent in the open had freed mefrom concern about shelter and the like!

The place where we had been abandoned was a pretty one,half smiling, half austere. The lamas of Dashin had evi-dently felt, as I did, the peculiar beauty of the spot, for theyhad built several Tsam Khang^ there, high above the road,against a rocky diff. The small white houses of the redusesappeared as if hung on the black rock, while a few daring - firtrees, which had taken root in some crevices, framed the wholedustA* of ascetic dwellings.

Anchoritic life is held in great honour in Thibet. Nearlyevery monastery erects in some remote place in its neighbour-hood some habitations for the use of those of its monks whowish to retire for a time—or forever—from all worldly activity.

^ Tsam boimdary, line of demucadoni and Khang meana honw.

B ^197

'These houses are called Tsavv> Khang because the reclusesremain isolated behind their closed doors as if a barrier hadbeen erected around them, to be crossed by no one.

Any lama who is above the common lot is expected to sp^nd,at least once in his life, a period of a little over three years insuch a retreat, and, in addition, one month or more yearly.These periods of retreat are called Tsam, and the recluseTsam-'pa. There are many varieties of Tsamy more or lesssevere as to the strictness and length of the reclusion. Betweenthe lama, who merely shuts himself in a Tsam Khang or evenin his own apartment, and who, although he does not receivevisitors, sees freely a number of attendants who wait uponhim, and the one who dwells in complete darkness and silence,receiving his food through a double wicket, there exist manydegrees.

Besides Tsam Khangs there exist in Thibet riteuSy which area more remote kind of hermitage, to which the still stricterascetics resort. Details about them cannot be given in thepresent book. I must leave them for a future publication.Indeed, this world of the Thibetan mystics is a mystery in themystery of Thibet, a strange wonder in a wonderland country.Very possibly Thibet will soon cease to be forbidden ground,but one may doubt if the secret of its Tsam Khang and riteuSythe aims of their dwellers and the results they achieve, willever be disclosed to the many.

I sat in the meadow near a huge erratic boulder, and enjoyedweaving fancies about the men hidden from me behind thewhite walls of their miniature dwellings. During this time alarge party of neskorpas passed me. They had visited Lhasaon a pilgrimage, and were on their way to their homes in theNu valley. Yongden and I endeavoured to get informationabout the road and the country they had crossed, but we gotvery few interesting details. These poor villagers or membersof the low clergy do not take the least interest in what theysee on their way. They walk like cattle, without even noticingthe road which they follow. Most of them are certainly notbright-minded, but it may be said in their defence that the

fatigue caused by the long daily tramps with a heavy load onthe back and scanty 'food tends to benumb the mental facul-ties.' I have experienced ihls myself and once had to strugglewith all my might against a kind of overpowering dullness,which would have made me walk in as bovine a fashion asthese poor pilgrims.

On nearing the monastery I remarked, standing at some dis-tance, the man and the woman whom we had met on the road.They looked at us shyly, though intently.

“They are not bad fellows, after all,” I said, pointing themout to Yongden. “I am certain that they repent having aban-doned us, and now wish to keep their promise.”

The lama cast a glance at the couple.

“The sick man has died,” he declared.

“How do you know?” I asked, with astonishment.

“It is not difficult to understand,” replied my companion.“Have you not noticed how humble their attitude is and howdifferent from their manner on the road? They fear to haveoffended a great prophet, and dread the evil consequences oftheir rudeness. That means that they have found the mandead on their arrival.”

Perhaps this pessimistic opinion was, after all, justified. Inever knew.

Yongden walked with a dignified gait toward the monas-tery, without giving as much as a glance at the anguished pair,and I sat on the stones bordering the avenue which passedalong the river below the gompa.

Although it was not built on a summit, the deep river wind-ing at its feet and the rocky headland which confronts it fromacross the green water, surround the lamasery with a prettyand romantic landscape to which the gilded dome, emergingabove the old walls of the enclosure, adds a peculiar character.Behind the monastery, a wide cultivated valley opens out. Atrack follows it, and leads to southern Thibet, across severalpasses. This trail has branches, some of which reach the bor-ders of India in Assam, on the banks of the Brahmaputra, whileothers take the traveller to China or to Burma. On the opposite,

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shore of the Polung Tsangpo, a short distance from Dashin,yet another track runs northward through the hills, touch*ing the main road from Chiamdo to JLhasa. This gives accessto several roads leading to the “Land of Grass,” to Jakyendo,the market town situated on the route of the tea caravans.Then, proceeding still farther north, one can reach the greatSino-Thibetan markets of Sining and Dankar, in Kansu. Con-tinuing the journey, one arrives in Mongolia. All the northernpart of this track, beyond the Chiamdo road, is familiar to me.In any other country, a place situated in such a favourablegeographical location would have become an important centre.The divers roads which converge there would have been dulyimproved, if not as cart roads, at least as good mule paths.But in Thibet no one gives a thought to such questions, andDashin is but a village.

As I was seated by the side of the river, several peoplepassed, and amongst them were some women going to cutwood in the forest which we had crossed on our way. Theystopped to question me. I told them I was waiting.for my son,who had gone to the monastery, and we enjoyed a short chattogether.

Yongden remained very long at the gompa. He had bychance met a monk coming from the same land where hisgreat-grandfather had been a “Red Cap” married lama of rank.He knew a number of people there, if not all personally, atleast by name; and although he had not heard about them foryears, he satisfied the eager curiosity of his brother in theOrder and gave him news of everybody and of everything.Such a lucky meeting could not pass in Thibet without eatingand drinking. While her “son” enjoyed the clerical companybehind the wall where women were forbidden,^ the “oldmother,” after the sun had set began to feel rather cold,seated on the stones telling her beads.

* Women are only allowed to enter the monasteries of the ‘‘Yellow Cap”sect on certain religious festival days, and even then must retire outside ofthe walls after sunset. My situation at Kum*Bum was quite exceptional*I never heard of a woman to whom a house had been granted there.

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The women returned, each one carrying a load of wood.They were most astonished to see me still in the same place.This gave them the opportunity for another chat, and theeldest one kindly invited me to her house for the night, explain-ing to me minutely where it was situated. They then wentaway, but had only gone a few steps when Yongden appeared,accompanied by a young novice lama. Both were loaded withprovisions, and we were invited to pass the night somewherein the village. But I preferred to go with the good womanwith whom I haid had a talk, and so it was she whom wefollowed.

The master of the house into which we were shown, althoughonly a villager, was remarkably intelligent. He had travelledmuch and had lived long at Lhasa. We took great pleasure inlistening to him, though we were rather afraid that he mightpenetrate my disguise. So I performed all the menial work,leaving the lama seated on the carpet that had been spreadfor him near the fire in an entrance room, for we were notinvited to enter the family kitchen. I noticed, since my arrivalin the Po country, that the inhabitants of that region wererather particular in that respect. In the Nu valley, and oftenin that of the Giamo nu chu, we were allowed to sleep withthe people of the house in the kitchen; but the Popas seemeddecidedly against it.

We started at daybreak. The weather was cold and thewind blew hard, sweeping along the large open valldytoward the south, but we soon entered the forest again, andfelt warmer.

The Po valley, from its source, at the foot of the rangewhich we had crossed, down to the Brahmaputra, offers a va-riety of climates. We had found it amongst deep snows, andnow it was flowing between barley fields, in January.

The virgin soil of the valley seems to be very fertile.Attracted by the hope of better harvests, a number of newsettlers coming from the adjacent protnnees had cleared smallparts of the forest, and built rustic farms of logs, very like Rus-sian “isbas.” The flr trees which sometimes surround them

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add to this likeness, and give a decidedly Russian or Siberianaspect to the landscape.

Many of these primitive homes ar^ no more than cabins, ofwhich some are not larger than eighty to a hundred feet square.

In one of these we found an idyllic pair of lovers. Youthhad long since passed for both, though they were not yet old.The man had a wen on his neck, and his spouse herself wasno beauty. In the hut, together with the couple, slept acow, her suckling calf, two other youngsters of the same species,and a few baby black pigs ... a true nursery of four-footedyoung brothers, having, alas! no attentive nurse to lead thelittle ones outside when their needs required open air. In thesesurroundings we heard a most touching love story, though ofthe kind Western moralists call “sinful.” For the housewifeof the Noah’s Ark had been mistress of another, better andlarger dwelling, and had run away into the wilds, penniless,with a penniless Romeo. They had no children, and—a thingrare in Thibet—did not desire any. Their love for each other,though of long standing, filled their hearts to the brim.

These poor people treated us well. We shared a turnipsoup with them, and they then insisted on presenting us withsonie tsampa to eat on the road.

Yongden was requested to make mos. He ended cleverlyenough by saying that in order to please the Lu ^ they oughtto clean their house carefully, and to offer milk“ to the snalcedeities.

We four then lay down to sleep, our hosts on one side ofthe hearth, Yongden and I on the other side, the cow near thedoor, the calves at our feet, and the lively little pigs runningto and fro over us, as there was not much room left for them inthe hut.

When we heard the lovers snoring, Yongden muttered inmy ear: j’

^ Known in Sanskrit literature as ndga, or serpent demigods, owningfabulous riches and granting wealth to their devotees.

* The customary offering to these deities, who feed only on pore thingssuch as water and milk. They are offended by the mere smell of meator bad odours.

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“1 will put five rupees in a pot on the shelf. They will findthem when they clean the house and will think that the Lushave brought them. . . . May

It was a wonderful joke; but I advised him to give themIndian rupees. This was a litde precaution for safety^s sake.Had we been suspected of being the donors, t;hese rupeeswould have proved almost certainly that we had gone fromLhasa (where these coins are available), to eastern Thibet,and were on our way back home. As the Indian money wasin a separate bag, even in the dark it was easy to get at it.

I should like to have been able to witness the finding ofthe five rupees. How great an opinion the two good peoplemust have formed of the holy, learned lama whose blessing hadattracted to them the bounty of the Lus! But as there arecountless popular stories about Lus wandering about in humanshape, perhaps our hosts would believe that we were ourselvesLus in disguise.

That visit of gods to faithful lovers reminded me of thefable of Philemon and Baucis and I related it to my companion.

New Year in the Po yul, as well as in some parts of Kham,docs not come at the same date as at Lhasa, where peoplefollow the Chinese calendar. This peculiarity caused us toarrive at Showa, the humble capital of Pomed, on the very dayof the Popas’ New Year. The King was at Lhasa with hiswife, a sister of the present generaHn-chief of the Thibetanarmy. We already knew this before reaching Showa, but aservant of the palace whom we met on the road repeated It tous. Nevertheless, as everybody would rejoice and be merryon that day, we wanted to get our own little private fun andthe profit thereof. So we boldly began a loud recitation atthe gate of the royal dwelling. Blessings on each and allflowed freely from our eloquent lips. I doubt that even inthat country of noisy beggars they have often seen our equals.Heads appeared at the windows, people swarmed down thesteep staircases. They were bewildered, bewitched. Our tri-umph made us bold, and our boldness increased the strengthof Yongden^s deep voice, trained in the choir in the lamasery.

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The dogs which had begun to bark were finally silenced, anddisappeared as if terrorised, or fled to the farthest corners ofthe courtyard.

I guess that, however uncommon our performance may havebeen, the men themselves must have felt anxious to see theend of it, for servants brought out a pot of spirits, tea, andtsampa, and we were invited to sit down in the courtyard andfeast. We declined the offer of chang (spirits), saying thatas Buddhists we never drank any. This increased the esteemof the palace stewards still further, and they showed it byordering dried meat to be placed before us. But when weagain declared that as Buddhists we respected the life of allthings and did not approve of the slaughter of animals—a viewwhich .necessarily meant vegetarianism—and that, above all, wewould not begin the year with a cruel action, their admirationbecame extreme.

Regarding the flesh diet, it is against the spirit of Buddhism,though one cannot find in the Scriptures a text which forbidsit expressly, as is the case with intoxicating beverages. Butthe restrictions mentioned In connection with the partaking offlesh amount to a formal prohibition, for there is no way toavoid transgressing them. A Buddhist Is allowed to eat meatunder the following restrictions: He must not have killedthe beast himself, he must not have ordered anyone else tokill it. It must not have been killed by somebody with theintention of supplying it to him, he must not suspect thatthe animal has been killed.

If the two first restrictions may be easily turned, the thirdone is already a trifle more embarrassing; but some get aroundit by saying that the butchers slaughter for the public atlarge and not to supply the requirements of any particularperson. As for the fourth, it must be difficult indeed toeat a piece of meat without ‘‘suspecting” that the animal fromwhich it has been taken had been killed! But in all coun-*tries there are able sophists. The band of jovial monks, inthe mediaeval tales, who in Lent baptized a chicken “carp”so as to eat it lawfully, is a case in point. And the sub*

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tleties of the Oriental mind can easily provide many argu-ments in favour of gluttony!

As I am on that subject, I should like to point out a strik-ing difference between Lamaism and the self-styled primitiveorthodox Buddhism of the Southern school. The discussion,being connected with Thibetan custom, is not out of place.

Meat-eaters amongst the Buddhists of Ceylon, Burma andSiam, try, as I have said, to justify their flesh diet by varioussophistic interpretations of the above-mentioned restrictions.When they belong to the religious order, they declare also thatthey are not allowed to choose the food begged by them, andmust accept whatever they get from charitable people. Thisis altogether wrong. The genuine round of the Bhikshus ^ ofyore has become nowadays a mere pretence, a ceremonial walkto appointed places to fetch a meal specially cooked for themonks. Moreover, they would not fail to withdraw if bad,dirty, or unhealthy food was poured into the ritualistic bowlsthey carry themselves, or into the various vessels that arebrought behind them by their attendant boys.

In Thibet, the situation is quite different. Certainly, manyare those who repeat: “I have not killed the animal myself,”but they do it with complete scepticism as to the value of theexcuse. In fact, there is not one Thibetan who is not con-vinced that eating flesh is more or less wrong. The usualpractice of the lamas—I do not say the ttupas, or commonclergy—^is to abstain from animal food on the eighth, fifteenth,and thirtieth days of the moon, and during the whole of thefirst month of the year, thus showing their regard for the rightway of living which they have not the strength to followcontinually.

Men and women, either *^lay” or in the Order, who arestrict vegetarians—^who feed on "white diet,” as it is called inThibetan—are not exceedingly rare in Thibet, and they aregreatly praised for it.

^ Original name of the Buddhist monks, which means mendicants. Ithas been translated exactly in Thibetan as Gelongs: that is to say, virtu-ous mendicants.

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The "Tantrik” sects hold special views about killing. Theseare interesting in many respects, but it would take too muchspace to examine them here. They will find place, in duecourse, in a study on the philosophic and mystic doctrines .ofThibet.

However, before continuing our story, I must add that,although at first sight the habit of eating meat causes the pre-mature death of many animals and appears more importantthan spirit drinking or than the actual fact of being drunk, Thi-betans are justified in their opinion^ that sobriety is the mostimportant factor in mental and spiritual progress. A sinnerwho knows what may come of his bad actions is likely tochange his ways, but the drunkard is helpless, owing to thecollapse of his reasoning faculty. They illustrate it by anamusing story:

A Buddhist monk was made by an evil spirit to choose anyof the following three sins: to kill a sheep, to break his vowof celibacy, or to drink strong drink.

The poor monk, after having pondered the matter, shrankfrom the first two and thought that the last would bear thelightest consequences. Once drunk, excited, and having lostall control over himself, he took a woman, and this second kindof intoxication led him to kill the sheep to give a feast to hismistress!

But enough! Thibetan stories about monks and thelamaist church are a rich mine of fine humour, and if we areonce sunk in it we shall never get to the end of the chapte^r.

After being entertained with tea, tsampa, and different kindsof cakes, we received a full supply of provisions and went away,followed by many admiring eyes.

At Showa, the main track of the Po valley crosses the river.The covered bridge, with its small watch-towers, is large andwell built, all of wood. The gates can be shut on both sideswhen required. A considerable number of posters, on which

^ Unfortunately, a mere academic opinion held only by the literati, forthe laity and even a part of the lowest clergy are rather fond of alcohol.

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are printed magic or mysdc formuls, cover it, and bundlesof miniature paper flags, fluttering in the breeze, are hung inquantities on all its sides, The stream is supposed to carrywith it the words of praise jor blessing that are printed onthem.

The Thibetans, as well as the Chinese, are fond of decorat-ing the bridges, the roads, and the peculiarly beautiful sites oftheir country with inscriptions of a religious, philosophical, orpoetic character. Some travellers have thought proper toridicule that custom. I And it impossible to follow them. Afew lines of delicate poetry, a page of a philosophical treatisesuch as one sees engraved on certain rocks in Thibet, themeditative image of a Buddha painted in a natural cave, oreven a strip of paper hung above a river or swinging in theair at the top of a pass, bearing the old Sanskrit wish "Sarvamangalam" (Joy to all), seem to me greatly preferable to theadvertisements of whiskey or ham which “decorate” the roadsof Western countries.

I beg my readers’ pardon. I am but a savage!

At the end of the bridge there is a large mani lha khangwith engraved stones, revolving mani wheels and a number offlags. From there one gets a general view of the Po king’spalace, merely a square squat building whose upper storyis lighted by small windows and whose architecture has nothingespecially striking.

Our big meal and the time spent in inspecting the place haddelayed us long. Nevertheless, as we were only at the begin-ning of the afternoon, we preferred to continue our way ratherthan remain all night at Showa.

The evening brought us to a village where we feasted againwith some country folk. On the morrow we feasted in yetanother one.

If our Christmas had been somewhat dramatic, that firstThibetan New Year proved really merry. Yet how much mer-rier was to be the real New Year at Lhasa! But at thattime the enjoyments which we were to find in the sacred dtylay still shrouded in the mystery of the future.

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*1

In the second village we were the guests of a large familyof new settlers who treated us most cordially. While we wereseated with the family around the,hearth, I watched one ofthe girls kneading a big ball of. dough. She worked at it forseveral hours. Yongden, as usual, had made mos several times,and we began to feel sleepy, yet she still kneadfd her flour. Iwas rather puzzled as to what would become of it, and I wouldvery likely have continued to chat with the housewife in thehope of seeing the end of the girPs work and its outcome; butYongden asked permission to sleep, saying that I was tired andthat we wished to start early the next morning. I could notsay anything to the contrary, so we retired to a corner ofthe kitchen-dormitory, and lay down under our tent-blanket.

Asiatics do not feel, as we do, the need of privacy and silencein sleep. Even sick people, unless they belong to the upperclasses, lie amongst others who do not in the least refrainfrom noisy talk and loud laughter. I once saw an old, dyingman, stretched on the counter of a shop while commercialtransactions went on as usual between his son and the cus-tomers. And this man was not a pauper but a well-to-do-trader, but neither he nor his son had ever thought it necessaryto make special arrangements for sleeping.

I know that even in Western lands one can find familieswhose dwelling is composed of but one room, but it is utterpoverty which leads them to such a way of living. In Thibet,amongst country folk, the farm always includes a number ofrooms, but none of them has really a special purpose. Wool,grain, provisions, ploughs, and so on fill the different parts ofthe house, and, for the most part, the family^s general livingand sleeping room is the kitchen.

Our hosts had not to stay their New Year revels on accountof tramps such as we, and so the merriment continued. Wewere supposed to sleep undisturbed by the noise, as truepas would have done. But I naturally remained awake, andlong continued to watch the Thibetans and to listen to theirtalk. Still fatigue prevailed, and I was dozing when a smell offrying dough aroused me to the reality of the situation. The

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girl had ceased to knead and was now frying New Year cakesin that sweet oil made with the kernel of the apricot stone,which is a peculiar product of Pomed. What a pity! Had westayed longer, we would have had our share of them! Andnow . . . they would, perhaps, eat them all and we wouldonly get the smell of them I

I am not particularly gluttonous, but the daily dish oftsampa and scarcely anything else was rather austere. . . .This smell of fresh, warm, crisp cakes. ... I was enraged withthe lama. What was he doing? Perhaps he slept. . . . Thatwas too bad! I did not want to be tantalized alone. I ex-tended my arm as far as I could, but it was too short to reachmy hateful son. I managed to crawl toward him under ourcover and discovered that his eyes were wide open.

‘^They are eating cakes,” I whispered in his ear.

*^0h, I can see,” he answered in a subdued, desolate voice.

‘‘Do you think they will give us some?”

“No hope. They believe we are sleeping.”

What a disheartening answer! So I remained watching thehappy ones. But they could not keep pace with the girl andeat as many cakes as she fried. Those which were left overwere heaped In a large basket and my hopes were concen-trated on them. . . . To-morrow the cakes would be cold, butstill they would be different from our everlasting tsampa. . . .Should we get some to-morrow?

The family lay down in its turn, on the floor under blankets;the hearth fire burned low; darkness spread in the room. Ifell asleep.

In the morning there still remained some raw dough andwe ate fresh, crisp, New Year cakes, and carried away a goodnumber of the cold ones in our provision bag.

Until then our journey through the Po country had been per-fectly peaceful, and I began to think that there must be muchexaggeration in the stories which are current about the Popas.

Popas—so Thibetans say—^are born robbers. Each yeargangs, sometimes to the number of a hundred, fall unezpect-

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edly on their neighbours of the Kong-bu or Dainshi provincesand loot their villages. Beside these brganized expeditions,most Popas—^traders, pilgrims, or mere villagers—^find it diffi-cult to let any traveller they may happen to meet on theirway pass without trying to levy an undue tax on his baggage,however miserable it may be. A few handfuls of barley flour,a worn-out blanket, two or three copper coins—all is good tothem. But if, as a rule, they let the poor folk who meeklysubmit to their demands go unmolested, they are quick toturn murderers when resistance is offered or a valuable bootyexpected.

Truly, no wealthy travellers venture to go through the for-ests of Po. Only the poorest of the poor—^the beggar pilgrimsmade bold by the fact of their utter destitution—are to be metalong the tracks which cross the Popas’ hill.

As for us, we had not met any outsider, either rich or poor,on our way. The few people whom we had seen on the soli-tary roads were all natives of the country, or settlers who hadpractically become Popas.

Events were now to take another turn, and that gay NewYear marked the end of a period of quietness.

The very afternoon after we had left the hospitable housewhere such good cakes were baked, we passed by an isolatedfarm just as a number of people were emerging from it. TheNew Year festivities were still going on; some of the men whohad enjoyed themselves were decidedly drunk, and the remain-der were not very sober. All of them carried guns across theirshoulders, and some made a pretence of shooting at us. Asfor us, we proceeded as if we had noticed nothing.

In the evening I discovered a roomy cave in which we sleptcomfortably. We slept much too long, and delayed still furtherover some soup at breakfast. As we did so, a man appearedand asked us if we had nothing to sell. He regarded the con-tents of our bags, which were still open.

Our two common spoons especially attracted his attention.Then he seated himself, and taking a piece of dried, fer-mented cheese out of his dress he began to eat it.

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That kind of cheese is very much like French Roquefort.Thinking it would improve our menus, Yongden asked theman if he had some to sfll. He answered in the affirmative;he -had some at home, not far. from the cave, and would barterone against needles, if we had any. We had a few which wehad carried for this purpose. So the man went to fetch hischeese.

We had not yet finished our packing when he came backwith a cheese and followed by another man. The newcomerwas much bolder than the first with whom we had dealt. Hefingered the cloth of our tent and told us that he would pur-chase it. He then took the spoons and examined them, whilehis companion cast glances in the direction from which theyhad come, as if expecting other arrivals.

We had no doubt about the intentions of the two Popas.The bolder one had already put the two coveted spoons inhis amphag and refused to give them back, while the otherone endeavoured to take the tent out of the lama’s hands.

I realized that others had been summoned and were to assistin the robbery.

The matter would soon become serious. We must frightenthese two away and start in haste. Perhaps we would be ableto reach the next village, and the thieves would not dare tofollow us.

I endeavoured to appeal to the good feelings of the men,but it was of no avail. Time was of importance; we mustput an end to the business, and show the others that we werenot timid and defenceless folk.

“Let that tent alone at once!” I commanded. “And givethe spoons back!”

In the meantime I had my revolver in readiness under mydress. The boldest of the thieves only laughed and, turninghis back on me, he bent to pick up some other object. I shot,from close behind him, turning my revolver away from him.But his companion saw me and, being too terrified to warn hisfriend. He could do nothing but stare wildly at me. Whether ornot the other fellow saw him, I cannot tell, but he threw

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

himself backwards just as 1 shot, and the bullet passed doseto his head, grazing his hair.

Flinging the spoons and the tenl^ on die ground, the tworan like hunted hares across the thicket.

The situation was not entirely pleasant. The ruffians mighthave gone to fetch some of their kindred, the men whom theyseemed to expect. I told Yongden to tie the loads in hasteand be off as quickly as possible.

What would have happened, had we remained alone, I can-not say, for a party of about thirty pilgrims—^the first for-eign travellers we met in Po yul, and the only ones we wereever to meet—suddenly appeared. They had heard the shot,and enquired as to its cause.

It was annoying to be identified as carrying a revolver, foronly chiefs and rich traders own these. Of course they thoughtthat it was Yongden who had fired; and later on when thteyasked to see the weapon, we produced an old-pattern small one,instead of the automatic pistol that had nearly sent the Popa onto another world.

We joined the party, and perhaps we owe our lives to thismost unexpected meeting.

We learned from our new companions that the Popaa trulydeserved their bad name, and we were soon to confirm thisfrom our own experience.

The party which we had joined was mostly composed ofpeople from Zogong in the Nu valley, the place that we hadavoided by crossing the river and cutting through severalranges.

The very day after we arrived at the dokpas* camp wherewe had taken a guide and a horse to climb to the Aigni la,they had reached another cowmen’s encampment at the footof the pass leading into the Nagong valley.

Before crossing the mountain a number of the trapas unshedto sew new soles on their boots, and so the larger part of theband decided to remain one day more near the dokpas* encamp^ment to get this done.- A few laymen and nearly all the womenpreferred to ascend the pass slowly, instead of lingering at

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MY journey to LHASA

the dokpas’ place. They set out and slept somewhere underthe trees, lower down on the other side of the range. At day-break a number of Popas appeared, proceeding, with loadedyaks, toward the Daishin province to exchange dried apricots,chillies, etc., for barley. When they saw the poor pilgrimsthey rushed at them and took away all their blankets and thefew coins they had hidden under their clothes. Then, learningthat others were expected, they ordered them to proceed, with-out loitering on the road. They unloaded their yaks, drovethem on the hills, and seating themselves near the top of thepass waited for the remainder of the party to appear.

The trapas found them there, on the watch, like demoniacalspirits of the mountain, ready to prey upon travellers. ThePopas asked them for some present, which is a polite way com-mon to robbers of China and of Thibet. But many of themonks were armed with spear or sword, and preferred to dobattle. The Popas had swords, too, but the pilgrims weremore numerous, and the valiant sons of Po yul were defeated.The lamas joined their unfortunate vanguard the followingday.

Some of these, acting as guides to their companions, hadalready travelled to Po y%d through the Gotza la. When theyheard that we had been able to force our way through theranges, they very much regretted that fear of the snow hadprevented them from following the summer road across thesolitudes, where we had had a hard time but avoided robbers.Of the three passes on that side, they knew only the Gotza la.

Like most Kampus of the Nu and upper Giamo nu chuvalleys, these people were exceedingly pleasant. We greatlyenjoyed their company, and accompanied them for severaldays. But then, in order to make up the time they had lostin the highlands of Po, they began to race vdth such speedthat I left them to their sport, and fell back.

On the second day that we spent vdth that gay party weleft the banks of the Po lung river, which we had followed fromits source in the snow-buri^ highlands. It was now a beauti-ful, large blue stream, about to lose itself in the Yeru Tsang^o.

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But before this merging of its personality it had still toreceive a tributary as big as itself, the Yigong Tsangpo. Wehad. to cross this river in the same ^ way as we crossed theGiamo nu chu, and before it the Mekong, that is Ko say, byhanging to a rope and being hauled from the opposite side.

Our good luck had again brought us companions at thatmoment when they were so sorely needed. The tupas^ whomake a trade of hauling the travellers across would never havetaken the trouble for two lone beggars. We should, perhaps,have waited for days, camped on the bank of the river, untila number of passengers had collected.

An insolent lot they seemed, these ferrymen whose ferrywas a woefully sagging leather cable spanning a river at leasttwice as wide as the Giamo nu chu where we had crossed it.Their chief seemed to be an old grandmother, who looked likea witch. She received the money paid for the passage anddirected operations.

At first the Popas told us to wait until the morning^ butafter repeated entreaties, and because we were a large party,they condescended to do the work that afternoon. Trulyit was a difficult business. The tupas were at least a dozenstrong. To begin with, some of them passed the towing ropeacross—a real acrobatic feat that requires an uncommonstrength in the wrists and a complete absence of giddiness.These men were not towed, as we, the passengers, would be.They scrambled unaided over that sagging and swaying ropeat a considerable distance above the rushing waters. Whenthey had reached the opposite bank, the passage of the lug-gage began, during which the old woman required from us allthree needles or a little money as a supplement to the pricealready paid. Needles are in great demand in the interior ofThibet, and are very difficult to get. The mother tupa cer-tainly made a profitable trade with those she exacted frpmthe travellers.

Most of the men in our party belonged to the lamaist orderand to the great state monasteries of Lhasa: Sera, Depungt

* Ferrymen.

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or Galden. The old woman did not show any regard for them,but she approached’Yongden and asked him to make mos,telling him a quantity of things about her private concerns.She also let us go without any needle tax. My turn to crosscame long before th^t of the lama. Passengers were senttwo together, and I was tied at the hook with a woman inexactly the same way as at the Salween. No accident hap-pened this time, but on account of the greater length of thecable the jolting over the river was much more lively andunpleasant. From the middle of the river the wonderful snowypeak of the Gyalwa Pal Ri (the victorious and noble moun-tain) ^ appeared in all its splendour. Enclosed in the narrowframe of the river gorge, it had a peculiarly mysterious beautywhich I had never seen in the wide snowy ranges.

I hastened to find a shelter for the night, and came across acave amongst the huge rocks which form the river banks.

When Yongden arrived, I had already collected the neces-sary fuel. We had our food and went to sleep. The tempera-ture was mild, and it was hard to realise that we were in themiddle of winter.

In the morning light the Gyalwa Pal Ri appeared still moreglorious than on the day before. It was a perfect jewel; onemight have fancied it to be the immaculate abode of someradiant god, feeding upon pure light. Our companions, whothought much more of the gifts which the Lhasa governmentgrants to the monks of the three state monasteries who attendthe solemn New Year gathering, than of any God, were now ina great hurry to reach the capital, and did not lose any timein contemplating the "victorious” peak. When we started theyhad already all gone, and we found the large cave in whichthey had slept quite empty. This looked like an annoyingcomplication, for the right trail to follow was hard to find inthe dense jungle which now reminded me of the lower slopesof the Himalayas. I noticed a large number of plants andcreepers which I was accustomed to find in the Sikkin forestbetween 3,000 and 4,000 feet level. The air had also entirel/^ Which is al^Htyled, ^'the'victorious lotus mountain,” Gyalwa Ped I6.

21S

lost that peculiarly strong and invigorating savour of the drytablelands. It never freezes in that region. The ground wasmuddy, the sky cloudy, and the people on the other bank ofthe river Ygong had told us that we must expect rain.

A number of trails crossed near the river. One led northtoward the upper country of Potod where it joined tracks thatallowed one to reach the grassy northern solitudes. Anotherwent down toward the Brahmaputra, and a third one led tothe Kongbu province.

We started off correctly on the Kongbu track, but hesitatedwhen it branched into a short cut and a main path. Wedecided in favour of the former, following mere intuition, with-out suspecting that the two would join later on. This shorttrail was a true masterpiece of the “Public Works” engineersof Po yuL It was cut by perpendicular rocks against whichladders of a peculiar pattern had been placed to enable one toclimb up and down. At other places it ran like a balcony onbranches thrust horizontally into the ground, and the wholedevice was built for tall Popas, with much longer legs thanours. Our feet were left waving in the air on the primitivestaircases, whose steps were shaky stones or llhe notchedtrunks of trees. What we could not do with our feet we hadto perform with the help of our hands, hanging in the airuntil we touched a point of support, and relying on ourstrength to raise ourselves when climbing. Had we not carriedbaggage on our backs, we should have enjoyed the sport, butwe were heavily laden. Knowing that no food would beavailable on our way, which lay through uninhabited fstfests,we had provided ourselves with a full supply of tsampa, whichweighed heavily on our backs and put our acrobatic featsof equilibrium in jeopardy.

But worst of all, we feared missing our road. Such a trailmight lead to some forest village, but it could scarcely bethe main highway from Kongbu to Po yul^ followed, as weknew by loaded horses and mules. We also failed to discoverany trace of the party of pilgrims. Thirty men would have leftthe imprint of their feet in the soft mud. It was most certain

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that our former companions had not passed this way. Yet, aswe were proceeding hi the right direction, I ventured to con-tinue.^ After all, we were again alone. We had no gift toexpect from the Lhasa government, nor was our presence re-quested to read the Scriptures. It would be enough for our ownenjoyment if we reached the Lamaist Rome in time to witnessthe various New Year festivities. We therefore had time toloiter over the country. Fresh meetings with robbers were theonly serious annoyance we had to fear. The Popas villagersthemselves had told us to be careful on this forest track, whichthey call the Po southern road {Po Iho lam)^ for robbershaunted it and people ventured on this side only in largeparties. But as we were now in that ill-famed region, beingwillingly or unwillingly compelled to cross it, it was useless totorment ourselves with the possibility of future danger, whichcould not be averted.

This most uneven trail, on which we had expended so muchexertion, ended near a beautiful, huge tree dedicated to somesylvan deity. And here, also, it joined the main track. Hap-pily, we had not missed our way.

This spot broke the monotony of the jungle in a pleasantway. The giant tree, from the lowest branches of which hungcountless tiny paper flags bearing spells meant to protecttravellers, appeared to be a mighty guardian against the dan-gers that lie in the gloomy forest. Around it spread thatqueer psychic atmosphere peculiar to places consecrated toNature’s gods, which tells of times long past when mankind’sheart%as still young and naive.

Our progress became more rapid now that we were tradinga tolerably good path, and I regretted having taken the diffi-cult short cut. I ought rather to have blessed the very friendlysylvan deity of that road who had perhaps suggested the choiceto me.

A little farther on I found in the middle of the road a longshoot of wild orchids in full bloom and quite fresh, as if it hadjust i>een plucked. I relate the fact because, as we were thenin January, it shows that the whole of Thibet is far from being

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•s.

an icy-cold, bleak country, like the region which extends fromthe south of Lhasa to the Himalayas.

At the end of the afternoon we overtook the party of pil-grims, who were camped in a pretty clearing near the junc-tion of the Po river and one of its tributaries.

Our arrival caused some commotion, ‘and our new friendsrushed toward us to ask us if we had met any robbers. Wewere astonished, and replied that we had not seen a singlehuman being on our road. They could not understand howthis could be, for they had met a gang of about thirty menwho had tried to extract some presents from them. As theyrefused to give the least thing, a fight followed in which therobbers had been defeated and some of them wounded. Twoof the travellers had been wounded with swords and had losta quantity of blood. Another, who had been pushed violentlyand had fallen on a rock, complained of internal pains.

At last, when we had explained that we had come by thenarrow short cut, our new friends congratulated us on havingescaped the robbers on the main path. For, angered as theymust have been after their defeat, they would certainly havestripped us of all our belongings.

After having heard this news I ceased completely to regretmy tiring exertion on the short cut. Once more I had beenuncommonly lucky.

Encounters with brigands are common enough in Thibet,and fail to Impress travellers deeply, unless they^ are ^traor-dinarily bloody. In spite of the three who lay suffering neara fire, the others did not feel in the least sorrowful or depressed.On the contrary, it seemed as if this little adventure hadrelieved the monotony of their journey, and had joyfullyexcited them! We spent a very pleasant evening. The Lhasatrapas related a lot of stories told in the capital, and the latestgossip about the lamaist court, the high officials and thephilings rulers of India. We heard, also, interesting detailsabout tlie economic situation of the country and the politicalopinions of the clergy. Lastly, they took us into their con-fidence as to a number of private affairs in which some of

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their companions were concerned. Thanks to them, my storeof observation was further enriched.

The big fires which the party had lit, and the noise madein the forest by cutting* wood, attracted the notice of a fewPopas villagers living on the* bank of the river. Several men,who did not look perfectly sober, came, inspected our camp,and chatted with some of us. I suspected * that they werescouting to ascertain our strength and would inform theirfriends of the chance they might have of successfully loot-ing us.

They came to Yongden and asked him to remain one daywith them to bless their houses and properties. The lama,of course, declined the invitation, mentioning the necessity ofmaking haste in order to reach Lhasa in time for the greatNew Year monlam} They understood his excuse and did notpress him, but added that they would send him their wives andchildren to be blessed the next morning.

In spite of these soft speeches, watchmen were posted atnight around our camp, but the hours passed peacefully—socalmly and silently, indeed, that, having pitched our tent apartfrom the others, we did not hear our companions starting. Ithen Insisted on drinking our eafiy hot tea, a custom that I sel-dom neglected and which, I am certain, had much to do withthe good health that not only myself, but Yongden and allour servants during previous journeys, have always enjoyed;where?i35 so many Thibetan travellers whose habit it is to start'before <iawn without any breakfast, even during the winter andIn the coldest regions, often suffer from severe attacks of feverand other ailments.

But this most excellent and agreeable custom detained us,and Yongden felt very uneasy at remaining behind in thatunsafe country. We were finishing our packing and I wasbending over some pieces of luggage when he suddenly,announced the arrival of robbers. I glanced in the directionhe pointed out, and saw a number of people coming ^toward '

' The gatheriag' to send good wishes, including the festivals taking placeat that time.

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us; but when they arrived we discovered that they were womenand children.

In spite of the spirits they had drunk, our visitors of theprevious evening had not forgotten to send their womenfolkand youngsters to be blessed. The latter brought with thema very acceptable present of chillies, which are a valuable arti-cle of exchange at Lhasa, and also some butter and driedfruits. So the dreaded robbers became in fact our benefactors.The ceremony of blessing, packing our gifts, and some unavoid-able gossip delayed us still further, and when we started wehad but little hope left of being able to rejoin our companions.

It was wonderful indeed to have escaped so many dangersof various kinds and to be there, just as I had planned it, inPo yuly en route for Lhasa. Nevertheless, it is always presump-tuous to rejoice too soon about one’s good luck or success. Ihad not finished with the Popas. But they, too, were to seemore of the first foreign woman who walked through theirbeautiful country, and while their acts were to be quite com-monplace and not in the least surprising, mine will probablylive long in the memory of those who witnessed them. Maybea legend will arise out of it all; and who knows if, in the future,a learned student of folklore will not offer some interestingcommentary on the story, being far from suspecting the truthof it.

At dusk that very evening, weary after a long tramp andhaving definitely abandoned the hope of joining the travellers,at least that same night, we were following the rising courseof the Tongyuk river which, hidden by the thick foliage, roaredfar beneath our narrow trail. I was walking ahead, looking fora camping-place, when I saw seven men coming toward me. Asudden foreboding seized me. I did not expect any goodfrom this meeting. Nevertheless, as sang froid is the best ofweapons, and as many years’ experience of adventurous lifehad accustomed me to situations of this kind, I continued towalk calmly, with the indifferent air of a tired woman pil-grim. One of the band stood in the middle of the narrow

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

track and asked me where I was coming from and where Iwas going to. I muttered the names of some holy places,and passed between him and the bushes. He did not attemptto stop me. I was already rejoicing inwardly at the thoughtthat this time, once more, nothing would happen, when lock-ing back, I saw that my son had stopped and was leaningagainst a rock and speaking with the men. However, thetalk seemed friendly and the voices did not rise above the nor-mal pitch. But I could not hear what was said.

Then I noticed that one of the tall fellows was taking some-thing from the handkerchief of the lama. I knew that he hada few coins in it. But I did not realize what was happening,and I thought that the Popas were selling us something.

I only understood the truth when Yongden shouted to me,“They have taken my two rupees!”

The amount was not worth a thought, but I saw that someof the robbers had laid their hands on the load he carried onhis back and were about to open it.

The situation was growing serious. Fighting was out ofthe question. Had I shot one of the men, the others wouldhave immediately stabbed my defenceless companion with thelong swords they carried thrust in their belts.

On the other hand, to let them examine the contents ofour bags would be dangerous. In them were a few foreignobjects, unfamiliar to these savages, that would have appearedstrange In the possession of ragged pilgrims and would haveawakened suspicion as to our identity. And once on the track,the robbers might perhaps search us and discover the goldhidden under our clothes. What would follow? They mightkill us on the spot, or take us before one of their chiefs, whowould inform the nearest Lhasa government official if I con-fessed to be a foreigner In disguise, or would treat us asthieves if I persisted in my incognito. In a word, he wouldappropriate our gold and beat us both mercilessly.

Most of all, 1 feared being recognised, and thus preventedfrom proceeding. At any rate, the robbers must be left with

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

the quickly forgotten impression that they had but met apoor lama pilgrim with his aged and beggar mother.

In much less time than I have taken to write it, all thesethoughts passed through my mind. *I found the plot of thedrama to be played on that rustic stage and I began my part.

Screaming at the top of my voice, howling in utter despair,with tears rolling on my cheeks, I lamented the loss of thetwo rupees; the ofdy, only money we had got. What was tobecome of us? How would we feed ourselves during the longtrip to Lhasa? . . .

And these two rupees were sacred money indeed, the offer-ing of a pious householder whose father had died and for whommy son, the lama, had performed the funeral rites, dispatchinghim to the “Land of Bliss, the Western Paradise.” Now thesemiscreants had dared to steal It! But revenge would come! . . .

Here I ceased to weep and rose to imprecation. The taskwas not very difficult, well acquainted as I am with the vari-ous deities of the Thibetan pantheon.

I called upon the most dreaded ones, uttering their mostterrible names and titles.

There was Palden Dorjee Lhamo, who rides ^ wild horseon a saddle made of a bloody human skin; there were theAngry Ones who devour the flesh of men and feast on the freshbrains served in their skulls; and the giant Frightful Ones,companions of the King of Death, crowned with bones anddancing on corpses. I conjured them all and implored themto avenge us.

Verilyj I was the initiated and ordained wife of a black nagspa. His tutelar demons would not fail to avenge the harmdone to his innocent son, who had taken to the pure saintlypath of the gelong.

I am a tiny woman with nothing dramatic in my appearance;but at that moment I felt myself rising to the height of apowerful tragedienne.

The forest had become darker and a light breeze had arisenwhich caused a distant murmur to run under the foliage.Lugubrious and mysterious voices seemed to spring out of

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the unseen torrent below, climbing toward us and filling theair with threatening words in an unknown language.

I was cool and did not fear the thieves—I had seen morethan seven together on other occasions—yet I could not sup-press a thrill born of the occult atmosphere I myself hadcreated.

I was not alone in this. The seven robbers looked petrified,some standing in one line against a rock behind my son, andothers Ipwer down on the path—an awe-struck group whichtempted my photographic inclinations. But the hour was notripe for snapshots.

Then one of the Popas cautiously moved toward me andfrom a little distance uttered words of peace:

“Do not be angry, old mother. Here are your two rupees.Do not weep. Do not curse us any more! We only want to gopeacefully back to our village.”

So I allowed my anger and my despair to be cooled, and Itook the two coins with the air of one who recovers a uniquetreasure.

My young companion had rejoined me. The thieves rever-ently requested his blessing, which he gave them, adding somegood wishes. We then parted.

There was no fear that the same band would retrace its stepsto rob us. But this new adventure was a warning, not to beoverlooked, to leave that specially dangerous area as soon aspossible.

That night we made a prolonged march in the forest, whichseemed still alive with the phantoms of the deities I hadsummoned.

A slow rain, mixed with half-melted snow, began to fall, anda melancholy waning moon rose late amongst the clouds.' Abouttwo o’clock in the morning we came to a place near the riverwhere there was a small level clearing. We were too tired toproceed farther, and discussed the question of how to campthere. Would we dare to pitch our miserable tent, or did pru-dence command that we should sleep unsheltered on the wetmoss, hidden under the trees?

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Supper was, once more, not to be thought of, although wehad neither eaten nor drunk since early morning, nearly twenty-four hours before. No dry fuel could be found to boil ourThibetan tea, and the dim light was not sufficient to find a pla'ceamongst the rocks where we could safely fetch water from thefoaming torrent.

I thought we could at least give ourselves the comfort of ashelter. It was very doubtful that anybody would be travel-ing at night in that bad weather. We therefore pitched thesmall tent, and lay down in our wet damp clothes and muddyboots on the damp ground.

The moon, which appeared and disappeared between theclouds, cast fantastic moving shadows of branches and rocks onthe white cloth above our heads. The river talked loudly withthe many voices of a crowd. Invisible beings seemed to surroundus. I was thinking of those I had invoked . . . and, after all,I did not altogether disbelieve in that mysterious world thatis so near to those who have lived long in the wilds. My heavyhead resting on a small bag of tsampa, I smiled to unknownfriends, and departed for dreamland.

It was not the first time, in the course of my peregrinationsin Thibet, that sham magic and robbers combined in the sameadventure. I may perhaps be allowed to relate here a ratheramusing incident which happened in the Desert of Grass someeighteen months before my meeting with the Popas brigands.

I had lingered that day far behind my men to collect plantswhich I meant to send to the Botanical Society of France. Itwas the rainy season. The grassy desert had become a sea ofmud. Under a dull sky low clouds rolled heavily, hiding thesummits, filling the valleys, and wrapping the steppes in agrayish, melancholy shroud. I did not recognize the luminoussolitudes, the scenes of so many of my joyful rides some yearsbefore, and I should easily have been overpowered by thedepressing influence of that re^on of dampness, rain, and fogacross which we had wandered, shivering and feverish, forweeks, had I not had many reasons to prevent me from givingway to lassitude and discouragement.

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My present party numbered seven, including myself. Thesix were Yongden, three servants, and a Chinese Musselmansoldier, going back to his country with his Thibetan wife andtheir little boy, whom I do not reckon in the number.

Yongden and the woman had remained with me, helping meto gather the plants, and the other men were far ahead of us.The weather had now cleared. One could see, between theclouds, the sun almost setting. It was time to proceed to thecamp, so we set out, riding slowly in full enjoyment of th'epeaceful evening.

We had left the plain, and having turned the spur of arange, entered a narrow valley, when I saw on my left threemen carrying guns slung over their shoulders, who silentlydisappeared in a recess of the mountains. Who they were wasclear enough. Thibetan travellers, in that country, never failto salute one another with the customary greeting: "Oghiail,Oghiau^^^ Then they habitually exchange questions about thecountry whence they came and toward which they go. Thesilence of these men looked very suspicious, not to mentionthe fact that they hid themselves. Instead of walking alongthe trail.

I went my way, pretending to pay no attention to them, butfeeling under my dress to see if my revolver was handy. Iwhispered to the woman who rode near me, ^^Did you seethem?” “Yes,” she answered. “They are robbers. Perhapsthey are the scouts of a gang.”

I looked at a flower that grew on a rock, as if deeply inter-ested in it, and pointing it out to Yongden, I called him tome. To show any sign of agitation which the brigands, whowere perhaps watching us, might Interpret as fear, wouldendanger our lives. The members of the special Order ofLamas, whose dress I wore, are believed to be fearless and topossess occult powers, and this was our best safeguard.

^ This means: *You have undergone hardship,” and the answer is:*‘Lags, ma Kaa; kiai la oghlail 1 have suffered no hardship but you havehad a hard time!”

"Have you seen the men in the ravine?” I asked my youngcompanion.

"No.”

"Three men carrying guns—^thieves, no doubt. The womanhas seen them. Have your revolver r^ady. As soon as wereach the turning of the trail, and are out of sight, we willride on fast. We must reach the camp quickly and inform theservants.” As I had spoken in English, I did not fear beingoverheard.

We had good beasts, and proceeded quickly. But what wasthis? We heard a shot in the direction of our people. Werode faster and soon discovered our four tents pitched in thehigh grass near a stream.

"Have you seen three men on your road?” I immediatelyasked the servants who came to hold our horses. No, nobodyhad seen any human being for the last ten days.

"I heard a shot.”

They all hung their heads. "I have killed a hare,” con-fessed the soldier. "We have no more meat, and ihy wife feelsweak.”

I always strictly forbid my servants to hunt, but the soldierwas not my servant. I dropped the subject.

"This woman and I have seen three armed men who ap-peared to hide from us,” I said. "We must take special pre-cautions to-night for the safety of the camp. It may be thatthese three have companions in the vicinity.”

"There they are!” exclaimed my head servant, Tsering, point-ing out two men who stood on the crest of the hill abovethe camp.

I looked at them with my glasses. They were the verymen that we had seen on our way. Where was the third one?Had he been dispatched to call still other ruffians in order toattack us?^ The two remained watching us.

"Let us take no more notice of them,” I said. "We willdevise a plan while drinking tea. Put the guns and revolversin such places that they may be seen by the robbers, if there

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are any besides these Wo. It is good to let them know thatwe are able to defend ourselves.”

The tea was ready. One of the servants dipped a ladle intothe cauldron and threw a few drops of the liquid toward thesix quarters (including zenith and nadir), shouting “Drink tea,O Gods!” Then our bowls were filled, and, seated around thefire, we began to discuss the situation.

The servants suggested that they might climb the neighbour-ing hills and from there try to discover if any gang was in thevicinity. I did not like this idea. The robbers might arrivewhile they were roaming far from the camp, taking that oppor-tunity to steal some beasts or other things. Yongden and Ialone would have a hard time to defend our belongings, evenif the three men whom we had seen, and who had good guns,were the only ones to attack us.

“I know a better way,” said the soldier. “Let night come,and when darkness hides us, I and two of the men will ambushourselves separately outside the camp at three different points.Another will remain here as watchman, and he will, accordingto the Chinese custom, beat a drum or make some such noiseall night. The robbers will think that we are all in our tents,and if they appear, one or another of those who are hiddenoutside the camp will see them and shoot at them when theyare between him and the tents. They will thus be surprisedand fired upon from behind and in front at the same time!”

This appeared to be the best plan for a small party likeours, and I decided to follow it. We tied the beasts as fastas we could, for when they do not dare to fight openly, Thibetanbrigands fire volleys at short range to frighten the animals. Ifsome of these break their cords and escape, they chase themaway and seldom miss capturing a few.

Yongden insisted on erecting a barricade with the bags andboxes containing our provisions. He meant it, of course, as ashelter for us, but, as distinguished a literatus as my adoptedson may be, his knowledge does not extend to the art of war.As it was built, it appeared to me that we should rather pro-tect the barricade with our bodies than be protected by it,

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V

but I am'myself far from being an expert in these matters,and no great general happened to be there to enlighten us.

Seldom have I spent such a delightful night as that one,when at each minute we expected an attack! But it was hotthis prospect which lent charm to my vigil.

Seated at the entrance of his tent, a bowl of tea near him,Tsering sang ballads of the land of Kham, thousands of yearsold. He marked the cadence by striking with a small rod ona Thibetan cauldron in which we boiled tea or soup over ourcamp fire. The songs extol the high deeds of rustic knightsand the primeval forests in which arise shining peaks clad witheternal snows. Robbers these heroes are, like those whose pres-ence in our neighbourhood compelled us to keep a watch, likethe watchman himself, who—I was aware—had played his partin more than one hot encounter, like the three others who arenow acting as sentinels, like everyone in that land of primitivebraves who know of no field in which to show their prowessother than the trails followed by rich caravans.

Tsering had a fine voice. His accents were now heroic, nowmystic. The songs told not only of warriors, but of mercifulgoddesses and holy lamas. Some of the stanzas finished withardent aspirations toward the spiritual awakening that putsan end to fear and all sorrow. The vulgar cauldron itselfhad risen to the level of that poetry; its metal sounded solemnas a bell. Tsering was indefatigable; he went on with hisbewitching recital until dawn.

The sentinels came back benumbed by their prolonged stayon the damp grass, and ran to revive the fire and make tea,Tsering’s song had ceased, and the harmonious cauldron, fallenback to its utilitarian role, stood already filled with water,among the flames. As for Yongden, he was fast asleep ■mthhis head resting against his barricade.

The robbers had not dared to attack us, but they had spentthe night near our camp. As .we were finishing eating ourbreakfast the three men appeared, each one leading a horse.My boys leaped to their feet and ran tp them.

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“Who are you?” they asked. ‘We saw you yesterday. Whatare you doing here?” ‘

“We are hunters,” answered the newcomers.

“Indeed! That is good luck for us. We have no meat left.We will buy some game from you.”

The self-styled hunters looked embarrassed. ‘We have notyet killed anything,” they said.

My servants did not need to hear more.

“Do you know,” asked Tsering of the three Thibetans, “whois the noble, reverend lady who travels with such a beautifultent and wears a toga (kind of vest worn by lamas) of goldenbrocade?”

“Would she be the philing Jetsunma who lived in Jakyendo?We have heard about her.”

“Yes, she is. And you understand that she does not fearrobbers any more than wild beasts or any other thing. Onewho stole the least of her belongings would immediately bediscovered and caught.

“In that case, she has only to look in a bowl full of water,and at once she sees in it the likeness of the thief, together withthe stolen articles and the place where both are to be found.”

“So it is really true,” said the men. “All the dokpas saywhite foreigners have this power.”

“Nothing is more certain,” confirmed my head servant.

Tsering was well acquainted with the story which was re-peated among the cowmen, and he had cleverly taken advan-tage of it to frighten the robbers and to dissuade them fromgoing to bring their friends to rob us a few days later.

About ten days after that incident, we st<^ped for the nightin front of an encampment of dokpas. I retired to tdf tentbefore night had fallen, and I heard many visitors in the camp.They were bringing presents of milk and butter, and Yongdentold them that the lama lady had shut herself up for religiousmeditation and could not be disturbed, but that she would seethem the following morning. Then some whispering tookplace, and a servant having called the dokpas to drink tea near

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the kitchen fire, they all moved away and I heard no more ofwhat was said.

At dawn Yongden asked permission to enter my tent.

“I must,” he said, “inform you, before the dokpas call again,about the request they made yesterday. They say that someof their horses have been stolen, they do not know by whom,and they wish you to look in a bowl of water in order to de-scribe to them the thieves and the place where they are keepingthe stolen animals.”

“What did you tell them?” I asked.

“I think,” answered Yongden, “that maybe these men havebad intentions. Perhaps they have not suffered any loss andthey only wish to know If what is said about that bowl of waterand the magic power of the ^whitc foreigner^ is really true or not.Who knows whether they have not an eye on our line Chinesemules and would not be delighted to steal them if they wereconvinced that you could not trace the thieves, especially ifthe robbery happened at a few days’ march from their ownencampment, at a place where the tribe to which .the brigandsbelong could not be located? If you tell them that you haveseen their horses, and that none have been stolen, they will beconvinced that you have not been able to detect their lie, andthat, therefore, as you are powerless in magic, they may lootus with impunity. I accordingly explained to them that youcould indeed see all that they want to know in a bowl of water,but that the water needed is somewhat different from theordinary water just drawn from the stream. This water mustbe prepared by ceremonies and the recitation of a ritual thatlasts for three days. They understood this at once. I.theri saidthat it was doubtful if you would stay here three days, becauseyou were called to Amdo for an important meeting with a greatlama. Also, as I know how much they shrink from the ideaof killing in cold blood a man who has only stolen property, Iadded that as soon as you had discovered the thieves youwould hand them over to the Chinese magistrate to be put todeath. It would be, I said, in the power of no one to sparetheir lives. The Towo [Wrathful Deity] by whose power this

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dmnatory rite is performed would claim them as victims and,if they were not sacrificed, he would turn his anger againstthc«e who had requested the rite to be performed, and he wouldtake their lives instead.

“On hearing this, they all became terrified. They declaredthat they feared to irritate the Totoo, and preferred to lookafter their horses in their own way, trying to get a good com-pensation from the thieves.”

I smiled at his ruse, and when the dokpas came with somemore presents, I repeated to them the very things Yongdenhad told them the day before, so that they definitely gaveup all idea of requesting the celebration of the too tragic rite.

The head servant, Tsering, had travelled in his early youthas far as Tachienlu, and had been in the service of foreigners.As a result of these associations he had acquired a skepticismwhich he liked to display before his more credulous compan-ions. During the next few days, he did not cease making theincident a subject of his jokes, and laughing at the simpletonswho had been so easily fooled.

By that time we had reached the shore of the large bluelake, the most holy Koko-nor, worshipped by thousands ofThibetans and Mongolians. The rains were over. I couldagain see that wonderful inland sea, bathed in bright sunshine,and its rocky islands, the largest of which has been for cen-turies the dwelling of a few anchorites.

Once when I was coming back to the camp after havingbathed in the lake, I saw Tsering leaving Yongden’s tent andhastily putting something in his breast pocket. He looked alittle a^tated and proceeded quickly toward the kitchen placewithout noticing me. The same evening Yongden told me that,having been called away on some business while countingmoney, he had left his purse on a box in his tent and hadforgotten about it. When he returned, three rupees weremissing.

1 did not tell him about Tsering. I only scolded him forhis carelessness, and the thing ended there.

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‘ Three days later I arranged on my camp table a few bladesof grass and some rice. I lighted several incense sticks, and inthe middle I placed a bowl full of water. Then I waited until Iknew that the servants were in,their tent, undressed and Ijdngdown, if not yet asleep. At that time, according to their custom,all their most precious belongings, and especially their money,would be hidden beneath whatever they used as a pillow.

For a while I rang the small bell and beat the tambourineused by lamas in their religious ceremonies. Then I calledTsering.

“Tsering,” I said with a stern voice, when he appeared,“three rupees are missing from Lama Yongden’s purse. 1 haveseen them under your head when you were lying down. Goand fetch them!”

The skeptic dropped his manner of sneering incredulity. Heturned pale, his teeth were chattering. He bowed down threetimes at my feet and without a word went to the servants’ tentand brought back the money.

“Jetsun Kusho rimpoche,” he asked, trembling, “will theTowo kill me!”

“No,” I answered, gravely. “I shall do what is needed tospare your life.”

He bowed down again and went away.

Then, alone in my small tent, open to the silent desert andthe bright starry sky, I took once more the lamaist bell andthe drum of mystic rites and, led by their archaic music, Imeditated on the strength of ancestral faiths in the humanmind and on the deep and mysterious side of the farce thathad just been enacted.

In Thibet, adventures with robbers have always a certainpicturesqueness, of the kind, however, that one does not wantin too large a quantity, so that I was glad to meet no morerufiians on my way during the days that followed my dramaticperformance in the. forest.

We were now nearing Tongyuk, where a zong has been cun-ningly placed at the intersection of two roads for the examina-

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tion of travellers proceeding to Lhasa. Like many things inThibet, this clevernesses a little childish, and a pedestrian candodge it without making extraordinary efforts.

From Tongyuk one can reach Giamda, the capital of theKongbu province, by a much more direct track than that whichwinds far to the south touching the Brahmaputra. I havebeen told that it crosses uninhabited regions, and for thatreason travellers prefer the long bend on the south. Time hasbut little value in the East, and the safety and convenienceof a road are the main concern of all Thibetan travellers. It isalso possible to travel northwards from Tongyuk toward thegrassy solitudes. '

Although only a few of them are shown on the maps, Thibetis crossed by a large number of tracks, some easy, some rough;and, save in exceptional circumstances, the future explorers ofthe unsurveyed regions need not fear the necessity of cuttingtheir way with axes through impassable jungles. What I sayapplies, of course, only to people who can travel accordingto the native fashion, as I have done on all my journeys. Ifone needs large tents, tables, chairs, tinned Western food, anoven to bake the bread, and a gramophone which some ex-plorers carried in their luggage, then perhaps he will get intotrouble with the rustic Thibetan paths, and also, perhaps, withthe sturdy hillmen who have made them.

The toll bridge of Tongyuk spans a narrow but rather deepmountain stream, which throws itself into the river Tongyuka litde farther on. It is cleared by a gate, and near by is thehouse of the bridge-keeper. When we knocked at the gate,the latter set it just ajar to look at us. Without leaving himthe time to put any question, we asked, hurriedly, as if ingreat anxiety:

“Are our friends there?”

“Which friends?” enquired the man.

‘That large party of Sera and Depung monks.” ,

‘They left this morning.”

“What a pity!” we both lamented.

The keeper bad opened the door a litde more. We took

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immediate advantage of this to step in, continuing the whileto make the poor fellow giddy with our questions,. We wishedto know if the trapas had not left a message for us, and alsoa bag containing some dried meal which belonged to us.Yongden eyed the Thibetan in a suspicious way, and the lat-ter endeavoured to convince him that no one of the party hadhanded him anything, protesting that he was too honest tokeep the property of a lama!

My companion, intent upon the question of the dried meat,seemed to have forgotten everything else, especially the factthat travellers had to apply at the zong to get permission toproceed. His pretence was played in a masterly fashion. YetI thought that the keeper, although he looked bewildered,might still bear his duty in mind and remind us of the per-mission we had to secure before proceeding farther. I askedin a whining voice: “Has the ponpo given some solra [alms]to our friends?”

“I do not know,” was the answer.

“Well,” I replied, “I shall try to get some. My son, thelama, has hurt his foot. We have fallen back and have nofood left, now that this bag of dried meat Is not here.”

“About the bag I will know through a wo,” said Yongden,sternly, “My mos never fail to be true.”

“Yes, yes,” the suspected innocent gladly agreed, “wo gyab,lama. You can see the ponpa afterwards.”

“I am going at once,” I declared. “Maybe he will be kindto me.”

This was a matter of indifference to the keeper.

I went, and on nearing the officiaFs residence I met a ratherwell-dressed man. I saluted him most politely, and enquiredif I could be shown the way to the ponpo,

“What do you want?” he asked.

I explained that my son, a trapa from Sera monastery, be-longed to the party which had crossed Tongyuk the day before,and that, owing to his bad foot, we had lingered behind, andwere now making haste to join our companions, since we hadno food. I then produced with affected shyness two trankas,

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to be offered, I said, to the ponpo when my son, the lama,came, which would bo very soon. At present he was enquiringat the gate-keeper’s about a bag that our friends should haveleft behind for us, and in the meantime I wished to beg a solra.

The man snatched the two silver coins—I expected this!-—and told me to wait. Then he went away. A few minuteslater a servant brought me a small bowl full of tsampa and,from a distance, I heard the voice of the one who had takenmy money commanding: ^‘Take her down. It is useless forthe trapa to come here.”

So the servant went ahead. What he said to the gate-keeper I do not know. I found the latter rejoicing proudlybecause Yongden, whose mos were infallible, had discoveredthat our friends had not handed our dried meat to him! Ideemed it wiser not to remain to investigate the identity of theman whom I had seen near the zong.

Once more we had escaped. We made haste to be off, whichdid not appear strange, since we were supposed to be anxiousto overtake our party, and that evening we camped in a beau-tiful forest. Only the toll bridge of Giamda now remained onour way. But this was still a long distance ahead, and we hadtime enough before us to devise some plan.

I was heartily thankful for our lucky meeting with theparty of travellers. In the first place, they had prevented thePopas from robbing and perhaps injuring us. In the secondplace they had made our crossing over the river Ygong bothe^asy and speedy. And lastly, although we were no longer withthem, we had been able to make use of them to get smoothlythrough the Tongyuk Post. May they be justly rewarded fortheir aid!

We were now nearing the end of the track which is calledthe “Po Southern Road” ("Po Iho lam*^), a borderland regionthat joins the ‘"Kongbu Southern Road” H^Kongbu Iho lam"').It is mostly covered, by forest, and villages are scarce. Al-though the inhabitants of that zone have no better name thanthose of the upper country, we passed through it without anytrouble.

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The women of this part of Thibet wear, as do those of Po yula fur dress over which they slip a kind of large chasuble, madeof bearskin for the rich, and of dark goatskin for the commonlot. Both garments are worn, like all fur in Thibet, with thehair inside. Men also wear a scapular, but it does not reachfarther than the waist, while those of the women fall nearlyto the knees.

What struck me was the sight of the women with blackround felt hats of a Western-like shape. Had these beentrimmed with a ribbon, a feather, or a bunch of flowers,they could have been shown in the window of any millineryshop.

More remarkable still were the mournful and pathetic tuneswhich I heard along my way. At first I was led to think thatthey belonged to some peculiar religious rites performed inthe depth of the forest. But circumstances disclosed a lesspoetic truth.

Hearing from a distance a slow, poignant, and really impres-sive dirge, I walked across the jungle in the direction of theinvisible choir. As I progressed, my imagination already pic-tured a funeral or some still more dreadful spectacle. Slightlyexcited, as the traveller may well be on nearing an interestingsituation, I strode through the thicket and reached the borderof a clearing. There were the mournful singers—about thirtywomen clad In goatskin, wearing the national black felt hat.The work in which they were engaged had nothing of a dra-matic character. They were merely carrying logs of woodwhich the males of their tribe had felled higher upon the hill,and the dirge helped them to keep step when the heavy loadswere borne by several of them together. The words of the songwere not especially melancholy. Where could that strangetune have originated? I never heard anything like it in otherparts of Thibet.

The women rested in the clearing, and a loud prattling tookthe place of the singing. Their gossip occupied the wood-car-riers enough to prevent them from noticing me through thefoliage. I remained hidden, for had I shown myself I could

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not have avoided having to talk. Also I should have heard nomore of the song.

After a while, the black-capped village girls and housewivesgot up, loaded their logs, and the melodious lament of theirdeep contralto voices spread again through the forest.

1 followed them at a distance as far as the path where Ijoined Yongden. While I was away, two travellers who werereturning to the Ygong district had asked him to make mos.He had just finished with these and had received his hon-orarium, some tsampa and two handfuls of dried apricots.

When we emerged from the Po forests, we reached an opencountry formed by the wide intersection of several valleys. Anumber of important villages were scattered in this large area,which is partly cultivated and partly left as pasture land. Thescenery is exceedingly beautiful and looks a little—but on amuch larger scale—like some landscapes in the French or SwissAlps.

The region extending to the north is still unexplored. I feltvery much tempted to undertake a scouting tour over theranges which rose between the Tongyuk river and the Giamdariver.

Time, unfortunately, was short. I should have to make hasteif I wanted to be in Lhasa to witness the New Year festivals.I also feared to attract the attention of the villagers if I wasseen wandering out of the main paths. What could I answer,in that case, when asked where I was going? In Thibet, no oneroams for pleasure. Thibetans deem it absurd to walk if notcompelled to do so by some definite business.

When the people of the borderland hear about foreignersclimbing the hills, travelling through distant lands or merelytaking photographs, they cannot believe that this is done forpersonal satisfaction only. According to their opinion, explorersand tourists are all working for a salary paid by their govern-ments. What sensible man, think the Thibetans, would takethe trouble to move when he could remain seated at home?-Only the necessity of earning money, or the desire to acquirereligious merit, could induce them to do such a thing.

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Had I know the name of a monastery or of a zong situatedin that direction, I could have used it to-explain my journey.But I did not even know where to find the track which led tothe opposite side of the range. I was not even certain thatsuch a track existed; I only suspected it.

Nevertheless, I started, but at night, in order to be out ofsight when the villagers went to work in their fields the nextmorning.

I reached a wooded ridge, descended it, and, having climbedanother one, I came in sight of snowy crests. I had walkedfor two days, and could be nearly certain that I was about toreach the Giamda river. On the other hand, I desired to seethe Brahmaputra, and as I have just said, time was short—^tooshort to allow me to turn back south toward the Brahmapu-tra, after reaching the Giamda river, and then having to retracemy steps to reach Lhasa via Giamda Zong.

On the evening of the second day, while Yongden boiled thetea, I was still pondering over the itinerary I should choose,when suddenly, like a ghost in an olden tale, a lama appearedon the scene. We had not heard him coming. In fact, he didnot seem to have come. One would almost have believedthat he had just sprung out of the ground in front of us.Thibetans who wear dokpas boots with soft flexible soles donot make any noise In walking, yet there was something sounexpected, so instantaneous in the apparition of the lama, thatYongden and I looked at him in wonder.

He was dressed in the very plain garb of the gompehens,which is somewhat different in shape from that worn by theinmates of the monasteries. The ten-treng was hung roundhis neck, and the long iron-tipped staff which he carried wassurmounted by a trident.

He sat down near the fire without uttering a word, and didnot even answer our polite greeting, *^Kale jou den jags/^^Yongden tried, but without success, to engage him in conversa-tion. We then concluded that, according to a custom oftenfollowed by ascetics, he had made a vow of silence. ,

' Thibetan equivalent of seated, please.” #■

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This mute stranger, who looked at me fixedly, proved embar-rassing. I should have liked to see him get up and go away,or do something that was natural to travellers—eat or drink.But he had no baggage-with him, not even a bag of tsampa,which was an extraordinary thing in this country devoid ofinns. What did he'feed on? Seated cross-legged beside histrident, which he had stuck in the ground, he looked like astatue with only the eyes alive. Night had fallen. Was hegoing to stay?

The tea was ready; the enigmatic wayfarer drew from be-neath his robe a skull fashioned to serve as a bowl, and heldit out to Yongden. As a rule, into these lugubrious cups usedonly by followers of the tantrik sects, no beverages exceptspirits are poured. My young companion made a gesture ofexcuse, saying, “Gompehen, we have no chang} We neverdrink any.”

“Give me what you have,” replied the lama, opening hismouth for the first time. “It is all the same to me.”

Sunk again in silence, he drank and ate a little tsampa. Hedid not seem to be going away, neither did he appear to wantto sleep by the fire.

Suddenly, without departing from his immobility, he ad-dressed me:

“Jetsunma,” he said, “what have you done with your ten-treng, your %en, and with your ‘rings of the initiate’?”

My heart stopped beating. This man knew me! He hadseen me dressed as a gompehenma, either in Kham, in thenorthern solitudes, in Amdo, or in Tsang—^where, I did notknow. But his words showed clearly that I was not a strangerto him.

Yongden tried to prevaricate. He did not know, he stam-mered, what the lama meant ... his mother and he. . . .But the strange traveller did not give him time to invent astory.

away!” he commanded in an imperious tone.

’ Beer or barley ipirits.

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I had recovered my sang-froid. Deception was useless. Icould not recall this man’s features or anything else abouthim, but as it was evident that I had been detected, it wasbetter to brave the situation out, for this lama probably wouldhave no interest in denouncing me.'

“Go,” I told Yongden, “light a fire for yourself a littlefurther off.” He took a handful of wood, a blazing ember,and went away.

“Do not try to remember, Jetsunma,” said the ascetic tome when we were alone. “I have as many faces as I desire,and you have never seen this one.”

The conversation which followed was a long one on sub-jects pertaining to Thibetan philosophy and mysticism. Finallyhe arose and, staff in hand, vanished like a phantom, as he hadcome. His footsteps made no sound upon the stony path. Heentered the jungle, and seemed to melt away in it.

I called Yongden and put an end to his questions by sayinglaconically: “This gompehen knows us, though I cannot re-member having seen him, but he will not denounce us,”

Then I lay down, making a pretence of sleeping so thatI might be left undisturbed with the thoughts that my talkwith the lama had aroused. Soon a rosy light spread in thesky and day broke. I had been listening to the mysterioustraveller the whole night long without noticing how time passed.We revived the fire and prepared our humble breakfast.

The nature of my conversation with the lama should havecompletely reassured me as to the possibility of denunciationby a man of his character. But my mind was overtired bymonths of painful watching and anxiety, and I could not en-tirely prevent fear from creeping back into it. I did not feelany longer inclined to continue toward the Giamda valley.By going forward in that direction, the strange gompehen hadmore or less answered my enquiry about the existence of a.way across the range. Unless he was going to some anchoriticdwelling hidden in the recesses of the mountain, he would mostprobably descend the slopes of the Giamda basin. Moreover,

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though I had been deeply interested In our nocturnal talk, Ipreferred to avoid following in the steps of anyone who knewme.

“Let us turn back,” I said to Yongden. “We will cross theTemo pass and see .the large Temo monastery. You may beable to purchase there the warm dress which you need sobadly”

We went down again into the broad valley, followed ittoward the head, skirting several villages, and finally reachedthe foot of the Temo pass. I preferred it to the Nyima passsituated to the southeastward, because the road to the latterhas been surveyed, which is not the case with the track crossingthe Temo.

At dusk we reached a large well-built house that stoodalone in the pastures near the river. In spite of its com-fortable appearance this massive building of grey stone lookedrather disquieting. Perhaps its surroundings of densely woodedblack ranges were responsible for that impression, or it wasperhaps its greyish colour. Be this as it may, hospitality wasImmediately granted to us and we were led upstairs to a largeand comfortable but dim room. Yongden and I boiled somesoup and we had begun to eat it when a lama entered, fol-lowed by the mistress of the house, who carried his few pack-ages. We understood that we were to be given a companionfor the night. This did not please us, but there was no wayof avoiding it. The apartment in which we had been allowedto stay was the best after the host’s private quarters. Tradersreturning from Lhasa occupied the other rooms, and in putdngtwo lamas together the housewife had shown courtesy to both.

The traveller appeared to be a polite and quiet man. Hespread out his carpet at the end of the room opposite to us.He then approached the fire to boil his tea. Politely Yongdentold him that he could dispense with that trouble, for soup wasready and we would make tea afterward. The lama accepted'the invitation, at the same time produdng some bread andother provisions which he placed at Yongden’s disposal to add

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to the meal he was to share with iis. Having done this, he satdown and began to eat.

Thibetan custom required me to remain humbly at some dis-tance, and I took advantage of this to observe from my darkcorner the lama taking his meal near the blazing fire.

A gomthag^ slung across the shoulders of his Chinese trav-elling robe, some other details of his dress, and the staffmounted with a trident which he had thrust upright betweentwo boards of the floor on entering the room, revealed to methat he belonged to one of the “Red Cap” sects, most likely theZogs chen.

The mystic dung khatang^ lighted by the flames leapingfrom the hearth, cast moving shadows on the red wall. Itbrought to that commonplace country house something of thefascinating occult atmosphere of the Thibetan ascetic dwellingsand reminded me of other anchorites with whom I had so-journed or whom I had visited on my way. It would haveespecially recalled the gompchen to whom I had, a few daysbefore, listened a whole night through, had I forgotten him,which was far from being the case.

But aside from that symbolic implement, common to allTantrik lamas, our new companion had nothing of the silentmystery of the one who had so unexpectedly Joined us In theforest. He turned out to be a most pleasant and well-readliteratus of the Kham province, quite ready to converse.

At first I listened to him from a distance, as my disguisecompelled me to do, but after a while, seeing that Yongdencould not follow his really very erudite and highly philosophicalcolleague, and that I should thus miss hearing the latter’s viewon a question which interested me, I forgot prudence andintruded upon the lama’s talk. The stranger did not appear

' A kind of sash used as a binding and support by the lamas, belongingto mystic sects, who spend hours in meditation and who often remain thewhole night in the peculiar sitting posture, cross-legged like the images ofthe Buddha. When travelling this sash is worn across the shoulders.

*A staff surmounted by a trident. Sivaite ascetics of India likewisecarry a trident, but the Thibetan shape is somewhat different.

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astonished at the knowledge—quite uncommon for one of herkind—^showed by the poorly dressed lay woman who seatedherself before him. Deeply absorbed In his subject, he perhapsd?d not pay much attention to his questioners.

We remained far into the night, quoting from the old books,offering explanations, referring to the commentaries of famousauthors. I was delighted.

But when I awoke, before the daybreak, the fear whichhad tormented me so much at the beginning of my journeymade me tremble again. It was not enough that I had beenrecognized by the mysterious gompchen. I had now impru-dently shown myself well acquainted with Buddhist and Tan-trlk philosophies. Perhaps I had made the lama who spentthe night with us suspicious! What a fool I had been! Whatwould come of it? . . . Should I reach Lhasa? . . .

It was in this cheerless mood that I began the climb towardthe Tempo pass, after having left the philosopher traveller stillasleep in the grey stone house.

We crossed the pass without difficulty, though the snowwas rather deep near the summit. The road lay throughwoods all the way. It was good, but it is a long tramp fromthe top of the pass to the foot of the hill, on the slope lookingtowards the Brahmaputra. Temo, an important place withseveral gompas and lhakangs, besides the large monastery, wasreached at dusk.

We pitched our tent in an out-of-the-way spot in the fields,when we felt confident that village people were shut indoorsand asleep. The moon was full, the sky was wonderfully clear,and at the same time a bank of mist, about ten or twelve feetfrom the ground, extended all over the valley and created thebizarre illusion of an immense veil shrouding the earth.

After a peaceful rest I awoke early, or rather I thought thatI awoke, for, most probably, it was only a dream born ofmy anxieties and of the recent meetings. The day had justdawned: I saw a lama standing before me. He did not resem-ble gompchen nor the literatus I had left on the other sideof the range. He was clothed in the white habit of the resky-

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angs,^ his head was bare, and a long tress of hair fell to hisheels.

^^etsunma,” he said to me, *^this dress of a poor laywoman,and the role of old mother which you have adopted, do not suityou at all. You have taken on the mentality proper to thepart. You were braver when you wore your zen and yourten-treng. You must put them on again later, when you havebeen to Lhasa. ... You will get there. Do not fear. . .

He smiled with a sort of benevolent sarcasm: ^^Jigs mednaljorma nga [I, a fearless yogini],” he quoted, from a poemI was very fond of reciting.

I wanted to answer him, but now I really began to wake.The first rays of the rising sun gleamed upon my forehead,the space before me was empty, and through the open curtainof the small tent I only saw, far away, the shining golden roofsof the Temo gompa.

Most luckily, Yongden found, at the very first place of call,all that he needed for provisions and clothing. It was quitetime! His monastic dress was in rags, and now that we wereout of the cover of the forests he felt the cold at night. Hegot an old lama travelling robe, which fitted him well enough;the material was of good quality, so that, clothed in it, mycompanion looked like a well-to-do pilgrim whose dress hadbeen worn out during the journey. A kind man presented himwith a goatskin for a carpet to sleep on, a luxury which hemuch appreciated.

At Temo I heard for the first time some news which causedme great anxiety. The Penchen lama of Tashilhumpo hadfled from his residence. Soldiers had been sent to Capturehim . . . and what had happened afterward was not knownby those who told us the story.

The Penchen Tashi lama, as I have explained in the Introduc-tion of this book, had been my host, and a very kind one.For years I corresponded with his mother, who never failed

'A peculiar kind of Thibetan ascetics, who are adepts in the art ofgenerating internal heat, as I have mentioned before.

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to send me, at the beginning of each winter, a pair of feltboots and a bonnet of yellow brocade which she had embroi-dered and sewn herself.

•How could it be that the mighty spiritual lord of Shigatzehad become a fugitive? Truly, I did not altogether forget thathe was far from being in good odour at the court of Lhasa.His avowed sympathy for China and his aversion to the mili-tary expenditures had greatly displeased the Thibetan king.I knew that on several occasions heavy contributions had beenexacted from him, but I had never thought that he might beforced to fly from Thibet, where he is worshipped as the incar-nation of a most high spiritual entity. Later on, I got somedetails about that truly Oriental political drama. The storymay be of interest.

As years elapsed, the hatred of the Dalai lama and of theCourt party, won over to the British influence, had increasedagainst the Tashi lama. He had been ordered to levy moremoney in his Province and hand it over to the Lhasa govern-ment. People from whom I got these details said that theofficials dispatched to collect it could not gather the amountrequired, and that the Tashi lama proposed to the Dalai lamato go himself on a collecting round in Mongolia, where his per-sonal prestige might achieve the result which had not been at-tained by his envoys In the already impoverished villages ofTsang.^ This permission had been refused, and the PenchenTashi lama was asked to go to Lhasa.

A new house was built for him in the park of Norbu ling, thehabitual residence of the Dalai lama. (I saw it, apparentlyunfinished, in a rather remote part of the estate.) It was saidthat a jail was attached to the house, and that it was on learn-ing of the imminent danger which threatened him that theTashi lama had run for his life with a few followers’ acrossthe northern wilds.

Djd the Court of Lhasa really mean to imprison the Griand

^ Tnng, a large Thibetan province situated to the west of the 0 prov-ince whose capital is Lhasa. The capital of Tsang is Shigatze, wherestands the great monastery of Tashilhumpo.

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Lama of Tashilhumpo? None but the few who are m itspolitical secrets can say for certain, but the story has nothingabsolutely improbable about it.

The revenge of the Court party on 'those who hrd sided withthe Chinese after the latter had been driven out from Thibetseems to have been sometimes cruel. I* have been told of aGrand Lama who, on account of his dignity as a ^‘tulku,” ^ couldnot be openly executed. The poor man was imprisoned, andallowed to die of starvation. But the members of his ecclesias-tic household, dignitaries of his monastery, were tortured, ironnails being trust in their bodies day after day until deathcame.

Is there any exaggeration in such stories ? I do not know.

At about the same time, a member of the high Thibetannobility who as a state minister had supported the Chinesewas killed at the Potala. It is said that he was summonedbefore the ruler, who had just returned to the capital. Therehe was first stripped of his silken robes, beaten mercilessly,then bound, and thrown down the long flight of steps whichgo from the top of the Potala to the foot of the hill. He wasstill alive when he reached the bottom and was there executedon the post. His son, having heard about the dreadful execu-tion, and foreseeing his own fate, attempted to flee, but was shotas he rode away.

As a peculiar specimen of the Thibetan mentality I will addthat the widow of the unfortunate minister, his daughter, andhis daughter-in-law, were all three given as wives to a favouriteof the ruler who, being ennobled, received the title and theestate of the late minister.

I deem it useless to give any name. The man who has takenthe succession of the late Thibetan lord is perhaps quite inno-cent of his tragic end.^

1 can state that, even now, more than twelve years after thevictorious revolt against China, three high ecclesiastical digni-taries are still detained as state prisoners at Lhasa. One of

^One of those lamaist dignitaries whom foreign writezs call im-properly ^'incarnated lamas’^ and "living Buddhas.’*

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them has been given as ward to the commander-in-chief.Another was sent to’Ngabod 8hap6, and the third to Lon chenshatag—since the latter’s death his son has taken his place asv^arden. These three lamas, who are gyarongpas—that is tosay, natives of the tribes established in China—have worn thecangue ever since they were sentenced: and unless anotherrevolution frees them, will die with their necks in these heavywooden collars.

In such circumstances, the Tashi lama could find abundantreason for fearing the hospitality that his high lamaist colleagueoffered him. But his apprehensions were still more justified iftown talk at Lhasa was true. It was said that three or fournoblemen of the Tsang province were then imprisoned in thepart of the Potala prison that is reserved for “quality,” in con-nection with the tax-levy affair.

But to return to the Tashi lama. Whether entirely true, oreven only pardy true in its detail, the account of his flight, as Iheard it, was really dramatic.

For nearly two years, one of his faithful friends with whomI am personally acquainted had scoured the country disguisedas a pilgrim in order to discover the roads that offered thegreatest safety for a speedy flight. He had not yet come backfrom his last tour when the Tashi lama, deeming that thingshad now grown too threatening to admit of further delay, leftShigatze hurriedly. His friend, the lama Lobzang, arrived therethe following day. He ran after his master, but was compelledto turn back because of a fresh fall of snow which completelyblocked the pass.

Thibet was no longer safe for him. He crossed the Indianborder, but his movements were known. Telegrams were sentin all directions, giving orders to arrest him. Nevertheless, hesucceeded in sailing for China a few hours before the order toseize him had reached the harbour. '

As for the Tashi lama, a Thibetan official in charge of a smallion (that of Reading or another in the same region) haddetected him amongst a party passing near his residence. Fear-ing to make a mistake, afraid also to lay his hands on the

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exalted person of Gd pa med, before whom all Thibetans,Mongolians, Manchurians, all lamaists of Siberia and even ofthe far away shores of the Volga, prostrate themselves withutmost reverence, he dispatched a messenger to Lhasa to informthe ruler.

At Lhasa, everybody believed the Tashi lama was at Shi-gatze, and the inhabitants of that town, as well as the monksof the Tashilhumpo monastery, were not aware of his flight.

When the official dispatched by the Dalai lama had ascer-tained that the Tashi lama was truly gone, three hundred sol-diers were mustered under a depung^ and were ordered tobring back the fugitive. But much time had been lost. * TheTashi lama and his companions had doubtless excellent horses.I remembered the large stable full of fine beasts which I '^nsitedat Shigatze, and could easily understand that the regimentreached the Chinese border after the Tashi lama was safe onthe other side.

No need to add that the simple account of a political dramacould not satisfy the mind of Oriental masses. The flight ofthe Tashi lama was only a few months old when I reachedLhasa, only to find that it had already become a legend. Afterhe had fled from Shigatze, said some, the lama had left therea perfect likeness of himself, a phantom who acted exactly ashe used to do, and thus all those who were not in the secretwere deceived. It was only when the Tashi lama was safely inChina that the phantom vanished. But others told the talein a different way. According to them (and they were many)it was the phantom which had fled to China, and the realPenchen Rimpoche was still at Shigatze, invisible to his ene-mies, but visible to his fa,ithful subjects and the pilgrimdevotees. '

1 was to learn all these details later on, but the first vaguenews received at Temo made me fear that my host was notyet safe. I thought of his good mother, my friend. What hadbecome of her in that storm? This also I did not know,

^ Depung: a Thibetan colonel or general.

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namely, that before her beloved son had fled, death had liber-ated the kind lady fr6m all her earthly troubles.

As I proceeded toward the Brahmaputra, brooding sadlyover this strange event, a sudden memory came back to me.

A little more than Jtwo years before, while I was staying atJakyendo, a bard from Kham chanted for me the famousThibetan Iliad, the poem of ^^King Gesar of Link.” In thecourse of his recital the man related to me some old propheciesconnected with the coming of the northern warrior Messiah,expected by the Thibetans. One of them actually announcedthat the Tashi lama would leave Thibet, proceeding to thenorth.

I listened with the utmost incredulity, and jokingly askedhim in how many centuries the event would take place. Mybard, who was a rather enigmatic person, seriously declaredthat I should see the fulfilment of the prophecy, and that theTashi lama would leave Shigatze before two and a half yearshad gone by.

This seemed to me still more improbable, even absurd, andyet there I was. In the heart of Thibet, hearing about theflight into the northern solitudes of the mystic lord of Tash-ilhumpo,^ which actually happened just two years and onemonth after the prophecy.

Strange coincidence? But what next? Would the otherprophecies also prove true? Would a hero arise in the mythi-cal Shambala, which modern Thibetans identify with Siberia,surround himself with an army of stern, invincible soldiersand unite all Asia under one rule? ... A dream, maybe, butthousands, nay, millions, dream it in the East.

From Temo, we reached the sandy banks of the Brahma-putra. The large majestic river, in its setting of high hills,

* The Thibetans of Tsang, alluding to these prophecies, were singing atthat time:

Da tsoi Lama ting red Our Lama is a cloud

Lanuu chifa lung red His horse is the wind

Lung gi tengla chef net Riding on the wind

Thurgod yid la fheb tong. He is gone to the land of Thurgdd

(The Chinese Turkestan).

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breathes a spirit of calm and peace which takes a firm holdof one’s inner consciousness. Landscapes' have a language oftheir own, expressing the soul of the things, lofty or humble,which constitute them, from the mighty peaks to the smallestof the tiny flowers hidden in the meadows grass. The Brah-maputra spoke of serenity, and in this serenity all our preoc-cupations, fears, and cares were drowned.

Amongst the interesting sights on our road, before we turnednorthward, following the Giamda river upstream, were partiesnumbering hundreds of Bon pilgrims who circumambulated theKongbu Bon hill,^ one of the most sacred of the holy places oftheir religion.

The Bons are followers of the faith that prevailed in Thibetbefore the introduction of Buddhism. Their beliefs may orig-inally have been much like those of the shamanists of Siberia,but it is most difficult to be certain of this, for at the timewhen primitive Bon doctrines existed in Thibet, writing wasprobably not known in the country. Consequently, there isno hope of finding any genuine Bon scriptures.. The Bonsthemselves affirm that they possess books of a high antiquity,written before Buddhism entered Thibet. There may be some-thing true in these affirmations, but up to the present no au-thentic proofs have come to light. Nowadays Bons resemble,in so far as their religious practices are concerned, the old “RedCaps” sect, called ningma-mngma (“the most ancient of theancients”), with the difference that they slaughter animals forsacrifices. As for their monasteries, they have copied those ofthe lamas; their clergy wear a habit identical with that of thelamaists and they style themselves lamas as well. '

In brief, the White Bons are merely lamaists who have kepta part of the old religious practices, just as the lamaists haveincorporated in Buddhism an almost equal part of the same.The Black Bons are more original and nearer the primitiveshamanism. Most of them are only ignorant, vulgar sorcerers,but a few interesting and intelligent men may be found hereand there in their midst who hold peculiarly bold philosophical^ Kongbu Bon rx.

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views, and some of them are believed to be powerful magicians.

However, the common run of the Sons distinguish themselvesfrom the lamaists only by keeping their sacred edifices on theIftft when circumambulating these, whereas the lamaists keepthem on the right. One may add that, instead of the formula“Aunt Manx Padme hum” recited by the lamaists, the Bonsrepeat “Aum MatriyS salendu” which some travellers haveunderstood as “Matri Matris da dzu” Space forbids treatingthe subject in fuller detail.

Many of the pilgrims went round the mountain, prostratingthemselves at each step, that is to say that, stretching theirarms as they lay on the ground, and marking with their fingersthe length they had covered with their bodies, they wouldthen get up and stand at the exact place which their fingershad touched, after which they would again prostrate them-selves and measures their length once more, and so on, all theway.^

Lamaists perform these repeated prostrations around themonasteries containing especially holy relics, such as the graveof Tsong Khapa. During my stay at Lhasa I saw men circum*ambulating the sacred city in this fashion. One even hearsof people who come thus from distant Mongolia to Lhasa, pass-ing years on the road.

The Bon pilgrims were mostly tall, athletic fellows with boldenergetic faces. To see them stretched head downwards whendescending steep, rocky slopes was indeed a striking sight.A large number of women also walked around the hill, andsome accomplished the exhausting and endless prostrations withremarkable courage.

We left the Brahmaputra, continuing upstream along theriver Giamda. We visited on our way the Pu chung ser kyiLhakhang, a small golden-roofed temple with a golden altar.

Then, as I made my way along the valley, I noticed theair of abandon, of ruin, which prevailed all over the country.Deserted villages had fallen in ruins, the jungle triumphed,rectHiquering the lands wUch had been cleared and cultivated.

* It is called **Kora la Kyang chag chts fa.”

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Chinese posts had existed on the road—at that time the mainroad—^which follows the left bank of the river. One couldsee, here and there, high watch towers crumbling into ruins.Around them a Chinese population had settled and cultivatedthe country. The track along which they stood was nowhaunted by daring robbers from the mountains I had thoughtof crossing before my meeting with the strange gompehen.People of the neighbouring villages had strongly advised me tocross the river and proceed on its right bank, although it wasa longer way round, because the country was a little morepopulated and safer on that side. Yet even this bank wassparsely populated. Indeed, after Chimazong, we saw littlebut solitary forests.

On that road I twice met lonely pilgrims, like the man I hadseen at the beginning of my journey dying near the Kha Karpo,but In this case both were women. One of them, In spite of ourpressing advice and the little money we had given her, did notappear inclined to ask hospitality in a village house. We lefther behind, but she overtook us by walking at night, thoughthis time she appeared to be at the end of her tether. Weoffered to lead her to a hamlet near by, but she refused. Shewanted to light a fire under the trees on the border of the road;Yongden collected some wood which he placed near her, andthen we went away. The last sight I had of her showed me theabandoned devotee seated next to the fire that was beginning toburn. A thin bluish spiral of smoke rose straight before her anddissolved in space—a symbol, it seemed, of the life which wasabout to depart.

The second wanderer I met lay under a thin shelter madeof branches by some half-compassionate villagers whose kind-ness was strong enough to help the sick and lone pilgrim, butdid not go so far as to give her a corner in their homes. Withthe woman remained her little dog, which barked ferociouslyand tried its best to frighten away those who approached itsmistress. The poor faithful thing was really touching. Hereagain I could do no more than give her a little money and passon my way. Is there a more cruel torture than to have continu-

252

ally to pass on one's way, powerless to relieve the countlesssorrows which lie along all the roads of the world!

Giamda, which is considered all over Thibet to be an impor-tant town, is little more* than a village, but its situation atthe intersection of the main road from Lhasa to Chlamdo andthe road to the Brahmaputra gives it perhaps a strategic andtrading interest. Although the town is situated at a height ofnearly ii,ooo feet, the climate of the valley is warm and, dur-ing the day, when the sun shines, equals even in January thatof summer in such European countries as Belgium.

Travellers on their way to Lhasa, after having crossed atoll bridge, must appear before an official to get permission toproceed.

How often I had discussed with Yongden the best way inwhich to surmount this obstacle! As a rule things appear muchmore difficult and terrifying in the course of such discussionsthan when the moment of action has arrived.

To pass through Giamda was an easy matter. We crossedthe bridge, paid the toll, and were led by a boy to the official'shouse. I sent Yongden in and sat down on a stone in thedust, at the door. Many people passed through the narrowstreet, and no one took any special notice of me.

Yongden saluted the gentleman of the zong, or perhaps hesaw only his secretary or some pretty clerk of the place. Aftera few minutes he came out, and we took up our loads . . . thedreaded Giamda was left behind.

We were now on the post road,^ the only one which crossesThibet. The progress of civilization along it is seen in theshape of small buildings like shrines which mark the miles.Indeed I took the first one I saw to be a rustic village chapel,or tsa tsa house.® What added to the illusion was that on someof them lay carved stones bearing the usual Aunt mam padmehum, or other such formulas, and that I could see around them

^The old post road, on which, at the time of the Chinese suzerainty,the mail ran from Peking to Lhasa, but which now stops at Chlamdo anddoes not cross China.

*See Chap, iv, p. 136.

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

the trace of clrcumambulation in the little path made by thefeet of the devotees. It was one of these which helped me todiscover my mistake. Seeing an old man walking round with apious mien, I wished to see the picture of the deity enclosed Jnthe little shrine. To my astonishment 1 was confronted with apiece of reddish stone, on which some figures—135, I think—were inscribed. Strange! . . . All my notions concerning lama-ism were disturbed. It took a few minutes of reflection beforethe mystery of that uncommon cult was revealed to me. Nevershould I have thought that my Oriental researches would leadme to discover the worship of the milestone I

Many were the sights, the talks and the observations, allwell worthy of being related, which filled the last part of myjourney to Lhasa. But I must omit them to make room forthe account of my stay in the capital itself.

Our crossing of the Kongbu Ba Pass was saddened by apainful spectacle. A party of pilgrims, mostly women, hadbeen robbed there of all their belongings by some of their trav-elling companions who had suddenly turned brigands, a thingnot so rare In Thibet. Some of the unlucky women had notbeen able to continue their Journey and had sheltered them-selves in a mountain cave. One of them had a gash in herhead; another had a terrible wound in the breast; the armof a third one was broken; others were more or less injured.Their vile and wretched countrymen, though hailing from thesame district, almost the same village, had attacked them vdthspears. At a short distance from the cave the corpses of twomen were lying. All this happened \tithin a hundred miles ofLhasa, on the main route. Horse soldiers could easily haveovertaken the murderers, but what official would trouble him-self about such a common occurrence in that lawless country?

254

CHAPTER VII

AT last, after four months of tramping, filled with adven-tures and observations of which I have been able torelate but a very small part, I left Dechen one morning atdawn, and set out upon the last stage to Lhasa.

The weather was clear, dry, and cold, the sky luminous. Inthe rosy light of the rising sun, we sighted the Potala, the hugepalace of the lamaist ruler, still far away, yet already majesticand impressive.

“This time we have won,” I said to my young friend.

He silenced me.

“Hush! Do not speak too soon! Do not rejoice yet Wehave still to cross the river Kyi. Who knows if there is not apost of watchmen there?”

So near were we to our goal that I refused to believe failureto be still possible. Anyhow, I dropped the subject.

As we advanced, the Potala grew larger and larger. Nowwe could discern the elegant outlines of its many golden roofs.They glittered in the blue sky, sparks seeming to spring fromtheir sharp upturned corners, as if the whole castle, the gloryof Thibet, had been crowned vdth flames.

Our eyes fastened upon it. We walked at a good speed, forsuccess was near and gave us wings.

The valley which we followed since leaving the Bala hadbecome quite open. The slopes which border it may, in days ofyore, have been covered with forests, but not a single tree wasnow to be seen there, except a few that had been planted incertain gardens.

Villages stood closer as we proceeded toward the capital,but 1 felt very astonished to meet so few people on the high<-way. I was told by countryfolk that a much larger traflicused to pass during, the Chinese suzerainty. Their remarks

^SS

reminded me of what I had observed in the Kongbu province—abandoned and ruined villages at the feet of crumbling watchtowers, and large tracts of formerly cultivated land on whichthe forest had again encroached.

The Lhasa valley did not present so desolate a spectacle inthe part that I was crossing. But how much ground remaineduncultivated on which barley could have been grown for thetown near by, where the cost of living is so high! ^

Thibetans have lost much in parting with China. Theirsham independence profits only a clique of court officials.Most of those who rebelled against the far-off and relaxedChinese rule regret it nowadays, when taxes, statute labour,and the arrogant plundering of the national soldierly greatlyexceed the extortions of their former masters.

Arrived at the river, which in the winter is but a narrowstream, we embarked on a rustic ferry adorned with the headof an animal, which the artist probably intended to be a horse.A mixed crowd of men and beasts was packed on the boat.A few minutes later we landed on the opposite bank. Neitherthe busy ferrymen nor any of the passengers had given us somuch as a glance. Hundreds of ragged pilgrims cross the Kyichu each year, and nothing distinguished us from our fellowarjopas.

We were now in Lhasa territory, but still far from the cityitself. Yongden once more repressed my desire to rejoice,even in a whisper. What could he still fear? Had we notreached our goal? And now, nature itself gave us a token ofher maternal complicity. ^

As on the night of our starting, when we disappeared inthe Kha Karpo forests, ‘‘the gods lulled the men to sleep andsilenced the dogs.” A miracle seemed to protect our entranceinto Lhasa.

No sooner had we landed than the air, till then so calm,became agitated. All of a sudden a furious storm arose, lift-ing clouds of dust high into the sky. 1 have seen the simoonin the Sahara, but was it worse than this? No doubt it WM*

256

Yet, that terrible, dr^ lashing rain of dust gave me the impres-sion of being once more in the great desert.

Indistinct forms passed us, men bent in two, hiding theirfa’ces in the laps of theii^ dresses, or whatever piece of cloththey might happen to have wilh them.

Who could see us coming? Who could know us? An im-mense yellow curtain of whirling sand was spread before thePotala, blinding its guests, hiding from them Lhasa, the roadsleading to it, and those who walked upon them. I interpretedit as a symbol promising me complete security, and the futurejustified my interpretation. For two months I was to wanderfreely in the lamaist Rome, with none to suspect that, for thefirst time In history, a foreign woman was beholding the For-bidden City.

‘‘The gods threw a veil over the eyes of* his adversaries andthey did not recognise him.” So went an old Thibetan talewhich I had heard long ago in the Land of Grass.

At that time of the year, a large number of people from allthe provinces of Thibet congregate in the capital to enjoy thevarious festivals and merry-makings, which take place there.The Inns are full. All those who can vacate a room or any shel-ter rent them. Travellers sleep in the stables and camp in thecourtyards.

I could have gone from door to door for hours, in quest ofa lodging, without any otlier result than showing myself to anumber of householders of both sexes and being compelledto answer a lot of questions. Fortunately, I was spared thetrouble and danger of this.

The storm abated as suddenly as it had arisen. Newcomers,unacquainted with the city, we stood a little at a loss amidthe crowd without knowing where to go. Unexpected helpcame again to me in the shape of a young woman.

“You want a room, Mother?” she said. “You come fromvery far. You must be exceedingly tired. Follow me. I knowa place where you will be all right.”

I only smiled at her, uttering thanks. I felt rather aston-ished. Obliging people are many in Thibet, and the kindness

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of the unknown woman was not altogether extraordinary, buthow did she know that “I had come from very far”? Thispuzzled me a little, but no doubt she had gained that idea fromthe sight of my pilgrim staff, and I jwas lean enough, after somany fasts and so much fatigue, to inspire compassion.

Our guide was not communicative. We followed her likesheep, a little bewildered by the noise and the traffic aftermonths spent in the solitudes, and perhaps still more bewilderedby our good luck. She led us outside the town to a place fromwhich one enjoyed an extended view of most beautiful scenery,including the Potala. This detail struck me particularly; forall along the road I had wanted to get a lodging from which Icould see it.

I was granted the use of a narrow cell, in a ramshackle cot-tage occupied by beggarly people. This was indeed the besthostelry one could have wished for the security of my incognito.The idea of looking there for a foreign lady traveller wouldnot have occurred to anybody; and the poor beggars who fre-quented the place never suspected my identity.

The woman went away smiling after a brief farewell. Allhad happened so quickly that it seemed a dream. We neversaw our guide again.

In our hovel that evening, lying on the ground amongst ourmiserable luggage, I said to my faithful companion: “Do youallow me now to say that we have won the game?”

“Yes,” he said, and he shouted in a suppressed, yet mosttriumphant tone: “Lha gyalo. De tamche patn! We are atLhasa 1”

I was in Lhasa. No doubt I could be proud of my tdctory,but the struggle, with cunning and trickery as weapons, wasnot yet over. 1 was in Lhasa, and now the problem was to staythere. Although I had endeavoured to reach the Thibetancapital rather because I had been challenged than out of anyreal desire to visit it, now that 1 stood on the forbidden groundat the cost of 90 much hardship and danger, I meant to enjoymyself in all possible ways. 1 should really have felt ashamedof myself had I been caught, locked up somewhere, and taken

258

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

back to the border, having only had a superficial and briefglance at the exterior of the palaces and temples. This shouldnot be! No! I would climb to the top of the Potala itself;I would visit the most famous shrines, the large historical mon-asteries in the ^dcini^ of Lhasa, and I would witness therell^ous ceremonies, the races, and the pageants of the NewYear festival. All sights, all things which are Lhasa’s ownbeauty and peculiarity, would have to be seen by the lonewoman explorer who had had the nerve to come to them fromafar, the first of her sex. It was my well-won reward afterthe trials on the road and the vexations by which for severalyears various officials had endeavoured to prevent my wander-ings in Thibet. This time I intended that nobody shoulddeprive me of it.

Lhasa, the largest town of Thibet, its capital and the Romeof the lamaist world, is by no means a big city. It is pret-tily situated at a little distance from the bank of the riverKyi, in a large valley with a commanding horizon of high bar-ren mountain ranges. Still, in a country of wonderful land-scapes, as Thibet is, the scenery of Lhasa would be quite ordi-nary, but for the huge palace of the Dalai lama erected on theDsi Potala, one of the two summits of a small, isolated ridgethat shoots up in the middle of the valley. The other summitis called Chog bu ri and is crowned by the buildings of theClerical Medical College. Better than any description, picturescan give some idea of the gigantic edifice, but even the bestphotograph will fail to convey a true idea of its imposingappearance, as it stands, a red palace capped with golden roofs,uplifted high in the blue sky, on a shining pedestal of dazzlingwhite buildings. With the riches contained in that enormouscluster of habitations, rising one above another, without anyorder or plan, on the slope of the Tsi Pptala, there could havebeen built a real wondet-palace, but Thibetan architects neverwere artists. The most precious materials, when handled bytheir rough hands, succeed only in expressing might and wealthand fail to reach beauty. Yet that barbaric treatment of silver,gcdd, and precious gems gives the temples and palaces of

259

M Y J O URN B Y to LHASA

Thibet a peculiar character, in harmony with thfe roughin which th^ stand. And this, in itself, makes a pmvierfulimpression. . ..

Chinese painters or students of. (Jhinw art are responsiblefor a great part of the Potala’s'decoration, as well as that ofthe Jo Khang, the holiest temple of Thibet.' One could spendweeks in the many galleries and corridors of the Dalai lamapalace, reading in pictures on the walls the legends of gods andthe lives of saintly men, gracefully and wittily rendered inmillions of tiny figures full of lifelike animation.

Here and there amongst the apartments are scattered a largenumber oi-Lha Khang (God's Houses), in which may be seena variety of images of all the symbolic and mysdc deities ofMahSyana Buddhism. Most of them are sumptuously deckedwith golden ornaments inlaid with turquoise, coral, and pre-cious stones. A special room contains the images of the previ-ous Dalai lamas, and the present one is seated amongst them,but in miniature only.

Darker recesses are devoted to some of the aboriginal godsand demons of the pre-Buddhistic religion, which Thibetanshave never been able to forsake, A few words about them mayperhaps not be out of place here.

The story of the admission of these personages into the lama-ist Pantheon, as told in the old books, is always the same. Itdepicts the struggle of the Indian missionaries, or the firstThibetan members of the Buddhist Order, against beings whoopposed their preaching and harmed their converts. Theseholy men were always endowed with magic powers, and whenthey succeeded to a certain extent in conquering their malig-nant enemy, they took advantage of his momentary defeat toextort from him the oath to renounce his hostile state of inindand to become a protector of the Buddhist doctrine. In ex-change, the title of Choskyong (protector of the religion) wasbestowed upon the god or the demon, and a place was grantedto him in the temples. .

Lamaism does not stop there. Even worse creatur^ aresymbolically fed in special buildings, a.nd the offerings jdaced

260

The Market Place a*

there stand as a substitute for the more realistic and bloodiersacrifices of the pre-Ruddhistic cult. It is only—so Thibetans'believe—strict attendance to their needs, and a due rever-ence, that keep human 'beings and animals safe from theirferocity. Other dread Malevolent and Invisible Ones arechained by the power of magic charms, and a perpetual watchhas to be kept in order that the spells and other occult devices,whose strength prevents the dangerous beings from escaping,shall be recited and performed at the right time.

Needless to say, all these rites have nothing to do with trueBuddhism, which does not admit of any rite at all. But inThibet they are favoured even by the literati; for, so these say,such performances suit their country and the mental level of-its masses. Be that as it may, all kinds of worship are prac-ticed in Lhasa, even in the palace of its king, as well as allover Thibet.

The Potala contains sumptuous suites of apartments, andthe upper terrace, on which stand Chinese pavilions, could bemade into an ideal roof garden, such as the world has neverseen; but the desire, or even the idea, of creating such a thinghas probably never entered the minds of any of the Dalai lamaswho have successively sat upon the throne of the Potala.

From the top of the palace, the view embraces, in front, thewhole of the v Iley, with Lhasa outspread in the -plain.Behind it a desert extends for a long distance, until a high rangerises suddenly like a Cyclopean wall. Seated at its foot, thelarge monastery of Sera (the hail), snowy white, rears redtemples and golden roofs like the Potala itself. Its monl^ area formidable power in the state, which even the master of thePotala must reckon with.

The comic element which had been to'me the breath of life,even in the midst of die most trying circumstances, did notdesert me at the gates of the Potala. The story of my visit tothe Thibetan Vatican may well be worth the telling.

As the future was uncertain and my incognito precarious,prudence advised me to hurry , ^ pth my sight-seeing tour,and to begin with the most t||^tant places of interest I

, * . '261.

therefore decided that, before anything else, I would visit thePotala.

As I was on my way with Yongden, I thought it wouldbe safer for me either to join some' pilgrims or somehow tomanager to enter the Palace with a group of people. Theunquestionable authenticity of real Thibetan companions wouldsave me from suspicion. Unfortunately, we did not meet anydokpas or other border folk, and I was already resigned toproceeding with Yongden alone when I noticed two men, cladin the plain white dress of coarse serge worn by countryfolk,strolling at a little distance from the first gate.

“Let us take those men with us,” I said to Yongden.

“How could we ask them such a thing?” he replied. “Per-haps they do not wish to go to the Potala.”

“Let us try,” I continued. “They look just the dear, good,stupid fellows we need.”

In a few words I instructed Yongden in the part he wasto play.

At that moment a group of workmen came along, carryinghuge trunks of trees. People threw themselves hurriedly asideto get out of their way, and Yongden took the opportunity togive one of the peasants a push in the back.

"Atsi!” he exclaimed, politely. “I did not see you.”

“No harm. Lama,” answered the man.

“Where are you from?” enquired my companion, in thepatronising tone of a full-fledged denizen of the capital speak-ing to countryfolk.

They gave the name of their village and informed us thatthey had come to Lhasa to sell barley. They had finishedtheir business and now thought only of enjoying themselves alitde in the big city, before leaving on the morrow.

“You are going to meet^ the Potala,” said Yongden, as ifquite sure of what he was saying.

The men confessed they did not intend to do so, as they had“met” it on several occasions already. Then Yongden, speakingwith the authority of one of the monks of the Potala, told them

* This is a respectful way of speaking of a visit to a holy place.

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of the religious merit that such a visit produced and said thatthe New Year was ‘the proper time to perform meritoriousdeeds. Rather than loitering in the streets, drinking spirits inthe public houses, they ought to pay reverence to the Potalashrines. Assuming an air of" profound compassion and kind-ness, he added that, as they had been brought together, hewas willing to lead them around the shrines and tell them thenames and stories of the deities. This was, of course, a won-derful opportunity. The faces of the two simpletons werebeaming and they followed the lama, rejoicing and thankful.Like all Thibetans, they were very religious-minded.

Behind them, full of confidence, I climbed the long flightof steps and reached an upper gate. The three men walkedin first, strong in the superiority of their sex. I was about tofollow humbly, when a boy, ten or twelve years old, a novicelama, short and fat, with a red face, flat nose, and large ears,looking like a gnome In a clerical robe twice too large for him,stopped me. He was acting as doorkeeper, and he ordered merudely to take off my fur-lined bonnet, such headgear not beingallowed inside the Potala.

What a calamity! I had forgotten that these bonnets werenot allowed there. I had worn mine a long time, in fact eversince it had been sent, by some friends from an invisible world,to provide me with a most useful piece of disguise. It screenedmy face and I felt protected against detection when I had iton my head. What now?

My hair had resumed its natural brown shade. The Chineseink I used as a dye had worn away before I reached Lhasa,and in my present dwelling, with the cracks in its doors, andwalls, through which my neighbours could peep at any time, Ihad not dared to darken it afresh. It no longer matched thebraids of jet black yak hair that I wore, and the latter hadgradually lost a large part of their substance, until they hadbecome as thin as rats* tails. They were all right, however,with the bonnet on. They shadowed my forehead enough toreproduce vaguely the hairdress of some dokpa tribes. But nowthat I had to obey that horrid little toad and take my bonnet

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off, I knew that I should look funnier than any clown in anycircus in the world.

However, escape was impossible. I had my bonnet undermy dress, as I was ordered to dp, "and rejoined my companions.Yongden had lingered a little, waiting-for me. At the firstglance, stricken with terror, he opened his mouth wide andhardly suppressed an exclamation.

“What have you done?” he said, in dismay. “Who tookyour bonnet away?”

“I am not allowed to proceed wth it on,” I answered hur-riedly.

“You look like a demon,” he continued, trembling. “I neversaw such a face in my life! Everybody will stare at you. . . .”

A little more, and I should have cried. However, I derivedsome comfort from the complete indifference of the two vil-lagers, who did not appear to notice anything wrong or peculiarin my appearance and listened eagerly to their guide, as herelated stories about gods, holy men and Dalai lamas of yore.Others joined them, commenting on the profound' learning ofthe kind lama. I followed with the crowd, jostling along thecorridors, in the steep staircases and narrow shrine doors, andnone of them looked at my extraordinary head. 1 was the onlyone to feel it, and I began to enjoy the fun myself. As forYongden, a little reassured now, he did not dare to look at metoo often, lest he should laugh aloud.

At last I reached the upper terrace, which is' occupied bythe Chinese pavilions, whose elegant and glittering roofs hadappeared to me the day I arrived from China, announcing thatthe goal was near.

After a few hours I went down, and only then a pilgrimseemed to realise that there was something unusual in myappearance. I heard him saying to his friends: “Where do youthink she came from?”

But he at once found the answer himself.

“She must be a Ladki,” ^ he concluded.

^ Ladak, a region in Western Thibet.

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So we went on, having reached the top of the dominatingPotala, and enjoyed* the beautiful sight of Lhasa, its templesand monasteries, lying at our feet like a white, red, and goldcarpet spread in the valley.,

The two countrymen were delighted. They thanked the goodlama profusely, and offered him a few copper coins as a tokenof gratitude and reverence.

“All is well,” said Yongden as we went away. “I have pre-vented them from drinking and they have served us.” He putthe coins into the hand of a blind beggar, and thus some oneelse rejoiced also!

In spite of the splendour of the Potala, the present Dalailama does not seem to find much charm in it. He goes thereonly occasionally, at the time of certain festivals. His habitualresidence, Norbu ling,^ is situated outside of the town in alarge park which, owing to the lack of capable gardeners, isnot much more than a wooded tract of land cut by a fewavenues and paths.

A miniature zoo is one of the attractions of the place. Thisincludes a strange poultry yard where only cocks are admitted.The celibate birds number at least three hundred, and theabsence of any ladies of their species appears to have softenedtheir combative instincts. They peck their grain peacefullyside by side, and battles are rare. The animals live near oneof the gates opening on the high road and even wander onthe road in the hope of being fed by people as they pass.Pilgrims, and even inhabitants of Lhasa, go on purpose to throwgrain to them, for they belong to the Dalai lama, and suchoffering is considered to be meritorious 1'

Several houses reserved for the use of the Thibetan Lama-King are scattered in the grounds of the Norbu ling.

The rooms of one of them are furnished in different styles,or at least what Thibetans believe to be different styles. Oneroom they call the English room, another the Indian, another,again, the Chinese room, and, as on the flat roof of the building

* Norbu ling, the “Jewel Island” or the “Jewel Place or Quarter.”

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stand the gilded ornaments called gydtsen, emblemadc ofpowfer and victory, the courtiers of the Dalai lama repeat tosatiety before him: “All these various rooms, English, Chinese,Indian, and so on, are under the Thibetan roof whereon standthe Thibetan gyaltseuy and so Thibet is above all nations, andyou are the highest among all rulers ”

I have been told that this clerical King of Thibet smiles andtakes pleasure in these flatteries. One may well doubt histaking them seriously. He has been twice In exile, first in Chinaand then in India, and hence must have learned many thingsabout the world outside Thibet. But if the ruler Is perhapsaware of his true situation, it is not the same with the commonfolk, to whom most extraordinary stories are told about thegreatness of the Dalai lama and the position in which he standsbefore Great Britain. Very likely the court of Lhasa spreadsthese absurdities in order to increase the prestige of the Dalailama, with which its own is bound up. I will venture to relateone of these stories, as It is rather amusing.

At the time when the Dalai lama was in India, he happenedto be the guest of the Viceroy. Once, being seated with thelatter and many distinguished guests in a large drawing-roomhe stretched out his two arms. And behold! On each of hisupturned palms appeared one of the hills of Lhasa. On onehand one could see the Potala, on the other the great MedicalCollege of Chog bu ri (the tent-shaped hill). At the sight ofthis marvel the Englishmen were all awe struck. With theViceroy at their head, they all fell on their knees and boweddown at the feet of the Thibetan pontiff, begging his protection.The King of England was immediately informed of the miracle.He, of course, shared the feelings of his eminent subjects andentreated the Dalai lama to become the patron of his kingdom,and to grant him his help if he were ever attacked by ene-mies. The compassionate lama promised graciously to sendhim his army should the security of England become en-dangered.

Relying on stories of this kind and misunderstanding somefacts the details of which are beyond my present subject, most

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Thibetans are convinced that they have in some way becomesuzerains of Great Britain. Thus are explained to them thetemporary stays at Lhasa of a British political agent. Hecomes, they think, to ask r.espectfully the orders of the Dalailama, and to convey them to His British Majesty!

This is, of course, funny, but there is to fun of this kind aside fraught with danger for white residents all over Asia,which only those who have lived long in out-of-way regionsof the East are able to detect clearly.

In Lhasa, one does not see the quaint shops and bazaars thatoffer such an exciting hunting-ground to the collector in China.Nowadays, the most conspicuous articles in the Lhasa marketare aluminum wares. For the rest, the display Is exclusivelycomposed of inferior goods exported from India, England,Japan, or a few other European countries. I have never seenelsewhere uglier cotton cloth, more hideous crockery than thatwhich one finds on the stalls of the Lhasa merchants. Thetrade with China, formerly very prosperous, has been so greatlyhindered in favor of the goods Imported from India that ithardly exists any longer. The importation of tea and manu-factured silk still continues, but efforts are being made to driveChinese products entirely out of the Thibetan market.

Coming from China, where silver was plentiful, both in coinsand in bullion, a surprise awaited me at Lhasa. There Is nomore silver In central Thibet. The national money, the tranka,a small thin coin of very low standard, quantities of which werecirculating when I was at Shlgatze, has nearly disappeared, andthe few which remain can only be had at a premium. ^ As forthe ^‘silver shoes” of fifty taels, the tamigma,^ as the peopleof Lhasa call them, which were current money when the Chi-nese occupied the Thibetan capital, they have completely dis-appeared.

The Lhasa government has cast an ugly copper coinage .

^ Tamigma^ ^‘horseshoe shaped,” also called Ngagehuma^ **thc fifteenone,” which is current money in northwestern China.

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which is now in general use, in Lhasa and the neighbourhood,but at a distance of less than one hundred miles from thePotala it is no longer accepted, since it cannot be taken at itsface value in any transaction with people who have no businessat Lhasa. The Lhasa government has also issued some notes,but they remain an object of curiosity and the traders refusethem. There exists a place near Norbu ling where golden coinsare stamped, but they do not circulate.

I have enquired of many people concerning the cause of thisstrange disappearance of the silver from central Thibet, see-ing that it continues to be plentiful in Chinese Thibet. Theanswers I have gathered differ according to the social conditionand the special turn of mind of those to whom I put the ques-tion. Some only smiled when asked where the silver had gone.Others declared: ^^The government hoards it.” But a numberof more^outspoken fellows told me brutally: ^^Our governmentgives it to the philing masters of India (Englishmen) to payfor the old guns, no longer good for their own soldiers, whichthey sell us. We can fight badly armed Chinese with them, butthey would be of no use against a philing army.” The sameidea was several times expressed before me in a more originaland superstitious way. Before being dispatched to Lhasa, saidsome Thibetans, the guns sold to their country were deprivedof the power of harming the white foreigners or their servantsby the magic practice of the philing priests.

In the part of Kham conquered by the Lhasa troops, whenthe country people lament about the considerable rise of thetaxes, the Lhasa-appointed officials answer that their most kindprotector, the Dalai lama, is not responsible for these hardships,but that the philings tell him to collect money. Why he obeysthem, what he receives in exchange for his silver, and manyother things, are not of course explained to the simple-mindedones whose brains are not those of a logician. They only re-member and bear in mind that these hated *VhIte-eyed” (migkar^) foreigners are the cause of their ruin. Thus the hatred

^ Mig Kar: ^‘white cyes,**^ the blue or grey eyes are called **white” byThibetans, who deem them most unsightly.

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of the white men is sown, and cultivated in the remotest cornersof Asia, where it will, thrive and spread.

A very famous festival takes place each year at Lhasa on theevening of the full moon of the first month. Light woodenstructures of a large size are entirely covered with ornamentsand images of gods, men, and animals, all made of butter anddyed in different colours. These frail frameworks are calledtormas. About one hundred of them are erected along thepar kor—^that is to say, the streets that form the middle circleof religious circumambulation around the Jo khang,^ and infront of each one, a large number of butter lamps burn on asmall altar. That nocturnal feast is meant to entertain thegods, just as are certain concerts on the roofs of the temples.

The butter tormas festival at Lhasa is famous all overThibet, and even In Mongolia and China. It is no doubttruly glorious, yet, I think the feast is much more beautiful inits sumptuous surrounding at the great Kum Bum lamasery,where I have seen it several times during the years I lived inthat monastery. However, I very much enjoyed that part ofthe New Year merry-making at Lhasa.

As soon as darkness had come and the lamps were lighted,Yongden and I went to the Par Kor. A dense crowd was there,waiting for the Dalai lama, who was to go round to inspect thetormas. I had more than once seen big Thibetan gatherings,but I had gone through them with servants and other attend-ants who made a way for me. This was my first experienceof being part of the crowd myself.

Groups of sturdy giants, cowmen clad in sheepskin, holdingon to one another, ran for joy in the deepest of the throng.Their big fists belaboured the ribs of those whom bad luck hadplaced in their way. Policemen, armed with long sticks andwhips, growing more and more excited as the time of the Dalailama’s coming approached, used their weapons indiscriminately

^There are th'r^circles of devotional circumambulation: the nangkoe^inner circle near ^ the great temple of the Jowo^ the farkofy at somedistance from it} and the chikovy which includes the whole town of Lhasaas well as the Potala, in its circle.

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against anybody. In the midst of this tumult, trying our bestto guard ourselves against hustling and bbws, we spent somelively moments.

At last the arrival of the Lama-King was announced. Thenmore policemen appeared, followed by soldiers. The knock-ing, beating, boxing increased. Some worfien screamed, otherslaughed. Finally there remained along the walls of the housesthat confronted the tormas only a few rows of people, moretightly pressed against one another than tinned sardines. I wasamongst them. From time to time a man seated at a ground-floor window, whose view I was blocking, gave me a strongpush in the back, but it was of no use whatever. Even hadI wished it I could not have moved a single step. Finally heunderstood this, or my Insensibility disarmed him. Anyway, heceased from using unnecessary violence.

The whole Lhasa garrison was under arms. Infantry andcavalry marched past the dazzling butter edifices, lighted upby thousands of lamps. In a sedan chair covered with yellowbrocade, the Dalai lama passed in his turn, attended by thecommander-In-chlef of the Thibetan army and other high offi-cials. Soldiers marched In the rear. The band struck up anEnglish music-hall tune. Crackers were fired and meagre Ben-gal lights coloured the procession red and green for a fewminutes.

That was all. And the lamaist ruler had gone.

I For a long time after the regal cortege had passed, privateprocessions followed: people of rank surrounded by attendantsholding Chinese lanterns, high ecclesiastics with clerical fol-lowers, the representatives of the Nepal Maharaja, and manyothers; clergy, nobility, wealthy traders, and their womenfolkall dressed in their best, laughing—all more or less drunk andhappy. Their gaiety was contagious. Yongden and I wentwith the crowd, running, jostling, and pushing like everybodyelse, enjoying as youngsters might have done the fun of beingthere in Lhasa, feasting the New Year with the Thibetans.

• When at last the time came to go back to our hovel, wenoticed on pur way that the streets which ought to have been

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well lighted by the full moon were growing darker and darker.What did it mean?* We are teetotalers, and could not havethe same reason as most citizens on that night, for cloudedvision. We reached a sc^uare, and noticed a black shadow ina corner of the mooi). It wis the beginning of an eclipse, andsoon we heard a noise of drums made by the good people tofrighten away the dragon which was trying to swallow the noc-turnal luminary! The eclipse was total. I observed it duringthe night, and it was the most interesting one that I had everwitnessed.

“This is still better than the curtain of sand before thePotala, on the day of our arrival,” said Yongden, jocularly.“Now your gods are screening the moon so that we shall notbe seen too distinctly. I think you had better ask them tostop their kind protection of our incognito. They might putout the sun!”

Whatever may have been the protection with which I wasfavoured, the day came when the safety of my disguise wasagain endangered and I had to defend myself in my own way.

I was wandering in the market when a policeman stoppedand gazed at me intently. Why? Perhaps he only wonderedfrom what part of Thibet I might hail, but it was better to beprepared for the worst. A new battle was to be fought, andI began it, my heart beating rather quickly, but brave as usual.I chose, amongst the things for sale, an aluminum saucepan,and began to bargain for It with that ridiculous obstinacyshown by the people of the half-wild tribes of the borderland.I offered an absurd price and talked nonsense in a loud voice,hardly stopping to breathe. People around the booths beganto laugh and exchange jokes about me. The cowmen andwomen of the northern solitudes are a habitual subject ofmockery for the more civilized people of Lhasa.

“Ah!” said the merchant, laughing, and yet irritated by mycontinuous twaddle, “you are a true dokpa, there can W nodoubt of that!” And all present ridiculed the stupid womanwho knew nothing beside her cattle and the grass of the desert.The policeman passed on, amused like everybody else.

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I bought the saucepan, and, as I feared being followed, Icompelled myself to loiter about the market, playing a comedyof admiration and stupidity before the ugliest and cheapestgoods. Then my good luck caused.m'e to fall in with a groupof true dokpas. I began to talk With them in their own dia-lect. I had lived in their country some years ago. I spoke ofplaces and men known to them, and they were convinced thatI was born in a neighbouring tribe. I have no doubt that,with the quickness of imagination that is peculiar to them, theywould, next day, have sworn in all sincerity that they hadknown me for a long time.

A second incident happened a few days later. A kind ofspecial constable tried to extort money from me; but I man-aged the affair cleverly enough to give him nothing without dis-closing my identity.

Still another policeman hit me with his truncheon becauseI had trespassed in a place where “quality” only were admitted,and truly I had to make a great effort to prevent myself fromgiving a gratuity to that man, so delighted was I with the fun.“What a wonderful incognito is mine!” I confided to Yongden.“Now I am even beaten in the street!” And after that I feltcompletely secure.

Lhasa is divided into several quarters: Yu thog, Lubu, Ra-moche, Lhasahol, Tsemoling, Tengyailing, Tsecholing, Bana-jong, Parkor, Norbu ling. The city boasts of a bridge and anobelisk. The bridge is of Chinese shape, painted red and roofedwith green tiles. Its name, “Turquoise-roofed Bridge,” is de-rived from a noble Thibetan family whose dwelling is in thevicinity. An ancestor of that family having received from theChinese Emperor the distinction of the “turquoise knob” (inThibetan: Yu thog)y his descendants were, from that time,known as the Yu thog gentlemen, whence the name of thebridge, further justified by its blue-green roof (thog). Theobelisk is much shorter than that which one sees in the Placede la Concorde at Paris. Yet, even though it has no hiero-glyphics, it makes quite a respectable appearance. In front

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of it, on the highway, at the foot of the Potala, a tabletbearing Chinese and Thibetan writing is sheltered by a smallbuilding.

That highway, humble as may be its appearance, is one ofthe great arteries of .the world. Starting from India, it crossescentral Asia, enters Mongolia, and ends in Siberia—a longtrack which cuts through high ranges of mountains, but doesnot offer great difficulties to a good horseman. During thewinter, when the temperature allows one to carry provisions ofice for drinking purposes, travellers can follow the road nearlyin a straight line across a waterless region. In the summer,they follow the devious route, passing to the east of the BlueLake, the Koko Nor of which I have already spoken.

One day, perhaps not far distant, “Transasiatic Expresses”will carry there parties of tourists, seated in comfortable sleep-ing and salon cars, but then the charm of the journey will begreatly diminished. As for me, I am glad to have travelledfrom Ceylon to Mongolia before this happens.

The capital of Thibet is a town full of animation, inhabitedby jolly people whose greatest pleasure is to loiter and chatout-of-doors. Although the population is far from being con-siderable, the streets are crowded from sunrise to sunset, butit is not deemed prudent to go out after dusk. The citizenssay that the establishment of a national police and army havemuch increased the insecurity, for the official protectors of thepublic safety often turn robbers when darkness has come.

With the exception of a small part of the town, the streets ofLhasa are large, with broad squares at their points of intersec-tion,. and relatively clean. Unfortunately, there is no sanitaryaccommodation in many houses some empty plots of ground be-ing reserved for this purpose in different quarters of the town.

Several important monasteries are situated in Lhasa itself,amongst them the two famous colleges where tantrism, magic,ritual and occult sciences are taught.

The three great lamaseries whose fame attracts thousands ofpilgrims and where young lamas come to study from even thefarthest regions of Mongdia and Manchuria, are not in Lhasa,

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but in Its vicinity. Sera, already mentioned, stands about fourmiles behind the Potala; Depung is about siz miles away, onthe road to India; and Galden is hidden in a circle of moun-*tains twenty miles distant.

These three, even If they are the largest .and the most powers.ful, being state lamaseries, are not the only ones which Thi-betans hold in high esteen. Amongst others, one can name Tash-ilhumpo, the monastery of the Penchen rinpoche.^ It is locatedat Shigatze, in the Tsang province, and is considered to be thehighest seat of learning in all Thibet. Several days’ marchfrom it stands the old historical monastery of Sakya, wherelives the head of an important ‘‘Red Cap” sect. It contains anunique librafy of old Sanskrit and Thibetan manuscripts. Be-sides these, there exist many others, such as Lhabrang Tashikyilin Amdo, Kum-Bum in the same province, Zogchen in the soli-tudes of northeastern Thibet, and countless others.

Thibet is essentially a monastic country. While in the Westour Important buildings are generally schools, hospitals, fac-tories and other products of worldly activities, in .Thibet thegompas^ are the only edifices offered to the attention of thetraveller. Standing on the summits, silhouetted against theazure sky, or else concealed in the recesses of the mountains, allover the country, they symbolize a lofty ideal but one littlelunderstood nowadays even by their inmates.

The religious communities of Thibet form little states withinthe state, of which they are almost entirely independent. Allare possessed of lands and cattle. As a rule, they carry oncommerce of some kind. The larger gompas rule over a con-siderable territory peopled by tenants whose condition resem-bles that of the serfs of Europe in the Middle Ages. Theycultivate, for their own profit, the land belonging to the monas-teries and in return they pay each year a definite quantity ofcereals, forage, and so forth. The families who devote them-

* ‘‘Penchen rinpoche,” known to the foreigners as “Tashi lama,” is theequal and even the superior from the religious point of view of the Dalailama, but he has no temporal power.

* Gomfay monastery.

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selves to rearing cattle pay their debt in butter, cheese, wool,and dried cow dung for fuel, and the surplus produce of thedoks ^ also goes to them. All these serfs are obliged to under-take certain statute labours, such as the transport of the bag-gage of the kmas when they travel, and of the goods sent forsale to other regions by the managers of the monastery’s tem-poral affairs, also the repair of the monastic buildings and vari-ous other menial offices. They are also forbidden to leave thecountry without obtaining permission, but this is rarely refusedto anyone who wishes to absent himself for the purpose of trad-ing, studying, making a pilgrimage, or any other good reason.

However restricted the liberty of these tenants may be, theirsituarion is infinitely preferable to that of their compatriotsestablished upon the domain of some great lay lord, and espe-cially of those who are direedy dependent upon the centralgovernment. It is rare for the heads of the monasteries to behard upon their subjects, and, in return for the tax they pay,the peasants are really and effectively protected by the highreligious dignitaries upon whom they depend. They also escapeofficial civil jurisdiction. The misdemeanours and even crimesthey may commit are judged by dignitaries of the gompa towhich they belong.

Latterly, the Lhasa government, although ecclesiastical incharacter, is seeking to encroach upon the privileges of the mon-asteries, and especially to reduce their rights of jurisdiction, afact which arouses vehement protestations, not only from thelamas, but from those under their rule.

The inhabitants of the gompas do not live in communities,although a kind of community of wealth exists among them bytdrtue of the fact that each receives a share of the incomeof the monastery. Part of these shares are delivered in kind-corn, butter, tea, etc. They differ considerably in importance,first of all, according to the wealth of the monasteries, andthen according to the hierarchical standing of each monk. The

^ Places where cattle are raised in the solitary pasture lands. Literally,iok means solitude, desert.

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

monks have yet other sources of revenue: a portion of the giftsgiven to their gompa, the performance of‘religious ceremonies,the presents offered by the relatives of the young men theyinstruct, etc. Lack of space makes -it impossible for me to men-tion all of them in detail.

In spite of all the criticism that may justly be directedagainst the gompas, they afford an excellent retreat for thestudent, the thinker, and anyone else who desires an intellectualor spiritual life. Almost entirely free from material cares, thehumblest lama may give himself up to a leisurely study of thereligious and philosophical literature of his country, and if hesucceeds in learning Chinese or Sanskrit and thus extending thefield of his researches, he is greatly admired by his colleagues.

It is very true that many lamas do not seem to possess anyof the qualities which a reli^ous vocation demands, but theway in which they have been brought into the monasteriesoften affords sufficient excuse. Every Thibetan family esteemsit an honour for one or more of its sons to adopt the religioushabit; and, to this end, the boys destined to the priestly stateare taken to the gompa at the age of eight or nine, and handedover to a master charged with their education.

Life vows do not exist among the Buddhists, who believe inthe fundamental impermanence of all things, and these childrenmay, therefore, return later on to the world and live as laymenwithout incurring the disesteem of their compatriots. Some ofthem do so; but many, not feeling sufiiciently courageous toapprentice themselves to any other career, maintain the habitof the Order without respecting it as they should. As a rule,these drones of lamaism, somewhat lazy and gossiping, a trifletoo gluttonous and especially too greedy of gain, are charitableand hospitable folks in spite of their faults. We may add totheir credit, moreover, that however feeble their morals orlimited their intelligence, they do maintain a reverence forlearning and saintliness, being always ready to venerate thoseof their companions who rise above them by virtue of erudi-tion or loftiness of character.

A large monastery in Thibet is a veritable town, the popula-276

tion 'of which sometimes amounts to as many as ten thousandpersons. It is composed of a network of streets and alleys,squares and gardens. Temples in larger or smaller numbers,the assembly halls of the different colleges, and the palacesof the dignitaries rise above the common dwellings, their gildedroofs and terraces surmounted by banners and divers orna-ments. In the gompa every lama lives by himself in a houseof which he is sole proprietor, whether he has had it built athis own cost or bought or inherited it. This dwelling may bebequeathed by the lama to one of his pupils or to a relative,but the legatee must himself belong to the religious Order.No layman is allowed to possess a house in a monastery.

Certain high monastic palaces are veritable museums, fullof artistic treasures. In them have been accumulated g^ftsreceived by a long line of Grand Lamas, or precious thingsacquired by themselves, over a period of several centuries.Enamel, lacquer, rare porcelain, marvellous embroideries, andthe paintings of Chinese or Thibetan artists are to be seenthere. To find such manors isolated in the midst of the vaststeppes, or hidden in immense virgin forests, seems like a fairytale. But is not everything a fairy tale in this extraordinarycountry, even to the name it gives itself, that of Khang Yul,“the land of snows”?

I have had the privilege, unique in these days, of living inseveral monasteries. After what I have said of them, andof their separate houses, one can understand how it was pos-sible for a woman to live there. Nevertheless, there is a ruleagainst such admission, and only very special reasons—^myage, the studies I was pursuing, and, above all, powerful pro-tection—^procured me this privilege.

For more than two years I translated Thibetan books in thecelebrated monastery of Kum-Bum in Amdo, in the northeastof Thibet, beyond the great Desert of Grass. There, seated onmy balcony, on certain evenings, I could hear the lamas*orchestra playing on the roof terrace of the great assemblyhall. The concert was being given to the gods. It was they,the Invisible Ones, whom it was\desired to charm, attract,

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cause for a moment to rest, and smile among their youngerbrothers, the humans! What was asked of them? Nothing. . . nothing but to take pleasure in the music of our world.This was charming in its infantile-poetry, and what miscreantwould have dared to doubt that the light-footed goddesses didnot brush over our dwellings, hastening toward the sweet strainsthat called them.

Meanwhile, in the vast edifice scarcely lighted by the lampsplaced before the magnificent tombs and gilded statues ofdefunct lamas, the monks were seated motionless, attired indark-crimson togas. They were chanting in deep tones solemnsentences of mystic import or transcendental philosophy, whichraised the mind above captivating illusions.

Above them, the last notes of the bewitching melodies meltedaway, and soon the recitation of the sacred writings itself cameto an end. A rapid gesture, symbolising the void, brought thevesper service to Its close, and each lama returned to hisown abode.

However great the charms of the studious life I led atKum-Dum, and of the romantic surroundings In which I dwelt,they could not efface or lessen the impression made upon meby certain simple gompas, offering none of the splendours of thewealthy monastic city of Amdo. One of these was perchedlike an aerie, upon a mountain spur surrounded by forests.The villages, planted in the depths of the valleys, remainedinvisible from the monastery, and all around it was silence andsolitude. There one could behold no princely palace, no tem-ple crammed with ancient treasures. Some whitewashed cabinsmade of branches and clay served as dwellings for the humblelamas of this rustic hermitage.

The configuration of the surrounding mountain rangesarrested the passage of the clouds, and forced them to turnaround the rocky summit which supported the gompa, form-ing a sea of white mist, with itS waves beating silently againstthe cells of the monks, wreathing the wooded slopes and cre-ating a thousand fanciful 1; ndscapes as they rolled by. Ter-rible hailstorms would oft^n break over the monastery, due,

said the countryfolk, to the malignity of the demons who soughtto disturb the peace of the saintly monks.

The site lent itself admirably to the fearful imaginings ofoccult forces, and of those,singular encounters with beings ofother worlds. According to old traditions, gods and devilshaunted the neighbouring forests, and for this reason gomp-chens ^ buried themselves in their depths, In pursuit of endsknown only to themselves. I had my hut there, a tiny dwellingunder the giant trees. The lamas built it for me, partly out ofrespect, but partly also, doubtless, from a spice of mischief,desiring to test my courage and see whether I dared to rivaltheir mystics by living there alone, in the company of thephantoms. One night a storm of unusual violence overthrewmy cell of branches and scattered its covering to the winds ofheaven. Knowing the superstitious credulity of my friends thelamas, I insisted that It should be put up again In the sameplace. If I had left it, they would have been sure to concludethat the incensed deities had driven away the stranger who hadbeen rash enough to establish herself in their district, and forme all chance of further study would have been lost.

The hut having been rebuilt, I had brought there a store ofprovisions to last a month, and expressly forbade anybody tovisit my quarters for that length of time. My days passedpeacefully, in company with the birds, which did not appearat all disturbed by my presence. Some roes came to look atme, and one day a big bear appeared, seemingly much sur-prised to find me there. Thus, in reading, musing, and cook-ing my sole daily repast, I awaited the end of my retreat.Spring was at hand. When the lamas came back to seek me,they found flowers growing around my dwelling, and I myselfwas flourishing. They thought I had overcome the dreadforces, and the respect they manifested for me was enormouslyenhanced. Later on, I lived in another more remote hermitageclose to the everlasting snows, and that time a prolonged stayof several years acquainted ma with the secrets and the blissof the Thibetan gompehens^ lifel

^ Ascetics given up to meditation.

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How many of these desert monasteries I could describe! Iam thinking of one of them, a nunnery, isolated in the midstof rocks and glaciers, access to which is possible only during,the four months from June to September.^ After this shortsummer, the barrier of snow is raised onCe more and the re-cluses are immured for the rest of the year. Yet the gompa,however far it may be from the bustle and activity of thevillage, fails to satisfy the exacting mysticism of Thibetanthinkers. Farther in the deserts, higher still on their giantpeaks, they seek caves and almost inaccessible shelters, wherethey may meditate and be ever alone, face to face with theInfinite and the Eternal.

The holiest temple of Thibet, which I went to see aftermy visit at the Potala, is called Jo Khang (the House of theLord). It was built to shelter an ancient image of SiddhartaGautama as a youth, before he became a Buddha. That imagewas made in India and is supposed to have been carried toChina about the first century b.c. The Chinese emperor, Thai-Jung T’aitsung, gave it as a dowry to his daughter when shemarried the Thibetan king, Srong Tsan Gampo. Amongst thecredulous Thibetans many legends circulate about the imageand its origin. Many say that it was self-created, and it isfirmly believed to have spoken on several occasions.

Beside the Jowo (Lord) altar in front of which burn thou-sands of lamps, there are, in the temple, a large number ofrooms that contain images of deities and of holy men.

A strange sight is the crowd of pilgrims perambulating silentlyin the dark, windowless edifice between these motionless per-sonages, many of which are life size. The yellowish light of thebutter lamps adds to the strangeness of the spectacle. Froma distance it is sometimes difficult to distinguish the livingbeings from the host of dummies^ who receive their homage.

* The path leading to the hermi^ge where I stayed was also blocludfrom the middle of December to ^pril. This is a common thing withanchorites^ dwellings in Thibet.

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Although the statues are of no artistic interest whatever, onereceives a deep impression from those many faces, immutablyserene, whose gaze seems fixed on some inward object andwhich tell of a mystic method that establishes the mind in aneverlasting calm.

I felt saddened at beholding the procession of worshippers,lost in superstition and exactly following the path that wascondemned by the very one whose memory they worship.‘‘Beings led by ignorance, who tramp for fathomless ages thesorrowful road to renewed births and deaths,” as the BuddhistScriptures say.

However, the many sacristans and sextons, who, wrapped intheir dark-red togas, are conspicuous everywhere in the temple,do not find any cause for sadness in the affluence of pilgrims.It is all profit to them, for they allow themselves a large sharein the offerings of the faithful. They can be seen watching thecrowd, ready to seize upon those who appear the richest orthe most devout, from whom the biggest gratuities may be ex-pected. As soon as the little group of pilgrims or the lonedevotee Is In their power, there is no end to the wondersthey are led to witness, the holy relics that are placed for asecond on their heads, the holy water that they are made todrink from various gold and silver pots, the stories that theymust hear. And invariably an offering is requested by the com-rades of the guide in charge of the various shrines.

I humbly confess that, as it could not have been my wealthyappearance which attracted these cunning fellows, it must havebeen my air of profound stupidity, for I was quickly providedwith several uncalled-for guides, who took me into the mostremote corners of the edifice, exhibiting a lot of articles ofpiety. I might have thought I was back in European Romewith its greedy sacristans.

I was again mistaken for a Ladaki. As I walked around ashrine, trying to avoid tastyig of holy water once more (I hadbeen sufficiently refreshed by previous draughts), I heard be-,hind me a compassionate voiedk

“Oh!” said some one, “give »oly water to that poor woman

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who has come from Ladak ... so far away. How great isher faith! ...”

This time it was not the desire for money, but kind feelings,which prompted the lamas. I saw y.oung and smiling facesaround me. A man took hold of xfiy arm and guided me tothe proper place, while others pushed away the pilgrims infront of us. I could now admire, close to, more gems, moregolden and silver ornaments. A jewelled pot was bent towardmy hands, which I extended in the orthodox fashion. ^Tetme drink and wet my head.” I thought, “This is my baptismas a Ladaki.”

I had a happy inspiration when I chose the beginning of theyear for my stay at Lhasa, for at any other time it would nothave been possible for me to see so many strange festivalsand interesting ceremonies. Mingling with the crowds of holi-day-makers, I saw cavalcades of gentlemen richly attired in thestyle of past ages: and cavalry and the infantry of the ancientkings, in their coats of mail, bearing shields and bucklers,recalling the Thibet of former days. There was a certainamount of horse-racing. It was disorderly, mad, joyous, andamusing, but not to be compared, from the point of view ofhorsemanship, with that of the dokpas in the Desert of Grass.

On several occasions I saw the man who Is recognised asthe most learned in all the country, and who occupies thethrone of Tsong-Khapa.^ Throughout the first month of theyear he preaches In the open air, under a canopy erected forthis purpose, close to the Jo-Khang. His audience is notrecruited from the crowd, as one might think from the fact thathe speaks outside the temple. The monks alone have the rightto sit crosslegged on the pavement at his feet, and those whohear the preaching have been chosen by their superiors. Theyare there by command. Woe to anyone who spoke tohis neighbour, and who did not maintain an absolutely motion-

^The founder of the Gpluk pa sect. Literally, the sect of those whohave “virtp.ous customs,” that knownfby the Westerners as “Yellow Cap”sect.

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less attitude. Woe also to the unfortunate layman whose re-ligious zeal led him hither to listen to the discourses of theSupreme Master. The clerics acting as police officers for the• assembly would soon lash him roughly with the long bundleof ropes they flourish contipually In a martial fashion.

The great philosopher of Thibet is a spare old man with athin, angular countenance and the appearance of an aristo-cratic and haughty ascetic. He walks with short, quick stepsbeneath the yellow-brocaded umbrella of honour which a friarholds over him, as if he were anxious to have done quicklywith an annoying duty. The expression stamped on his intelli-gent face is that of the suppressed boredom of one to whomcrowds and public ceremonies are distasteful.

Seated upon his throne, he does not preach In the way weunderstand the word in the West. He speaks without gestures,without raising his voice, with an air of detachment, such asthe theories he Is explaining demand. The striking contrastafforded by the doctrines expounded by the doctor, togetherwith his refined appearance, and the ignorant, listless crowd,watched by the brutal clerical policemen surrounding him, arewell calculated to surprise a stranger. As to Ser ti rimpoche^being born, brought up and having grown old in such an en-vironment, he probably does not notice it.

The first penetration of Western civilization into Lhasa maybe traced in the uniforms of the khaki-clad soldiers. I reallyenjoyed seeing them, headed by a band which played Englishtunes not too badly, marching with a swaggering step out oftime with the music. They are armed, as has been said before,with old English rifles that are still up-to-date in most partsof central Asia, and even possess a few pieces of mountainartillery that are carried by mules. They are immensely proudof the latter and air these short, fat, toad-like weapons in andout of season. ^One of them burst, killing several men, but the

‘ Ser ti rimfochey “the precio^ golden throne,” is the familiar appella-tion which the people of Lhasa give this high lamaist dignitary. His.real title is Golden Tipa, “he occupies the throne of Galden.”

That is to say, the throne of Tson^ Khapa, founder of the Galden mon-astery. ^

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accident did not lessen the admiration that the Lhasapas havefor those which remain. In that blessed country, occurrencesof that kind are even sometimes believed to be auspicious. Inthis connection, I can relate an incident which happened dur-ing my stay at Lhasa.

It is the custom, during the first month of the year, to makemos and to look in many ways for omens regarding the pros-perity or ill luck that is to come to the state and especially tothe person of the Dalai lama.

One of the omens is obtained in a rather strange way. Threetents are erected, and in each of them an animal is shut—acock, a goat, and a hare. These beasts have, hung aroundtheir necks, charms which have been blessed by the Dalai lama.A number of men must fire at the tents, and if any of the ani-mals are wounded or killed it means that calamities are await-ing Thibet and its ruler. If this happens, the monks of thethree great monasteries, Sera, Galden, and Depung, mustassemble and read the sacred Scriptures for twenty days andperform several ceremonies to counteract the ill will of thedeities.

The year I was at Lhasa about twenty-five shots were firedat the tents, instead of fifteen, which is the usual number.English, Chinese, and Thibetan rifles were used. One of thelast burst, and the man who fired it was severely woundedand died the next day. The fact that no tent had been hit,even after that prolonged test, was considered as most auspi-cious, and the accident that caused the death of the man addedgreatly to the confidence of the Thibetans regarding the wel-fare of the Lama-King! The unfortunate commoner, theythought, had been taken by some angry demon as a substitutefor the most precious existence of the ruler.

During the many years I had spent among Thibetans Ihad exceptional opportunities of seeing at first hand thelife of the different classes of people; but never before hadI penetrated so deeply into thtf intimacy of the common folkas I did during my stay in Lhasa. The hovel in which I had

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found shelter was the centre of a small caravanserai wherethe strangest speciipens of humanity were to be met. Thewealthiest guests only slept under a roof, the others remain-ing in the open. Every.act, even every thought, was public.I really lived in a novel whose plot was slum life, but whatamusing and exotic" slums! They had nothing of the lugu-brious physical and mental aspect of those of the West. Allwere dirty and ragged, food was coarse and often scarce,but everybody enjoyed the great luminous blue sky, and thebright life-giving sun, and waves of joy swept through theminds of these unlucky ones devoid of worldly wealth. No onepracticed any trade or craft. They lived, as birds do, on whatthey could pick up daily.

Apart from the acute lack of any comfort, I did not sufferamong my strange neighbours. They never suspected who Iwas, and they treated me with simplicity and kindness as oneof themselves.

Some had known better days. One was the youngest son ofa man who possessed a little wealth. He had married a well-to-do widow much older than himself, and might have pros-pered, but idleness, drinking, and gambling had ruined him.When his wife had become aged he had taken a mistress, andafter a time the legitimate spouse, who realised that she wouldend in poverty if she kept her unworthy husband, managedto get rid of him in a rather clever way. She called togetherhis and her relatives, and declared her intention of retiring byherself to consecrate her last years to devotion. Her husband,she said, was in love with his mistress; she did not object totheir marriage (polygamy as well as polyandry is legal inThibet), but they would have to leave her house, to assumeall debts that the man had made, and to agree that she wasfree from any obligation toward her husband. In fact, it wasdivorce. The man consented, a deed of marriage was drafted,and he went with his new wifp.

The life of the former lovers was far from being smoothwhen I happened to make theiA acquaintance. The husbandwas a good-hearted, weak fellow- but an inveterate drunkard,

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who was generally unconscious soon after noon, and so re-mained until the next morning. The wife, more than once,kept him company. Nevertheless, she was the more active ofthe pair and of a cleverer turn of mind. Indeed, her clever-^ness was the subject of tremendous quarrels. The husbandasserted that during his prolonged sleep the woman stole hisremaining properties—household utensils, blankets, etc. . . .The wife complained that her consort had sold her jewels andgambled with the product. When she raised her voice to apitch high enough to arouse the drunkard from his stupor—and that feat required strong lungs—a picturesque dialogue fol-lowed. Often the man took a heavy stick that he had alwaysat hand, being somewhat crippled by gout, and the lady thenreceived a first-rate bastinado that left her weeping and bruisedbefore anyone had time to come to her help. The room wasvery small, with only one door on the outside, and the cunninghusband, who was a very stout man, always managed to blockit with his fat body, a position from which he could reach hisold sweetheart with his long stick in whichever corner she ran.

The miserable house was divided in three. The entranceroom was occupied by the quarrelling couple I hatve just men-tioned. I had a narrow cell at one side of it, and a dark roomat the back sheltered another most remarkable pair.

They also had lived golden days. The housewife’s mannerswere those of a woman of good family. Her husband, whoowned some property at the time of their marriage, had beenappointed an officer in the Thibetan army during the war withChina. Then, as had been the case with his neighbour, gam-bling and drinking had ruined him.

Complete poverty did not, however, abate his pride. Hewas a very tall, rather handsome man, full of contempt forwork, and he assumed the dignified mien of a knight bearingundeserved misfortune. Everybody addressed him with a Thi-betan title somewhat corresponjiing to our ‘‘captain.” Toaccept a humble job seemed repugnant to the aristocratic feel-ings of the “Captain,” and sfe the government did not offerhim a ministerial seat, he nobly took to the independent profes-

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sion of begging. Each morning, after drinking his tea, myneighbour went out, .a courier bag slung over his shoulder anda wallet thrown on it the way the hidalgos of yore carried theircape. Staff in hand, he .walked, head erect, too conscious ofhis superiority even to condescend to be arrogant.

The “Captain” did not come back home before sunset. Helunched somewhere, taking nobody into his confidence as tothe invitations he received. He was witty enough to be pleas-ant, and enjoyed a kind of celebrity all over Lhasa. People,amused by his manners, gave him what he requested casually,as if the aim of his daily outing was only to call as one gen-tleman on other gentlemen. He succeeded with that method,and his wife and his two children were regularly fed with thecontents of the bags he brought back duly filled each evening.

The trouble in the drunkard’s home grew worse when aturquoise ornament belonging to the housewife disappeared.At first the nemo accused her husband. But innocence pre-vailed, and the culprit was discovered in the person of the maid-servant—for the lady of the small entrance room had a maid!Now a strange question was raised. The girl pretended shewas entitled to an indemnity for having been called a thief.That term of abuse, she said, did not apply to her, because shehad not stolen the jewel; she had found it lying on the groundin the room and had picked it up. Men acting as arbiters, aspleaders, as counsels and witnesses, soon filled the house. Someof them had never seen the turquoise locket or the girl, or heardanything connected with the case. They came early in themorning, ate, drank, and stayed late into the evening. Frommy small quarters I got the full fun of these strange pro-ceedings, and of the peculiar arguments which were put for-ward, especially at the end of the afternoon, when spirits hadinfused original ideas into the brains of the assembly.

Once, when the discussion had been specially heated, the girland her former lady began tq exchange abuse, and then flewat each other. The men present got up to separate them—arather hard task, for the infuriated females turned their nailsagainst those who dared to meddle in their duel. Anyhow,

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they succeeded In pushing the maid out of the house, and, toprevent her from coming back, followed her to the street dooracross the courtyard.

One of those inexplicable thoughts that take possession ofdrunkards suddenly made the master of the house fix theresponsibility of the incident upon his wife. He declared thatshe had brought shame on him before his guests, and he tried toplay his usual trick of standing in the doorway and beatingher. But this time, excited by her previous struggle, she flungherself at him and tore his long earring^ from his ear, whichbled. He retaliated by knocking her on the head, and sheshrieked loudly. The “Captain’s^’ wife ran out of the room tointervene between them. She had not taken two steps onthis lilliputian battlefield when she received on the cheek astroke that was not meant for her, and fell on a bench, callingfor help. Yongden being away, I thought it was my duty toprevent the man from seriously hurting his wife, so I walkedin with the intention of sheltering the now terrified woman inmy room. But people were coming, and escape became pos-sible. “Run away quickly,” I urged the woman, protectingher retreat. She passed behind me and I never saw her again.

When the “Captain” came home that evening he found hislady with a swollen cheek that had already begun to turnblack. To relate the scene that was then enacted with theflame of a brasero for footlights, exceeds my powers of descrip-tion. The “Captain” had all the manner of a gifted actor. Hedeclaimed half the night, in turn ferocious, clamoring forrevenge, then full of pathos, telling of the suffering of hisdame. Again, drawn up to his full height, his head nearlytouching the low roof, he would speak of the insult done tohis honour. The man to whom that rhetoric was addressed layon a broken couch, more than half unconscious, and the “Cap-tain,” who was himself far from being sober, ended his soliloquyby denouncing the degrading habjt of drink.

Next day the “Captain” took Yongden aside and declared

* Thibetan men, who can afford it, wear a more or less costly carringin the left ear and a small knob in the right one.

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his intention of calling me as witness in a suit he meant tobring to obtain damages for his wife’s bruised cheek. Theyoung lama tried to persuade him to give up his idea, andoffered him a little present, * fie took the money, but remainedobstinate. His wron^ was to be avenged, and I ought to help!

When Yongden reported this conversation to me I felt veryannoyed. I would have to appear before several people eagerto hear about the journey of pilgrims who, like us, had visiteda large number of holy places. This would mean long talks,and Yongden and I would of course be questioned about ournative land. It might turn out badly for our disguises.

We were drinking tea silently, wondering how we couldavoid these dangerous meetings, when the door opened. InThibet, especially among common folk, one does not knock atthe door or ask any permission to enter a room or a house.A man stepped in. After the usual polite greetings, he toldus that my neighbour, whom I had helped to escape the daybefore, intended to divorce her husband and wished me toappear as a witness to testify to her husband’s brutality. Asin the previous case, I endeavoured to induce the man toallow me to remain neutral, for both husband and wife hadbeen obliging, and I did not want to say anything againsteither of them. But persuasion was useless, and he retiredsaying that he would Insist upon my evidence being heard.

We thus decided to leave Lhasa for a week, ostensibly forthe sake of visiting the great monastery of Galden, where re-poses the massive gold and silver be-jewelled tomb of TsongKhapa, the founder of the '‘Yellow Hat” sect, and many otherinteresting sights. That journey was far from being uneventful.Among other incidents, Yongden, when wandering alonethrough the monastic city, met a man who had known us wellfor a long time. He of course enquired about me, and the lamatold him that I was still in China and that when his pilgrimagewas over he would go back to me. Our old acquaintance theninvited him to drink tea, but Ydngden declined, saying that hedid not feel very well and would call on another occasion. Hequickly rejoined me, and as, happily, we had finished visiting

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the various shrines and the country arouivi the monastery, wemade haste to leave the place.

At Lhasa much tea and spirits hacl been drunk, but the tw©cases were still pending. A new period of festivities was soonto begin, and the judges had postponed' the case until afterthese were over. This completely dispelled my fear, for I haddecided to leave the day after the great Ser Pang pageant.

But I had not yet finished with the comedies and dramasenacted by my curious neighbours. One night I was awakenedby one of the open-air lodgers of the courtyard, an old womanwho asked help for her daughter, who seemed to be about todie. Yongden and I and the ^‘Captain” and his wife ranhastily outside. We found the girl seated; she appeared tobreathe with difficulty and uttered strange sounds a little likethe noise of an engine letting off steam. “I understand now,”the mother told us. ^The god rides her.” ^

The girl was a pamo. I had seen a number of these peoplein trances, including this young woman herself a few weeksbefore, but that night she looked particularly Excited. Hermother and sister hastened to fasten on her the symbolic orna-ments of the pamo, amongst others the hat called rigs nga—because it bears five (nga) pictures of Dhyani Buddhas, each ofthem, according to lamaism, the spiritual father of a lineage{rigs).

She began to shake her head and to dance. Her chanting,which had at first been no more than a murmur, becamelouder and louder until she shrieked. Two dogs were tied upin the courtyard. The good beasts did not appreciate thisnocturnal performance, which no doubt troubled their sleep.They began to bark, to howl, and finally, one of them succeededin breaking his chain and jumping toward the pamo. Several ofthose present, who, like myself, occasionally fed the animal,went after it, pushing the pamo out of its reach. Like manymastiffs, this one was very nfild with the people he knew, sowe held him without great difficulty, and tied him up again. The^Thibetan expression denoting a medium in a trance.

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moon was shining brightly now, and Yongden noticed that thedog had carried soiAething away in its mouth. On lookingcloser, he saw that it was the rigs nga, the pamo headgear, thathad fallen down in the scfamble. The dog kept it between itspaws, after the fashion of its race when they begin to renda piece of cloth.

The pamo had stopped her dance. She stood stiff andmotionless as a statue. Her mother asked her if she had beenhurt, but the girl seemed unconscious and did not answer.Then the old woman noticed that the rigs nga was no more onthe pamo^s head.

^Where is my daughter’s rigs nga?^^ she lamented immedi-ately. * Where has it fallen? Oh, what a bad omen!”

*^The dog has it,” I said. ^^Do not be so sorry; it was anold one. The lama, my son, knows a kind trader in the town.He will beg a new one from him.”

I thought that, knowing I would give her another hat, theold beggar would feel consoled, but before I had even finishedspeaking she screamed loudly:

^‘Take it away from that dog. ... It is the god. . . . Thegod is in it. The dog will kill the god and my daughter will die!”

^‘Has the dog really got it?” enquired the ‘^Captain.”

“Yes,” answered Yongden.

“Then the pamo will die if he tears it,” declared the gentle-man mendicant, oracularly. It was not the time to reason withthese fools.

At the noise the old mother was making with her: “Thedog will kill the god, my daughter will die!” all the guests ofour caravanserai had awakened and gathered around us—apicturesque assemblage, moving in confusion under the roundand peaceful moon. None of them raised any doubt aboutthe perilous situation of the god and of his medium, but nonedared to affront the terrible black animal, the only sensible-looking creature amongst them, who regarded this unusualnocturnal agitation with the utipost astonishment and thusforgot to play with the rigs nga. The old woman was growinghysterical, her daughter remained lifeless as a dummy. ^

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MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

magic phurba is needed,” a dishevelled -orator said atlast, and he began to explain how it was to be used by a dulyinitiated lama, in order to overpower the demon who hadentered the dog and made him seize the rigs nga and devourthe vital principles of the god and of* bis medium, which nodoubt dwelt in the symbolic hat. .But no magic dague wasavailable. The “Captain” cut short the discourse.

“I will fetch my sword,” he announced, “and stab the animalfrom behind.”

I felt indignant that the stupid coward should murder thepoor innocent dog. I could not bear the thought of it.

“Let me do it,” I said. “I shall get -the rigs nga!” Turn-ing to Yongden, I ordered: “Make quickly a big ball of tsampa”

He ran into the house and I went to the dog. It was a littlerisky. These Thibetan watchdogs do not like even their mas-ters to take things away from them. Anyhow, the big ani-mal got up when I spoke to it, and while I patted its head Iquickly gave the witch’s crown a kick and sent it flying somedistance away. The mastiff did not notice it, or it did notcare. Its attention was attracted toward Yongden, who cameout with the ball of flour. “Eat that, my friend,” I said.“It will be more tasty and nourishing than a god.”

The afflicted mother immediately replaced the dirty hat uponthe head of her pamo, and the latter suddenly recovered fromher seeming insensibility and began to gyrate like a top. “Thegod has come back,” shouted the ragged listeners. Then theybegan to tell one another strange stories about cases of thesame kind that had ended badly for paams or pamos. Eachone had a miracle a wonder to relate but I had quite enoughof the affair and hurried back to my cell.

The day had come when the annual ceremony of driving the“scapegoat” out of the town was to take place. The Thibetanscapegoat, unlike that mentioned in the Bible, is not an animal,but a man conscious of the pari he is playing. It is supposedby the Thibetans that lamas expert in magic can divert to himthe causes which would deliver others into the hands of the evilspirits, bringing upon them poverty, illness, death, and misfor-

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tunes of all Jkinds. So each year a voluntary victim calledLus kong kyi gyalpo (the King of Impurity) charged withthe iniquities of the ruler and of his subjects is sent to sandySamye^ which is a Sahara'in.miniature. The lure of a consider-able profit always induces some poor fellows to risk the adven-ture. There may be a certain amount of skepticism in theirminds about the demons and the danger of becoming their prey;but more likely the Lus kong kyi gyalpos expect to be able tosecure for a large fee some lama—still cleverer than those whocharge him with the people’s sins—who will cleanse and pro-tect them. However, either on account of the atavistic credulitythat they are incapable of shaking off entirely, or for someother reason, these human ^^scapegoats’’ often die prematurely,suddenly or in mysterious circumstances, or are afflicted withstrange diseases. A former Lus kong kyi gyalpo died duringmy stay at Lhasa, the day before his successor was to bedriven away to Samye!

I did not fail to wander through the town during the weekthat preceded the sending away of the "scapegoat,” and watchhim collecting the tax to which he is lawfully entitled by thegovernment. He was dressed in a good Thibetan robe andwould not have been recognisable but for the tail of a blackyak which he held in his hand. He entered the shops andpassed through the market, requesting money or oflFerings inkind. If any one tried to escape at too little cost, Lus kongkyi gyalpo remonstrated briefly with him. Had he not obtainedwhat he wanted, he would have waved the yak tail above thehead of the miser or on the threshold of his house, a gesture ofmalediction producing the most terrible consequences. All weregiving liberally, it appeared, for I did not see Lus kong kyigyalpo flourish the enormous hairy yak tail. A discussion aroseon one occasion, and though I was too far away to hear thewords, I had no doubt about the subject. The future "scape-goat” grew impatient and half raised his hand holding thestrange weapon, but then several <nen intervened, and all endedsatisfactorily, for I heard them laughing.

Lus kong kyi gyalpo collects his tax at the doors of the

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wealthiest and highest in rank, as well as at thos/; of the poor.

The result is a veritable fortune for a mail of a low station in

{

life, as he always is. i

I wondered if he would visit my. hostelry; but he must havethought it really not worth his while to. trouble the beggarswho lived there for the few copper coins he might have gath-ered. Anyway, he did not appear. Fate caused us to meetonce in the street, and the strange personage extended hishand toward me. Out of fun, I wished to see him use theblack tail, so I said: “I am a pilgrim who has come from faraway. I have no money.” He only looked at me, sternlyreplying: ^‘Give.” “But I have nothing,” I replied. Then heslowly lifted his arm, as I had seen him do in the market, andI should certainly have enjoyed the sight of the waving ofthe yak tail over my head but for two well-dressed ladies whostopped him, saying, hastily: “We will give for her!” They puta few small coins into the hand of the man, who went his way.“Atsi! mother, you do not know,” the two kind women ex-plained. “Had he waved that tail over your head you wouldnever have seen your country again!”

On the day when Lus kong kyi gyedpo was to be drivenaway a dense crowd assembled along the road that the Dalailama would follow to go to the Jo Khang, where he was topreside over the ceremony in which the “scapegoat” would becharged with the impurities of the people. This year, accord-ing to his horoscope, was a critical period of his life. A sup-plementary protection had therefore been arranged. Perhapshe thought, in all humility, that the weight of his own errorswas sufficient for one man, and had consequently secured aprivate “scapegoat.” The official Lus kong kyi gyalpo was torun to Samye as usual, while his colleague would turn north-ward and reach the first pass on the Mongolian road.

Soon the representatives of the clerical police, armed withsaplings (readers must not think that my imperfect knowledgeof the English language mak^s me write that word for another;they were really young thin trees, about ten feet long), beganto maul the mob in order to clear the way for the kingly lama.

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The scene was similar to that which I had witnessed on theevening of the butter torma festival, but on a much larger scale.I cannot relate all the comical incidents of the chase—menwho dropped their belon’giogs, fleeing women who fell down,children dragged along in tears. Nevertheless, everybody wasmerry, even those who were hit and must have felt their bonesaching. '^People were penned like cattle in a large open placeand allowed to breathe a little under the strict watch of variouskinds of policemen armed with whips, enormous straps madeof strings of plaited leather, and the saplings already men-tioned.

At intervals, somebody ran along shouting orders. Thearrival of the Dalai lama was announced. All, women included,had to take their hats off, and those who delayed were soonacquainted with one or another of the lamaist policemen^sweapons. Thanks to my short stature, I escaped thumps andthrashings during the hours I stood there. When dangerthreatened, I always managed to find shelter among a groupof tall Thibetans who acted as a protecting roof over my head.

The Dalai lama passed at last, riding a beautiful black mule,and accompanied by a few ecclesiastical dignitaries, all like him-self dressed in religious robes—dark-red, yellow, and gold bro-cades, half covered by the dark-red toga. They wore Mongo-lian round hats of yellow brocade edged with fur. The Com-mander-in-chief rode before them, while some horse guards cladin khaki led the van and brought up the rear.

After Lus kong kyi gyalpo had gone through the ceremonyat the Jo Khang I saw him hurried out of the city. He wasclad in a coat of white goat fur, and wore one black yak tail asheadgear, holding another one in his hand. His face waspainted half white and half black. All along the way the crowdshouted and whistled.

More ceremonies were performed to bring back to the citythe yangku (wealth and prosperity) that might have escapedin the train of the impurities carried off by the ‘^scapegoat.”The sun had set before all was over.

A town whose inhabitants had been cleansed in such way and

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to which unlimited prosperity was promised, could not but bejoyful. So was Lhasa that evening. Everybody was outdoors,chatting, laughing and, especially]^ drinking. The most hideousbeggars, deaf and dumb, blind, eaV^n‘up by leprosy, rejoiced asheartily as the wealthiest and noblest citizens. I met acquaint-ances—I had made a few who did not suspect my origin—andwilly-nilly was hurried into a restaurant, where I had to rise tothe occasion by eating a great variety of Thibetan dishes. Imust confess that I did not find it in the least difficult to submitto that ordeal, since Thibetan cooking is not to be despised.

The day following saw me perched, one among many, onthe rocky spur of the Potala, to witness the great pageant calledSerpang.

Never did I see a more ori^nal, more wonderful spectacle.Several thousand men marched in file around the Potala. Theycarried hundreds of huge multicoloured silk flags, hundreds ofembroidered banners and state umbrellas. Dignitaries pro-ceeded slowly under canopies, surrounded by clerics holdingcensers. Sometimes the procession stopped, and then boysdanced. Couples composed of a man carrying a big drum onhis back and another who beat the instrument from behind,went through graceful evolutions.

Elephants, also, walked gravely, escorted by fantastic papermonsters of the Chinese variety, performing all kinds of antics.Then, again, there were warriors of yore, clad in coats of mail,and finally, followed by the priestly servants of their temples,came the local deities whom I had already seen the day before.

Several bands marched with the procession, some of themwith fifteen foot trumpets borne on the shoulders of severalmen. These huge musical instruments, sustaining the harmon-iously wailing Thibetan hautboys, {gyalings) produced asolemn impressive music which filled the whole valley withdeep sonorous voices. And when their vibrations had diedaway, Mongolian musicians ddighted our ears with sweetpastoral tunes played on flutes^ tinkling bells, and small drums*

The pageant moved in a fairy setting. Under the blue lumin-ous sky and the powerful sun of central Asia the intensified

MY JOURNEY TO LHASA

colours of the yellow and red procession, the variegated brighthues of the crowdV dresses, the distant hills shining white, andLhasa lying on the plain at the foot of the huge Potala capped'with glittering gold—all tllese seemed filled with light andready to burst into .flames. Unforgettable spectacle which alonerepaid me for my every fatigue and the myriad dangers that Ihad faced to behold it!

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CHAPTER ^VIII..

I LEFT Lhasa as quietly as I had entered, and no one sus-pected that a foreign woman had lived there for twomonths. I looked somewhat different from the beggar I waswhen I first entered the Forbidden City. I had promoted myselfto a more respectable station in the social hierarchy. I wasnow a lower-middle-class woman, the owner of two horses andaccompanied by a man servant whom Yongden had engaged atLhasa. Official enquiries about travellers going from the capi-tal to the frontiers are not very strict, so I could afford tomake myself a little more comfortable. I had also purchaseda quantity of books at Lhasa, and as the tour I was undertak-ing in the south of the country had, as its special object the huntfor old manuscripts to add to the excellent Thibetan libraryI had collected on my previous journeys and which was safelyhoused In China, horses were needed to carry the luggage.

As for myself, I had decided to continue to walk most of thetime, finding it—now that I had no longer a load to carry—amost enjoyable sport.

One sunny morning in spring I followed once more thewide street leading to the Potala, across gardens where treeswere now gay with the fresh pale green garb of new leaves.

I passed the gate of Norbu ling, smiling at the idea that theruler of Thibet, who lived there, little imagined that I hadbeen so near to him for so long a time. He knew me person-ally, since we had met more than once In the Himalayas. Hewas indeed largely responsible both for my present journey andthe previous ones, having pressed me to undertake a thoroughstudy of the Thibetan language vid literature. I had followedhis advice, and the growing jnterest in Thibet which I hadderived from my study had finally led me, after years of travel,to the Dalai lama’s own capital. Had 1 given my name, and

had he been free, he might have liked to see me again, buthis present Western suzerain does not allow him as much free-dom as his Chinese master'did. Whatever may be his own•inclinations, he is no more at liberty to welcome a foreignerwho is not sent to him,’ than he is to forbid his door to thosewho are recommended or delegated to him. So I went my way.

We crossed the river Kyi and ascended a small pass. ThereI looked back for a last vision of Lhasa. From that distancethe Potala alone could be seen—a tiny castle suspended, itseemed, in the air like a mirage. I remained for a while gazingat the graceful vision, remembering the toils and troublesthat my stay in Lhasa had cost me. I had had my reward.In a hearty Mdlam I wished spiritual enlightenment and mate-rial welfare to all beings visible or invisible who lived in theForbidden City that had been hospitable to me, and then,turning to the south, I began my descent. Lhasa had for-ever gone from my eyes and taken its place in my world ofmemories.

Quite near Lhasa, on the left bank of the Brahmaputra, onefinds a miniature Sahara whose extensive white dunes areinvading the whole country. One can observe there, though ona much smaller scale, a phenomenon like that witnessed inNorthern Kansu and in Chinese Turkestan, where the Gobi^has swallowed up immense territories occupied, centuries ago,by flourishing estates.

In spite of a ridge which stood In their way, the sands havetaken a firm footing in the Kyi Valley, and though still shallowon that side, their fine dust is beginning to accumulate alongthe hedges which border Norbu ling, the pleasure gardenof the Dalai lama. It may possibly be that in a few generationsLhasa will be reached. Who knows whether, in a still moredistant future, some savant, excavating the entirely submergedcity, may not discover the Pptala and the Jo Khang, just as

* Gobi, in Chinese—at least in the liialect spoken in Kansu and Turke- •Stan—means a desert, so that to say the ^desert of Gobi” is in fact a re-dundancy.

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we how lay bare the palaces and temples which the sands of thegreat Gobi have overwhelmed.

On our way we passed the monastery of Dorjee Thag, mostpicturesquely situated against a rocky cliff on the river shore,with a small village at its foot. Fa'rther off there were a fewmore villages whose fields are gradually disappearing beneaththe mounting sands.

That snowy-white desert region through which the Brahma-putra, like a huge azure snake, winds its way serenely, impartsto the Samye monastery a peculiar air of mystery. Traces ofmiraculous events are pointed out all over the country. A highisolated rock, standing strangely in the bed of the river, bearswitness to one of the most remarkable of these prodigies. Onceupon a time this giant had removed from India toward theheights of Thibet. What was the goal of its adventurousjourney? One cannot tell. Perhaps it felt Impressed by thecalm beauty of the wide Brahmaputra valley, its turquoise skyand its blue river, and, struck with admiration, its enormousbulk came to rest upon the sand. Since then, an unbrokentrance has held it there, alone in the desert, its feet bathed inthe stream. I envied it as I passed. Like it, why could not Iseat myself on the shore of the blue river, and remain there for-ever, wrapped in solitude, sunken in unshaken rapture? . . .

Samye is an historical site. In the eighth century afterChrist, the first Buddhist monastery of Thibet was built there.The legend tells that the demons, determined to prevent theerection of the building, pulled down each night the workdone by the masons during the day. The famous magicianPadmasambhava succeeded not only in conquering them, butin compelling them to become his obedient servants, and withtheir aid he built the monastery in a few nights!

The Samye monastery has long been the seat of powerfullamas; but since the establishment of the “Yellow Cap” sectand the superiority acquired by it over the “Red Cap,” in be-coming the official clergy of the state, Samye has lost its impor-tance and is now an abandoned place where can be foundhardly more than twenty trapas.

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A number of houses inside the large enclosure of the monas-tery are now inhabited by the lay tenants of the gompa andhave become small farms. Yet the few temples still remaining•in the deserted monastery are kept in good condition. Assuccessive fires have desti*0yed not only the original build-ings, but those which have replaced them, the present edificesare not of great interest. Yet one of them deserves specialmention, for it contains a most dreaded shrine and is the seatof one of the great official oracles of Thibet.

This shrine is called U Khang (House of the Vital Breath),because it is said that the breath of every being who dies onthe earth is carried in it. There, in an inner room sealed withthe seal of the Dalai lama, are placed a chopping-board and aknife of ritualistic shape. With these implements the devilseach night cut up invisible corpses and—so say the Thibetans—one can hear from outside the noises of the chopping mingledwith cries and laughter. The oracle of Samye alone is allowedto enter the shrine once a year to deposit a new chopping-board and knife. The old ones, which are removed, are thenseen to be worn out by the use that has been made of them.

That “breath” which can be chopped seems a somewhat ex-travagant Invention. It is but the popular gross interpretationof some esoteric beliefs and rites of the nagspa. Stories to makeone^s hair stand on end are told concerning the U Khang.Struggles of tortured “breath” against ferocious beings of an-other world, thrilling escapes of ghosts in search of the bodywhich has been theirs, racing with infuriated female devilsin pursuit of them! All the elements necessary to a first-ratenightmare may be gathered in the tales to which the U Khanghas given birth.

Years ago, when the Lama Choskyong^ entered the shrine,he was allowed to be accompanied by a few members of hisecclesiastical household, but a dramatic incident put an end tothat privilege. Once as he was on the point of leaving, the

'Choskyong (Sanskrit: Dharmapala) or “protector of the Religlon.^^ •Title of some deities in Mahayana and especially in Tankrit Buddhism, thatis given to human beings amongst lamaists.

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Changzdd^ who followed the lama felt as if somebody was tug-ging at his zen ^ from behind.

“Kusho! Kusho!” he exclaimed, addressing the Choskyong,‘^somebody is pulling my robe!”

Both men turned to look behihd them. The room wasempty! They then continued to proceed toward the door where,just as he was about to step out after the Choskyong, theChangzod fell dead!

Since then, the Lama alone enters the abode of the eatersof “breath,” as he only is believed capable of protecting him-self by the recitation of secret spells.

Outside the door of the shrine one can see a number ofleather bags which represent the invisible wrappings in whichthe “breaths” are carried to the U Khang, There exist, saythe people connected with the shrine, sorcerers who, while ina trance and unconscious of what they do, perform the peculiarfunction of seizing the “breaths” of the departed and bringingthem to Samye.

But I must cut short this account. The field of the occultseems boundless in Thibet. Occult lore may there be studiedat all stages and in all forms, from the most absurd, degraded,and repulsive, to those whose manifestations give cause forreflection and contravene all preconceived ideas.

Beginning with the ignorant quack who treats the villagerswith words and gestures, the meaning of which is as un-known to him as to his clients, we may, before we arrive atthe aristocracy of magic and witchcraft, make the acquaint-ance of many picturesque personages who roam about thecountry or remain rooted in retreats extremely difficult ofaccess.

Incidentally, in the course of the preceding chapters, I havementioned the mopas, who predict the future and discoverhidden things; the vagrant naljorpas who, aping the trueascetics of that name, pretend ^hat they can command thedeities and the demons; and t^e pazvos and their female col-

^ Changzod: Head steward.

” Zen: the monastic toga.

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leagues the pamos, a variety of mediums who deliver oracularpronouncements in trances. The smallest fry of these last grovelmiserably in the towns and villages, offering their services in'exchange for food, while the greatest among them are highlyhonoured, lordly beji;i^s,'livrng in sumptuous abodes and occupy-ing, under the title of Choskyong, high official positions.

There is also in Thibet a curious class, including persons ofboth sexes, but especially women, who are reputed to behereditary keepers of “poison.” What poison? Nobodyknows. No one has ever seen a trace of it, but this very mysteryadds to the terror it inspires. When the fatal times arrives, theone who is to administer it cannot escape the obligation. Indefault of a passerby who may afford him an opportunity, hemust pour it out for one of his friends or relatives. One hearswhispers of mothers who have poisoned their only sons, of hus-bands who have been obliged to hand tlie fatal cup to a dearlyloved bride the'^day of their marriage; and if there is no onewithin reach, the “keeper” must drink the deadly potionhimself.

I have seen a man who was said to be the hero of a strangepoison story. He was travelling, and on his way through avillage he entered a farm to obtain refreshment. The mistressof the house prepared him some beer by pouring hot waterupon fermented grain placed in a wooden pot, according to thecustom of the Himalayan Thibetans. She then went upstairs.When left alone the traveller remarked, with some astonish-ment, that the beer placed before him, in the wooden vessel,was boiling in great bubbles. Near by water was also boilingin a cauldron, but in a natural way. The man took a large ladleof this, and emptied it over the suspicious-looking beer. Atthat moment he heard a fall on the floor above his head. Thewoman who had served him had fallen down dead.

This “poison” is a source of great worry to travellers inThibet. There exist peculiar^wooden bowls, which, it is main-tained, are sensitive to the presence of poison in any beveragepoured into them, and for that reason they are sold at veryhigh prices.

Strange to say, in sejne households the family is convinced

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that the mother possesses “poison.” Where does, she hide it?Nobody tries to find out, for all are convinced that there is nocure for such a fatality. They look askance at, spy upon thegestures and words of the unhappy .woman, who in the end*often comes to believes that this “poison” 9f hers really exists.Even the death of the tormented person does not put an endto the danger. The “poison” seems inexhaustible. It is trans-mitted, and the legatee has no power to refuse it. Willy-nilly, he is obliged to become a poisoner in his turn. It mustbe understood, however that when they administer the “poi-son,” as well as when they bequeath it to a successor, these“keepers” are acting unconsciously, as the passive agents ofanother will. Nor do they remember their action afterward.

The tantfik rites, in the course of which the participants eata piece of the flesh of a corpse, and others still more extraor-dinary—^the art of prolonging life with all the energy ofyouth, by seizing upon the vitality of others; levitation andso forth—all these are practised, it is said, by small groupsprofessing esoteric principles.^

There is an order of nagspas whose members are reputed tobe experts in the science of killing, slowly or suddenly, from adistance. They are also said to be able to chase away evilspirits or to send them to attack some particular individual.

This gives rise to amusing comedies. A man who desires toharm another from jealousy or some other cause, sends for anagspa, begging him to dispatch a devil to worry his enemy.The magician casts hjs spell, but the peasant, merchant,or noble lord against whom the rite is performed maylearn what Is going on. Then he has recourse to anothernagspa, and the play begins. On his arrival the evil spirit findsan adversary whoni Ee cannot conquer, and returns in angerwhence he was summoned. His irritation makes him danger-ous, and it is essential that he should promptly satisfy his fero-cious instincts. For that reason is sent back again, and once

^ It is impossible to enter into the details of Thibetan mysticism andoccultism, a subject greatly exceeding the compass of the present book. Iintend to treat it separately, later on, giving the results of my special studies.

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more finds himself overpowered. This game of ball, at theexpense of the poor*devil, may be prolonged, his fury becomingprogressively stronger. Each of the nagspas, then, must look'out for his own safety, for.he who cannot master the invisiblespirit will become ks. victim! It is rare, however, for things totake a tragic turn in performances of this kind, as in other moreoccult affairs which sometimes bring madness and death tothose who attempt them.

Usually the peregrinations of the evil spirit only serve as apretext for each of the wizards and his assistants to sojourn Inthe house of his credulous client and feast at his expense.

Certain objects, having being used for magic rites, must not,according to the popular belief, be kept in the houses of thelaity or the non-initiate lamas, for fear that the beings whohave been subjugated by means of them may revenge them-selves upon their present owner, if he does not know the wayto overpower them. To this belief I owe the possession ofseveral interesting objects In my collection. People who re-ceived magic implements through inheritance have often en-treated me to take these too dangerous legacies from them.

One day a gift came to me in a manner queer enough to beworth relating. In the course of a journey I fell in with alittle caravan of lamas, and, conversing with them, as iscustomary on such travels, where encounters are rare, Ilearned that they were transporting a phurba (a magic dagger)which had become a cause of misfortune.

This ritualistic weapon had belonged to their head lama,recently deceased. It had begun its misdeeds in the monasteryitself. Of three monks who had touched it, two wete dead,and the third had broken his leg falling from his horse. Thehigh pole of one of the large benediction banners suddenly fell,and this was an ominous portent. Terrified, yet not daring todestroy the phurba, for fear of yet greater misfortune, theyhad deposited it in a box, whence, soon afterwards, lugubriousand threatening sounds were 4ieard to issue. Finally theyhad decided to lay the dread object in a lonely cavern dedicatedto some divinity. But the cowmen living in the district had

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opposed this. They recalled the story of a phurba, which(though when and where nobody knew)* had, under similarconditions, begun to wander through the air, wounding andkilling many men and beasts. , •

The unhappy bearers of the magic daggory which lay, wrappedup in papers with charms written upon them In a carefullysealed box, appeared very sad. Their discomfited countenancesforbade my rallying them, and I was, moreover, very anxiousto see the evil implement.

“Let me look at the phurba,I said. “I may be able to finda means of helping you.”

They dared not break the seals and let it free, lest Itescape; but finally, after a lengthy argument, they allowed meto take it out myself.

It was an ancient and very Interesting specimen. Only thegreat monasteries own phurbas of this kind. Envy was arousedin my breast; I wanted it badly, but I knew that nothing inthe world would induce the lamas to sell it. Lmust reflecta little and think out a way.

“Camp with us this evening,” I said to the travellers, “andleave the phurba with me; I will look after it.”

My words promised nothing, but the attraction of a goodsupper and a gossip with my people, who would distract themfrom their worries, decided them to accept.

When night fell I went some distance from the camp, openlycarrying away the dagger, the presence of which, out of itscase, while I was not amongst them, would have terrorizedthe credulous Thibetans. When I judged that I had gone farenough, I stuck the cause of the trouble upright in the groundand sat down on a blanket to think out how I could persuadethem to give It up to me.

I had been there for several hours when it seemed to me as .if the form of a lama arose near where I had fixed the magicdagger. I saw it advance, stooping cautiously. One handcame slowly forth from beneath the zen which enveloped him,and appeared in the indistinct light to grope for the phurba.With a single bound, quicker than the thief, I reached it and

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dragged it out of the ground. So I was not alone in desiringthe mischievous iniplementh Among my chance companionsthere was some one, less simple than the rest, who knew itsvalue and wanted to sell k secretly. He had believed me asleep.He thought I would percefve nothing, and next morning thedisappearance of the dagger would be attributed to some occultinfluence, and a new story would be the result. It was really apity that such a fine plan should not succeed. But I hadsecured the magic weapon, and held it so firmly in my closedhand that my excited nerves and the pressure of my flesh on therough surface of its worked copper handle gave me the impres-sion that it was moving slightly. And now for the thief?

All around me the immense tableland was empty. No doubtthe marauder had been able to effect his escape whilst I wasstooping to snatch the dagger from the earth.

I ran to the camp. It was quite simple. The one who wasmissing, or who came in after me, would be the thief. I foundthem all awake and chanting religious formulas to protect them-selves against the powers of evil. I called Yongden to mytent. “Which of them has been absent?^^ I asked him. “Noone,” he replied. “They are half dead with fright, and I hadto be angry* with them because they would not go far awayenough to perform certain acts!”

Strange indeed! I had been dim-sighted, deceived by anillusion. It was not common with me; but no matter, thisperhaps would serve my purpose.

“Listen,” I said to the men; “this is what has just happened.

. . ” And I told them frankly of the vision I had had, and mydoubts of their honesty.

“It is our Grand Lama. Undoubtedly it is our GrandLama!” they exclaimed. “He wanted to take back his daggerand perhaps he would have killed you if he had been ableto get it. Oh, Jetsunma, you are a true gomchenma, eventhough you are a philing. Our Tsawai Lama was a mightymagician, and yet he could not teke his phurba away from you.Keep it now, keep it. It will no longer harm anybody!”

They were all talking .at once, excited and terrified at the

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thpught diat thdr more dre|d^ tfe&s eve:r, since

he belonged to another irorlc^ Had passi^ so close tO them.Yet they were overjoyed at being rid of the enchanted daggen_

I shared their joy, but from another xause. The phurba wasmine. Nevertheless, honesty forbade my taking advantage oftheir emotion to appropriate it. “Reflect” I said to them;^‘perhaps a shadow was responsible for the vision. ... I mayhave been asleep and dreaming.”

They would not hear of this. The lama had appeared. Ihad seen him. He had not been able to take back Ym phurba,and, by my superior power, I became its rightful owner. ... Imust own that I allowed myself to be easily convinced.

After leaving Samye I crossed the Brahmaputra nearTsetang, where the valleys of the Yanlung open out. Thiscountry is famous for the number of its places of pilgrimage.As to its physical aspect, it is pleasant and fertile, with nothingof the majesty of the forest of the Po yut, the Land of Grass,or the bleak tablelands near the Himalayas. Its inhabitantstake agriculture much more to heart than do those of the otherprovinces of Thibet. Well-built houses are to be seen in largenumbers everywhere, and the people appear to be in a ratherflourishing situation.

The charm of the mild climate and the fertile ground of theYarlung valleys have been known for centuries, and the first:,kings of Thibet, long before Buddhism, under its lamaist dis^guise, spread through the country, had chosen it for their resi-, dence^

Like a conscientious pilgrim, I visited the celebratedsum. Ten sum, six places of religious interest^ amongst yrhit^ .is a Cave—^now'.enclosed in a monastery—^where Reschun^^a,one of the two foremost disciples of the great ascetic poe^Milarespa> lived for a time, practicing meditation. From th^,’I went to Tag chen Bumba, vjliere there is a large ,

built oyiet a smaller ohe. Two/:oncentric apertures, onechSrten, make it possible to see inside the smallerwhere, it is said, those whose minds are perfectly psire ;

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cern countless lighted lamps, whilst, for ordinary mortals, thereis but darkness. * s

I climbed the narrow staircase up to the opening and, gazinginto it, began to reflect .upon the symbol suggested by thatinner chorten, yielding and refusing its radiance. I thought andthought and, somewhat forgetting where I was, remainedlonger than the average visitor, my forehead against the stone,as I gazed into the building. This was noticed, and the sameevening, a trapa shyly asked me if I had seen many lamps!

Leaving Tag chen Bumba, I wandered in several directionsacross the country, in my hunt for books. Quite unexpectedcircumstances led me to discover, far out of the way, a lamawho had inherited a fine library, and who, like many of hiscolleagues, did not care at all for literature or philosophy. Isecured a good number of ancient and beautiful manuscriptsfrom him.

The time had now come for me to decide upon my departurefrom Thibet. I looked toward China, whence I had come. Ifelt very tempted to turn eastward, and reach Yunnan by a newroad. I could, had I so chosen, have left Thibet without any-body ever suspecting my arduous journey and my stay at Lhasa.But something made me feel that what I had done must beknown. I obeyed this instinct and took the road to Gyantze,the town of southern Thibet which has become a British outpost.

On my way I saw the strangely shaped Yamdok Lake inwhich there is a peninsula with a small separate lake. HereI found the famous Sanding monastery, the residence of thehigh lady lama, Dorjee Phagmo, It was in a rather dilapidatedcondition.

Dorjee Phagmo (the diamond or most excellent sow) isconsidered a manifestation, under a human form, of a deityof the Buddhist Tantrik pantheon borrowed from India at aperiod when Buddhism had already completely degenerated,and primitive doctrine hardly existed any longer. Many are thelegends about certain of the Sanding^s abbesses, who in times of“danger or in other peculiar circumstances show themselves inthe form of a sow.

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The reverend lady was hot at Sanding when I* was there.1 had seen her at Lhasa and she had not yet returned from thecapital.

I reached Gyantze at dusk and went straight to the bunga-low. The first gentleman who saw'me and4ieard a Thibetanwoman addressing him in English was dumfounded. Whenhe had recovered he explained to me that the bungalow’srooms were occupied and directed me to the fort, where theofficials and a small garrison of Indian troops are quartered.'My arrival there produced- the same effect. When I said thatI came from China, that for eight months 1 had wanderedacross unknown parts of Thibet, had spent two months atLhasa and enjoyed in the Forbidden City all the New Year’sfestivities, no one could find a word to answer me. In anyevent, the gentlemen at the fort welcomed me most kindly andshowed me the greatest hospitality, for which I shall everremain thankful.

I had still before me the long, dreadfully cold road acrossthe tablelands and blizzard-swept high passes, from Gyantzeto the Thibcto-Indian border. But the adventure Was ended,and alone in my room, I said to myself before closing my eyesin sleep:

“Lha gydo [The gods have won]!”

The first white woman had entered forbidden Lhasa andshown the way. May others follow and open -with loving heartsthe gates of the wonderland, “for the good, for the welfare ofmany,” as the Buddhist Scriptures say.

THE END

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