CONTENTS
| Chapter | Page | |
|---|---|---|
| [Preface] | [ix] | |
| [List of Illustrations] | [xxii] | |
| [I] | From London to Naini Tal | [1]-[3] |
| [II] | Loads—A set of useful pack-saddle cases—Provisions and scientific outfit—Clothes and shoes—Medicines—Under way—The first march—Servants—How I came to employ faithful Chanden Sing | [4]-[10] |
| [III] | Pithoragarh—Fakir women—A well-ventilated abode—Askote—The Rajiwar and his people | [11]-[16] |
| [IV] | The Raots—A slippery journey—Superstitious notions—Anger and jealousy—Friends—To the homes of the savages—Photography—Habitations | [17]-[26] |
| [V] | A pilgrim from Mansarowar Lake—The spirits of the mountains—A safeguard against them—Tibetan encampments—The Rajiwar—A waterfall—Watermills | [27]-[34] |
| [VI] | Highways and trade routes—The Darma route—The Dholi River—A rough track connecting two valleys—Glaciers—Three ranges and their peaks—Altitudes—Darma, Johar, and the Painkhanda Parganas—The highest peak in the British Empire—Natural boundaries | [35]-[40] |
| [VII] | The word Bhot and its meaning—Tibetan influence—Tibetan abuses—The ever-helpful Chanden Sing—The first Shoka village—Chanden Sing in disgrace—Weaving-loom—Fabrics—All's well that ends well | [41]-[45] |
| [VIII] | Prayers by wind-power—Photography under difficulties—A night of misery—Drying up—Two lady missionaries—Their valuable work—An interesting dinner party—An "eccentric" man's tea party | [46]-[52] |
| [IX] | Discouraging reports—A steep ascent—How I came to deserve the name of "monkey"—Hard at work—Promoted in rank—Collapse in a gale of wind—Time and labour lost | [53]-[56] |
| [X] | The Nerpani, or "waterless track"—Exaggerated accounts—A long shot—The rescue of two coolies—Picturesque Nature—An involuntary shower-bath—The Chai Pass | [57]-[62] |
| [XI] | A series of misfortunes—Tibetan atrocities on British subjects—Tibetan exactions—Revolting cruelty to one of her Majesty's subjects—Assault on a British officer—A smart British Envoy | [63]-[68] |
| [XII] | Tibetan threats—My birthday—Ravenous dogs—A big dinner—Shoka hospitality | [69]-[73] |
| [XIII] | Shoka hospitality—How I obtained much information—On a reconnoitring trip—A terrible slide | [74]-[80] |
| [XIV] | A palaver—To see is to believe—Dangers and perils on the snow and ice—Thar and Ghural—Stalking—A tiring climb to 16,000 feet—The collapse of a snow bridge | [81]-[85] |
| [XV] | An earthquake—Curious notions of the natives—A Shoka tailor and his ways—The arrival of silver cash—Two rocks in the Kali—Arrogance of a Tibetan spy | [86]-[91] |
| [XVI] | The Rambang—Shoka music—Love-songs—Doleful singing—Abrupt ending—Solos—Smoking—When marriage is contemplated—The Delang—Adultery—Punishment | [92]-[97] |
| [XVII] | Funeral Rites: Departure of the Soul—Cremation—Amusement of the dead man's soul—The lay figure—Feasting—Doleful dance—Transmigration of the soul—Expensive ceremonies—Offerings before the lay figure—Dancing and contortions—Martial dances—Solo dances—The animal to be sacrificed and the lay figure—Chasing the animal from the village—Tearing out its heart—The yak driven over a precipice—Head shaving—A sacred cave | [98]-[110] |
| [XVIII] | Touching Shoka farewell—Feelings curiously expressed—Sobs and tears—The start—A funereal procession—Distressed father and mother—Kachi and Dola the worse for drink—Anxious moments—The bridge destroyed | [111]-[115] |
| [XIX] | A dangerous track—Perilous passage—A curious bridge over a precipice—Pathetic Shoka custom—Small misadventures—A grand reception—Tea for all tastes | [116]-[119] |
| [XX] | Dr. Wilson joins my expedition for a few marches—What misdeeds a photographic camera can do—Weighing, dividing, and packing provisions—Two extra men wanted—The last friendly faces | [120]-[122] |
| [XXI] | The Kuti Castle—Under way—Our first disaster—A cheerful and a sulky coolie—Mansing—A brigand—A strange medley of followers—A character—Tailoring—Fields of stones—Troublesome rivers—The Jolinkan or Lebung Pass—Sense of humour—Pleased with small comforts | [123]-[130] |
| [XXII] | Want of fuel—Cooking under difficulty—Mansing lost and found—Saved from summary justice—Tibetan visitors—We purchase sheep—The snow-line—Cold streams—The petrified chapati and human hand | [131]-[136] |
| [XXIII] | The scout's return—A small exploring party—The Mangshan glacier | [137]-[140] |
| [XXIV] | Snow and troublesome débris—The doctor's sufferings—Kachi disabled—Further trials—A weird apparition—Delirium—All safe—The descent | [141]-[147] |
| [XXV] | The sources of the Kuti River—The Lumpiya glacier—The summit of the range—Bird's-eye view of Tibet—Rubso frozen almost to death—The Lumpiya Pass—Two coolies in distress | [148]-[153] |
| [XXVI] | Mysterious footprints—Brigand or spy?—Passes and tracks—Intense cold—No fuel—A high flat plateau—Fuel at last!—Two spies in disguise—What they took us for | [154]-[157] |
| [XXVII] | Lama Chokden—A Tibetan guard—The sacred Kelas—Reverence of my men for the sacred Mountain—Trying hard to keep friends with the gods—Obos—Water flowing to us | [158]-[161] |
| [XXVIII] | An extensive valley—Kiang, or wild horse—Their strange ways—The Gyanema fort—Apprehension at our appearance—A parley—"Cut off our heads!"—Revolt and murder contemplated—Hypocritica ways of Tibetan officials—Help summoned from everywhere—Preparing for war | [162]-[166] |
| [XXIX] | Arrival of a high official—The Barca Tarjum—A tedious palaver—The Tarjum's anxiety—Permission to proceed—A traitor—Entreated to retrace our steps—Thirty armed horsemen—A pretty speech | [167]-[173] |
| [XXX] | Spying our movements—Disguised sepoys—A gloomy look-out—Troublesome followers—Another march back—An amusing incident | [174]-[177] |
| [XXXI] | An attempt that failed—A resolution—A smart Shoka lad—The plucky Chanden Sing proposes to accompany me—Mansing the leper becomes my servant's servant | [178]-[181] |
| [XXXII] | "Devil's Camp"—A fierce snowstorm—Abandoning our tents—Dangers and perils in prospect—Collecting the men—One load too many!—Another man wanted and found—A propitious night—Good-bye to Wilson—The escape—Brigands | [182]-[186] |
| [XXXIII] | S.E. wind—Hungry and half frozen—Lakes at 18,960 feet above sea-level—Cold food at high altitudes—Buried in snow—Mansing's sufferings—Fuel at last | [187]-[191] |
| [XXXIV] | Dacoits—No nonsense allowed—A much-frequented region—A plateau—The Gyanema-Taklakot track—A dangerous spot—Soldiers waiting for us—Burying our baggage—Out of provisions—A fall into the Gakkon River—A bright idea—Nettles our only diet | [192]-[197] |
| [XXXV] | All that remained of my men's provisions—The plan to enter the fort—Appearance of yaks—A band of brigands—Erecting fortifications—Changes in the temperature—Soldiers in search of us | [198]-[201] |
| [XXXVI] | "Terror Camp"—Two more messengers leave camp—A tribe of Dogpas—A strange sahib—Our messengers return from Taklakot—The account and adventures of their mission—In great distress—Two fakirs who suffered through me—Five hundred rupees offered for my head—The Shokas want to abandon me—A plot—How it failed | [202]-[206] |
| [XXXVII] | A Tibetan guard's encampment—Nattoo volunteers to be a guide—Treachery and punishment of the Shokas—All ways forward barred to me—Evading the soldiers by another perilous march at night—Mansing again lost—A marvellous phenomenon—Sufferings of my men—Severe cold | [207]-[210] |
| [XXXVIII] | Night marching—The Lafan and Mafan Lakes—Tize, the sacred Kelas—Rhubarb—Butterflies—A hermit Lama—More Dacoits—Surrounded by them—Routed | [211]-[216] |
| [XXXIX] | Spied and followed by robbers—Jogpas' hospitality—Hares—Tibetan charms resisted—Attempt to snatch Chanden Sing's rifle out of his hands—The ridge between the Rakas and Mansarowar Lakes | [217]-[219] |
| [XL] | More robbers—The friends of Tibetan authorities—A snap-shot—A meek lot—Prepossessing female and her curious ways—The purchase of two yaks | [220]-[224] |
| [XLI] | Tibetan coats, hats, and boots—Why a Tibetan prefers to leave half the chest and one arm bare—Ornamentations—Manner and speech—Ignorance and superstition—Way of eating—Jogpa women and children—Head-dress | [225]-[230] |
| [XLII] | A Daku's strange ideas—The ridge between the two lakes—Black tents—Confronting the two lakes—A chain of high peaks—Gombas—Change in the weather | [231]-[234] |
| [XLIII] | The Langa Tsangpo—A terrific storm—Drenched to the skin—Heavy marching—Against the gods—Difficulty in finding the Lamasery and village—A bark!—Arrival at last—Gentle tapping—Under a roof | [235]-[238] |
| [XLIV] | The interior of a serai—Vermin—Fish, local jewellery, and pottery for sale—Favourite shapes and patterns—How pottery is made | [239]-[241] |
| [XLV] | Friendly Lamas—Chanden Sing and Mansing purified—Mansing's sarcasm—Pilgrims to Mansarowar and their privileges—For luck!—Outside the Gomba | [242]-[244] |
| [XLVI] | Entering the Lamasery—The Lama's dwelling—Novices—Were we in a trap?—Images—Oblations—Urghin—The holy water, the veil of friendship, and absolution—Musical instruments, books, &c.—God and the Trinity—Heaven and hell—A mystery | [245]-[248] |
| [XLVII] | The Jong Pen's statements regarding me—Sects of Lamas—Lamaseries—Government allowance—Ignorance of the crowds—How Lamas are recruited—Lamas, novices, and menials—Dances and hypnotism—Infallibility—Celibacy and vice—Sculptors—Prayer-wheels and revolving instruments—Nunneries—Human bones for eating vessels and musical instruments—Blood-drinking | [249]-[256] |
| [XLVIII] | Illnesses and remedies—Curious theories about fever—Evil spirits—Blacksmith and dentist—Exorcisms—Surgical operations—Massage and cupping—Incurable illnesses—Deformities—Deafness—Fits and insanity—Melancholia—Suicides | [257]-[264] |
| [XLIX] | A Tibetan medicine-man—Lumbago, and a startling cure for it—Combustible fuses—Fire and butter—Prayers, agony and distortions—Strange ideas on medicine | [265]-[267] |
| [L] | Tucker village—Chokdens—Houses—Flying prayers—Soldiers or robbers?—A stampede—Fresh provisions—Disappointment—Treachery—Shokas leave me—Observations—Five men, all counted! | [268]-[270] |
| [LI] | The start with a further reduced party—A reconnaissance—Natural fortress—Black tents and animals—On the wrong tack—Slings and their use—A visit to a Tibetan camp—Mistaken for brigands—Bargaining and begging | [271]-[275] |
| [LII] | What the men were like—Their timidity—Leather work—Metal work—Blades and swords—Filigree—Saddles and harness—Pack saddles | [276]-[279] |
| [LIII] | Rain in torrents—A miserable night—A gorge—A gigantic inscription—Sheltered under boulders—A fresh surprise—Only two followers left | [280]-[282] |
| [LIV] | My time fully occupied—Our own yak drivers—A heavy blow—Along the stream—Soldiers in pursuit of us—Discovered | [283]-[286] |
| [LV] | An interview—Peace or war?—Gifts and the scarf of friendship—The Kata—The end of a friendly visit | [287]-[289] |
| [LVI] | Rain in torrents—A swampy plain—The sun at last—Our yaks stolen and recovered | [290]-[294] |
| [LVII] | Travelling Tibetans—Over a high pass—A friendly meeting—A proffered banquet—Ascent to 20,000 feet—Looking for the Gunkyo Lake—Surprised by a phantom army | [295]-[297] |
| [LVIII] | A sleepless night—Watching our enemy—A picturesque sight—A messenger—Soldiers from Lhassa—Taken for a Kashmeree—The Gunkyo Lake | [298]-[301] |
| [LIX] | In pleasant company—Unpopularity of the Lamas—Soldiers—Towards the Maium Pass—Grass—Threats—Puzzled Tibetans—The Maium Pass—Obos | [302]-[305] |
| [LX] | The Maium Pass—Into the Yutzang province—Its capital—The Doktol province—Orders disregarded—The sources of the Brahmaputra—Change in the climate—The valley of the Brahmaputra—Running risks | [306]-[308] |
| [LXI] | Expecting trouble—Along the Brahmaputra—A thunderstorm—A dilemma—A dangerous river—Swamped—Saved—Night disturbers—A new friend | [309]-[312] |
| [LXII] | Leaving the course of the river—A pass—An arid plain—More vanishing soldiers—Another river—A mani wall—Mirage?—A large Tibetan encampment—The chain of mountains north of us | [313]-[315] |
| [LXIII] | A commotion—An invitation declined—The tents—Delicacies—The Chokseh | [316]-[320] |
| [LXIV] | Refusal to sell food—Women—Their looks and characteristics—The Tchukti—A Lhassa lady | [321]-[326] |
| [LXV] | Polyandry—Marriage ceremonies—Jealousy—Divorce—Identification of children—Courtship—Illegitimacy—Adultery | [327]-[333] |
| [LXVI] | Tibetan funerals—Disposal of their dead—By cremation—By water—Cannibalism—Strange beliefs—Revolting barbarity—Drinking human blood—The saints of Tibet | [334]-[337] |
| [LXVII] | Another commotion—Two hundred soldiers—A stampede—Easy travelling—A long mani wall—Mosquitoes | [338]-[341] |
| [LXVIII] | Washing-day—A long march—Kiang and antelope—Benighted—The purchase of a goat—Ramifications of the Brahmaputra—A détour—Through a swamp—Mansing again lost and found | [342]-[345] |
| [LXIX] | The alarm given—Our bad manners—A peaceful settlement—A large river—Gigantic peak—Again on marshy soil | [346]-[348] |
| [LXX] | Another Tibetan encampment—Uncontrollable animals—A big stream—Washed away—In dreadful suspense—Rescuing the yak—Diving at great altitudes and its effects—How my two followers got across—A precarious outlook and a little comfort | [349]-[351] |
| [LXXI] | Hungry and worn—A sense of humour—Two buckets of milk—No food to be obtained—Chanden Sing and Mansing in a wretched state—Their fidelity—Exhaustion | [352]-[354] |
| [LXXII] | Eighty black tents—Starved—Kindly natives—Presents—Ando and his promises—A Friendly Lama—A low pass—My plans | [355]-[357] |
| [LXXIII] | Strange noises—Ando the traitor—Purchasing provisions and ponies—A handsome pony—Decoyed away from my tent and rifles—Pounced upon—The fight—A prisoner | [358]-[361] |
| [LXXIV] | Chanden Sing's plucky resistance—Mansing secured—A signal—A treacherous Lama—Confiscation of baggage—Watches, compasses and aneroids—Fear and avidity—The air-cushion—Dragged into the encampment | [362]-[366] |
| [LXXV] | A warning to my men—Calm and coolness—The Pombo's tent—Chanden Sing cross-examined and flogged | [367]-[369] |
| [LXXVI] | Led before the tribunal—The Pombo—Classical Tibetan beyond me—Chanden Sing lashed—The Lamas puzzled—A sudden change in the Pombo's attitude | [370]-[373] |
| [LXXVII] | My note-books and maps—What the Lamas wanted me to say—My refusal—Anger and threats—Ando the traitor—Chanden Sing's heroism—A scene of cruelty—Rain | [374]-[376] |
| [LXXVIII] | A high military officer—A likely friend—A soldier and not a Lama—His sympathy—Facts about the Tibetan army | [377]-[379] |
| [LXXIX] | Sarcasm appreciated—Kindness—A change for the worse—The place for an Englishman—Vermin—A Tibetan prayer | [380]-[382] |
| [LXXX] | The Rupun as a friend—Treated with respect and deference—Fed by the Rupun and soldiers—Improving my knowledge of Tibetan | [383]-[385] |
| [LXXXI] | A bearer of bad news—Marched off to the mud-house—Mansing—Insults and humiliations—Iron handcuffs instead of ropes—The Rupun's sympathy—No more hope—In the hands of the mob | [386]-[389] |
| [LXXXII] | A pitiful scene—A struggle to get to Chanden Sing—Brutally treated—A torturing saddle—Across country at a gallop—A spirited pony—Sand deposits and hills—Speculation—More horsemen coming towards us | [390]-[392] |
| [LXXXIII] | At an unpleasant pace—Drawing near the cavalcade—A picturesque sight—A shot fired at me—Terrible effects of the spikes along my spine—The rope breaks—An ill omen—A second shot misses me—Arrows—The end of my terrible ride | [393]-[397] |
| [LXXXIV] | Intense pain—Hustled to the execution-ground—Stretched and tied—Thirsting for blood—A parade of torturing appliances—The music—The Taram | [398]-[401] |
| [LXXXV] | Bleeding all over—Insulted and spat upon—"Kill him!"—Urging on the executioner—Refusal to stoop—An unpleasant sword exercise—The execution suspended | [402]-[405] |
| [LXXXVI] | Mansing arrives—A pretence of killing him—Our execution postponed—Fed by the Lamas | [406]-[407] |
| [LXXXVII] | Happiness checked—Stretched on the rack—Mansing shares my fate—Drenched and in rags—An unsolved mystery | [408]-[410] |
| [LXXXVIII] | Mansing partially untied after twelve hours on the rack—Numbed—How the brain works under such circumstances—My scientific instruments—The end of my photographic plates—A paint-box accused of occult powers—An offer refused—Courtesy and cruelty combined | [411]-[412] |
| [LXXXIX] | An unknown article in Tibet—My sponge bewitched—A Lama fires my Martini-Henry—The rifle bursts | [413]-[415] |
| [XC] | A consultation—Untied from the rack—The most terrible twenty-four hours of my life—I lose the use of my feet—Circulation returning—Intense pain—Sports | [416]-[417] |
| [XCI] | A great relief—The Pombo's attentions—A weird hypnotic dance | [418]-[420] |
| [XCII] | Compliments exchanged—A poisoned drink proffered—In acute pain—Uncertainty as to our fate—Working the oracle—My webbed fingers | [421]-[423] |
| [XCIII] | Our lives to be spared—An unpleasant march—Chanden Sing still alive—A sleepless night—Towards the frontier—Long and painful marches—How we slept at night—A map drawn with blood | [424]-[428] |
| [XCIV] | South of the outward journey—Severity of our guard—Ventriloquism and its effects—Terrible but instructive days—The Southern source of the Brahmaputra—Leaving Yutzang | [429]-[430] |
| [XCV] | Easier times—Large encampments—Suffocating a goat—A Tarjum's encampment—Tokchim—Old friends—Musicians—Charity | [431]-[434] |
| [XCVI] | Towards Mansarowar—Mansing's vision—Bathing in Mansarowar | [435]-[437] |
| [XCVII] | Suna—Wilson and the Political Peshkar across the frontier—A messenger—Our progress stopped—Diverting us over the Lumpiya Pass—Condemned to certain death—We attack our guard—Lapsang and the Jong Pen's private secretary—A document—Nearing Kardam—Retracing our steps—Dogmar | [438]-[444] |
| [XCVIII] | A Commotion—The arrival of an army—Elected General-in-chief—How we were to slaughter the Jong Pen's soldiers—My men lay down their arms—Towards Taklakot—Delaling and Sibling—Taklakot at last | [445]-[449] |
| [XCIX] | Free at last—Among friends—Forgetting our past troubles—Confiscated baggage returned—A scene with Nerba—Suna's message delivered—How our release was brought about—Across the frontier—Photography at Gungi | [450]-[456] |
| [C] | Civilisation once more—Paralysis—The Tinker Pass in Nepal—Kindly natives—Mr. Larkin—Government Inquiry—Back to Tibet—Final good-bye to the Forbidden Land—The return journey—Farewell to Mansing—Home again | [457]-[470] |
| [Appendix] | [471]-[501] | |
| [Index] | [503]-[508] | |
| [Heinemann Publications and Announcements] | [Ad 1] | |
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
| Page | |
|---|---|
| A. Henry Savage Landor and his Two Faithful Servants | [Frontispiece] |
| A Chinese Passport | [1] |
| My Faithful Companion | [7] |
| My Start from Naini Tal | [9] |
| Castle at Pithoragarh | [12] |
| Lepers | [13] |
| My Abode at Askote | [14] |
| A Young Man | [17] |
| Raot on Tree | [18] |
| Raots | [19] |
| Head of Young Man | [21] |
| Two Men with Children sitting down | [22] |
| A Young Man | [24] |
| Raot Women of the Forest | [26] |
| The Rajiwar of Askote, his Brother and Son | [27] |
| Fakir Returning from Mansarowar | [28] |
| The Rajiwar and his Brother in Dandies | [32] |
| View of the Himahlyas—showing Nanda Devi and Trisul Peaks | [35] |
| Darma Shokas and Tibetans | [36] |
| View of the Himahlyas. Showing Nanda Devi and Trisul Peaks | [37] |
| Shoka Weavers | [42] |
| Shrine and Flying Prayers | [46] |
| Wrinkled Shoka | [48] |
| Lal Sing Tokudar and his Brother | [49] |
| House of a Wealthy Shoka | [51] |
| The Tent | [55] |
| Nerpani Road | [57] |
| The Nerpani Road | [58] |
| The Nerpani Track | [59] |
| The Nerpani Road | [59] |
| The Chai-Lek (Pass) | [60] |
| A Narrow Gorge between Two Mountains | [61] |
| The Gates of Garbyang | [64] |
| Matan Sing Chaprassi | [66] |
| Narenghiri Chaprassi | [66] |
| Garbyang | [67] |
| The House where I Stayed at Garbyang | [69] |
| Shoka House with Strange Ladder | [71] |
| Shoka Houses | [72] |
| Shoka Child Smeared with Butter which is Left to be Absorbed in the Sun | [73] |
| Shoka Child being Smeared with Butter | [75] |
| The Master of a High School, Altitude 10,940 Feet | [76] |
| Gungi Shankom | [77] |
| Zazzela Mount, near Gungi | [78] |
| Involuntary Tobogganing | [79] |
| Chiram | [80] |
| Kuti | [82] |
| Snow Bridges over the Kuti River | [83] |
| Old Shoka Woman Smoking | [84] |
| A Well-attended School | [87] |
| My Banker and Agent | [88] |
| The Valley of Garbyang | [89] |
| Chanden Sing and the Daku Rolling up my Bedding | [91] |
| Motema, a Shoka Beauty | [92] |
| On the Way to the Rambang | [93] |
| Shoka Earrings | [94] |
| Silver Earrings of Tibetan Origin with Coral Beads | [95] |
| Shoka Woman Weaving | [96] |
| Rambang Girls with Ornaments | [97] |
| Weeping Women under White Cloth | [99] |
| Shoka Funeral Pile | [100] |
| Women Dusting and Caressing the Lay Figure | [101] |
| Women Dancing Round the Lay Figure | [102] |
| Dance in Front of Deceased Man's House | [103] |
| The Goat with Soul of Deceased being Fed | [104] |
| Goat with Soul and Clothes of Deceased | [105] |
| Sending the Goat away from the Village | [106] |
| Martial Dance round Lay Figure | [107] |
| Tearing out the Heart of the Goat | [108] |
| Yak driven over Precipice | [109] |
| Kachi and his Relations | [111] |
| The Patan Summoning my Coolies from the Roof of his House | [112] |
| The Chongur Bridge Previous to being Destroyed | [114] |
| A Perilous Passage | [117] |
| The Photograph that Caused the Child's Death | [121] |
| Plan of Kuti Castle | [123] |
| The Kuti Castle | [125] |
| Mansing the Leper showing his Hands | [126] |
| The Jolinkan or Lebung Pass | [128] |
| Camping in Snow | [133] |
| The Snow-Line at 16,000 Feet | [135] |
| The Mangshan Glacier | [139] |
| The Spectre and Circular Rainbow | [145] |
| "I Roused the Rongba" | [146] |
| Ascending the Lumpiya Pass | [149] |
| The Lumpiya Glacier and Pass | [151] |
| Spied | [155] |
| My Men Salaaming Kelas at Lama Chokden | [159] |
| The Arrival of Reinforcements | [169] |
| The Barca Tarjum and his Officers | [171] |
| "At Night I led my men up the mountain in a fierce snowstorm" | [183] |
| Buried in Snow | [189] |
| Sheep Carrying Load | [193] |
| Dacoits with a Booty of Sheep | [195] |
| Behind our Bulwarks | [199] |
| Our First View of Rakastal | [212] |
| Rakastal and Mansarowar Lakes | [214] |
| A Dacoit | [219] |
| The Bandits laid down their Arms | [221] |
| Pack-saddles for Yaks | [223] |
| White Woollen Coat and Sashes | [226] |
| Woollen Socks | [226] |
| Man's Boot, Made at Sigatz; Snow Boot | [227] |
| Woman's Boot; Boot Made in Lhassa | [227] |
| Hat, as Worn by Officials | [228] |
| A Black Yak | [232] |
| A Tibetan Fortune Teller | [234] |
| My Two Yaks | [237] |
| Silver Lhassa Coins | [239] |
| Copper Coins; Earring Worn by Men | [240] |
| Silver Charm | [240] |
| Gold and Malachite Brooch | [240] |
| Mansarowar Pottery | [241] |
| Entrance to the Tucker Temple | [246] |
| Tucker Village and Gomba | [251] |
| Stone with Inscription | [254] |
| Prayer-wheels—Ancient and Modern. Showing Rolls of Prayers to Go Inside | [255] |
| Stone with Inscription | [256] |
| Branch with Thorns to Prevent Return of Evil Spirits | [260] |
| The Tokchim Tarjum | [264] |
| A Medicine-man | [267] |
| The Panku Gomba | [269] |
| Sling | [272] |
| A Natural Castle | [273] |
| Woman carrying Child in Basket | [274] |
| Tibetan Young Man | [277] |
| Swords | [278] |
| Saddle | [279] |
| Camp with Gigantic Inscription | [281] |
| Yak with Cases of Scientific Instruments | [284] |
| With only Two Men I proceeded towards Lhassa | [285] |
| A Kala | [288] |
| Torrential Rain | [291] |
| Head of Brigand | [292] |
| Brigands with Sheep | [293] |
| Saddle Bags | [294] |
| Phantom-like Visitors | [296] |
| The Gunkyo Lake | [299] |
| "I am only a Messenger" | [300] |
| Flying Prayers on the Maium Pass | [303] |
| Matchlocks | [304] |
| Source of the Brahmaputra | [307] |
| Tibetan Dog | [310] |
| Small Mani Wall | [311] |
| An Effect of Mirage | [314] |
| Black Tent | [317] |
| A Dongbo, or Tea Churn | [318] |
| The Interior of a Tent | [319] |
| Tsamgo | [320] |
| Small Tsamba Bag, carried on the Person by Tibetans | [320] |
| Tibetan Hair-brushes and Flint-and-steel Pouch | [322] |
| Tibetan Women and Children | [323] |
| The Tchukti | [324] |
| A Lady from Lhassa | [325] |
| Money Bags | [326] |
| Woman whose Face is Smeared with Black Ointment | [328] |
| Tibetan Woman | [329] |
| The Lady in Question | [330] |
| Tibetan Children | [331] |
| A Young Lama | [334] |
| A Red Lama | [335] |
| Cup made of a Human Skull | [336] |
| Chokden, or Tomb of a Saint | [336] |
| A Mani Wall on the Road to Lhassa | [339] |
| "And I give you this to make you go back" | [340] |
| Kiang | [343] |
| Our Yaks Sinking in Mud | [344] |
| Carpenter and Saddle-maker | [347] |
| Old Woman | [348] |
| Contrivance for Carrying Loads | [349] |
| Rescuing a Yak | [350] |
| Drinking out of a Bucket | [353] |
| Shrine inside Tent | [354] |
| Mud Guard-house | [356] |
| Tibetan Bellows | [357] |
| A Distaff | [358] |
| Purchasing Ponies | [359] |
| I was a Prisoner | [360] |
| Rope Riding-whip | [361] |
| Earring worn by High Officials | [362] |
| Dragged into the Settlement | [363] |
| A Spear | [364] |
| Tibetans overhauling our Baggage | [365] |
| The Pombo's Tent | [368] |
| Chanden Sing being Lashed | [371] |
| The Pombo | [372] |
| A Soldier | [374] |
| Soldier with Pigtail wound round his Head | [375] |
| An Officer | [376] |
| Purse; Flint and Steel; Snuff-box | [377] |
| Flint-and-steel Pouch | [378] |
| Leather Horse-whip | [379] |
| Charm-box | [380] |
| Pukus, or Wooden Cups | [383] |
| Soldier laying before me the Programme of Tortures | [387] |
| Handcuffs | [388] |
| Padlock and Key | [389] |
| "Sir, sir, I am dying" | [391] |
| Spiked Saddle | [392] |
| Nerba Firing at Me | [394] |
| The Ride on a Spiked Saddle | [395] |
| Coat I Wore at the Time of My Capture, Showing Effect of Spikes | [396] |
| A Display of Various Instruments of Torture | [398] |
| Lama Musicians | [399] |
| The Hot Iron Torture | [399] |
| The Taram | [400] |
| A Bannerman | [403] |
| The Executioner Brought the Sword Down to My Neck | [404] |
| Thus Elapsed Twenty-four terrible Hours | [409] |
| Belt, with Bullet and Powder Pouches, Dagger, Needle-case, and Flint and Steel | [414] |
| Martini-Henry Exploded | [415] |
| The Pombo's Contortions | [419] |
| The Finale of the Dance | [420] |
| Chanden Sing tied to a Post | [425] |
| A White Yak | [426] |
| Map Drawn with Blood during Captivity | [427] |
| One of Our Guard | [430] |
| Soldier Suffocating Goat | [432] |
| Strolling Musicians | [433] |
| Old Beggar | [434] |
| A Tibetan Shepherd | [436] |
| Interior of a Serai | [437] |
| Tea Churn (open) | [438] |
| A Bearer of Bad News | [439] |
| A Shoka Tibetan Half-caste | [440] |
| Sheep Loads for Borax and Grain | [441] |
| A Jumli Shed | [442] |
| We Attacked our Guard with Stones | [443] |
| Lapsang and the Jong Pen's Private Secretary | [444] |
| Jumli Trader and His Wife in Tibet | [446] |
| Cliff Habitations | [447] |
| Chokdens near Taklakot | [448] |
| Taklakot Fort | [449] |
| Pundit Gobaria | [450] |
| Dr. Wilson | [451] |
| Karak Sing Pal, the Political Peshkar | [452] |
| Mansing Showing Cuts under his Feet | [453] |
| A Glance at the Forbidden Land from the Lippu Pass | [454] |
| The Author, February and October | [455] |
| Chanden Sing's Legs, Showing Marks of Lashes and Wounds Healed | [456] |
| Mr. J. Larkin | [457] |
| Chanden Sing and Mansing enjoying their first Meal according to the Rules of their Castes | [458] |
| A Tibetan Temporary Shed | [459] |
| A Shaky Passage on the Nerpani Road | [460] |
| View of Askote, Showing Rajiwar's Palace | [461] |
| Snapshot of Shoka Villagers being Routed | [461] |
| Dr. Wilson, Myself, Mr. Larkin, the Political Peshkar, and Jagat Sing ready to ascend the Lippu Pass | [462] |
| Tinker in Nepal | [463] |
| On the Lippu Pass | [464] |
| Mr. Larkin's Party and Mine Halting near the Lippu Pass | [465] |
| Mr. Larkin looking out for the Jong Pen from the Lippu Pass | [466] |
| Bathing at 16,300 Feet | [467] |
| Dharchula. Deserted Habitations of Shokas | [467] |
| "I told you," exclaimed the old savage, "that whoever visits the home of the Raots will have misfortune" | [468] |
| A Picturesque Bit of Almora | [469] |
| Raots Listening to the Account of My Misfortunes | [470] |
| Map of South-Western Tibet, showing Author's Route and Return, Journey | [470] |
CHAPTER I
FROM LONDON TO NAINI TAL
A Chinese Passport
On leaving London, I intended to proceed viâ Germany to Russia, traverse Russian Turkestan, Bokhara and Chinese Turkestan, and from there enter Tibet. The Russian Government had readily granted me a special permission to take free of duty through their territory my firearms, ammunition, provisions, photographic cameras, surveying and other scientific instruments, and moreover informed me, through H.E. Sir Nicholas O'Conor, then our Ambassador in St. Petersburg, that I should be privileged to travel on the military railway through Turkestan, as far as the terminus at Samarakand. I feel under a great obligation to the Russian Embassy in London for the extreme courtesy shown me, and I desire to acknowledge this at the outset, especially because that route might very likely have saved me much of the suffering and disappointment I was subjected to through going by way of India.
I was provided with introductions and credentials from the Marquis of Salisbury, the British Museum of Natural History, etc., I was carrying scientific instruments for the Royal Geographical Society, and I had a British and two Chinese passports.
Having forwarded all my explosives by an ammunition vessel to Russia (the German railways absolutely refusing to carry cartridges), I heard to my dismay, only a few days previous to leaving London, that the steamer had stranded just before reaching her port of destination, and that grave doubts were entertained as to the possibility of saving even a portion of her cargo. This was at the time of the outbreak of the Turco-Greek War, and the Russians were reported to be mobilising their troops along the Afghan frontier. I did not wish to delay my journey, and although my preparations were complete for going through Russia, I nevertheless decided to abandon that plan and go to India, with a view to penetrating over the Himahlya into Tibet. I sailed for India on March 19, on the P. and O. ss. Peninsular, and reached Bombay three weeks later.
It was my first visit to India, and my first impression was certainly not a good one. The heat was intense, and signs of the plague were discernible everywhere. The streets were deserted and the hotels bad and dirty for want of servants, who had abandoned the town in fear of the scourge.
Accompanied by a Parsee friend, I went to several of the districts of Bombay chiefly affected by the disease, but I noticed, wherever I went, little else than a strong odour of disinfectants. It is true there were few houses in those parts which had not ten, twenty, and even more circular red marks, denoting as many deaths, and on one door, which I photographed, I counted no less than forty-nine circles. But I was unable to gauge personally with any sort of accuracy the nature or extent of the disease, beyond seeing in the hospitals a few violent cases of bubonic attacks.
On the day following my arrival in Bombay, I proceeded by rail to Bareilly, which was reached in three days, and from there one more night brought me to Kathgodam, the terminus of the railway line. Travelling partly by Tonga (a two-wheeled vehicle drawn by two horses) and partly on horseback, I found myself at last at Naini Tal, a hill station in the lower Himahlyas and the summer seat of the Government of the North-West Provinces and Oudh, from whence I wrote to the Lieutenant-Governor, informing him of my intention to proceed to Tibet. I also called on the Deputy-Commissioner and made him fully acquainted with my plans. Neither one nor the other of these gentlemen raised the slightest objection to my intended journey into the sacred Land of the Lamas.
CHAPTER II
Loads—A set of useful pack-saddle cases—Provisions and scientific outfit—Clothes and shoes—Medicines—Under way—The first march—Servants—How I came to employ faithful Chanden Sing.
I knew that from Naini Tal, 6407 feet (sixty feet above lake level), all my loads would have to be transported on the backs of coolies, and therefore they had to be divided into equal weights not exceeding twenty-five seers, or fifty pounds. I packed instruments, negatives, and articles liable to get damaged, in cases of my own make designed especially for rough usage. A set of four such cases, of well-seasoned deal wood, carefully joined and fitted, zinc-lined, and soaked in a special preparation of mine by which they were rendered water and air tight, could be made useful in many ways. Taken separately, they could be used as seats; four placed in a row answered the purpose of bedstead; three could be used as seat and table; and the combination of four used in a certain manner made a punt or boat of quick, solid, and easy construction, by which an unfordable river could be crossed or soundings taken in the still waters of a lake. The cases could also be used as baths for myself and my followers (if I could induce these to so far indulge), and also in the developing of my negatives as tanks to properly wash my plates. I conjectured even that in case of emergency they might serve as water casks in arid regions, if I should have to traverse any. One of these boxes packed was exactly a coolie load, and two could be easily slung over a pack-saddle by means of straps and rings. It was due mainly to the stoutness and strength of these cases that, notwithstanding the amount of knocking about they got, my photographic and painting work, as well as my maps, instruments, etc., were really in no way injured until we fell into the hands of the Tibetans. Fortunately, the most important part of my work, from a scientific point of view, had already been accomplished. My provisions were prepared for me by the Bovril Company after instructions furnished by me, with a view to the severe Tibetan climate and the altitudes we should find ourselves in. They contained a vast amount of fat and carbonaceous food, as well as ingredients easily digestible and calculated to maintain one's strength even in moments of unusual stress. I had them packed in tin cases and skin bags. I carried in a water-tight box 1000 cartridges for my 256° Mannlicher rifle, besides 500 cartridges for my revolver, and a number of hunting knives, skinning implements, wire traps of several sizes for capturing small mammals, butterfly nets, bottles for preserving reptiles in alcohol, insect-killing bottles (cyanide of potassium), a quantity of arsenical soap, bone nippers, scalpels, and all other accessories necessary for the collection of natural history specimens. There were three sets of photographic apparatus in my outfit, and one hundred and fifty-eight dozen dry plates, as well as all adjuncts for the developing, fixing, etc. of the negatives as they were taken. The collecting materials were given me by the British Museum of Natural History, to which institution I had promised to present all specimens of fauna and flora I might collect during my journey. I had two sets of instruments for astronomical observation and for use in surveying (one of which had been furnished me by the Royal Geographical Society), such as the six-inch sextant, hypsometrical apparatus for measuring heights, with boiling-point thermometers specially constructed for very great altitudes; two aneroids, one to 20,000 feet, the other to 25,000 feet; three artificial horizons (one mercury, the others plate-glass with levels); a powerful telescope with astronomical eyepiece and stand; a prismatic, a luminous, a floating, and two pocket compasses; maximum and minimum thermometers, a case of drawing instruments, protractors, parallel rules, tape rules, a silver water-tight half-chronometer watch and three other watches, section paper in books and in large sheets, Raper's and the Nautical Almanac for 1897 and 1898.
Not to neglect the artistic aspect of my expedition, I had provided myself with ample painting and drawing materials, and I trust to the appearance of my sketches in these volumes to prove that I did not carry them in vain.
I was provided with a very light mountain tente-d'abri seven feet long, four feet wide, and three feet high. Well accustomed to the sort of travelling I was in for, I decided that I required for myself only a camel-hair blanket in the way of bedding. I reduced my clothing also to a minimum and made no difference in it from start to finish. The only thing I ever missed was my straw hat, which I wore up in the Himahlyas just as I had worn it in the broiling plains, because it seemed to me always the most comfortable headgear. It was rendered unwearable through the clumsiness of one of my Shokas to whom I had lent it to carry in it some swan eggs (presented by a friendly Shoka), and who fell with it, or on it, to the detriment and destruction both of vessel and load. After that I generally went about with my head uncovered, as I only had a small cap left, which was not comfortable. I wore medium thick shoes without nails, and never carried a stick, and I think it was due largely to the simplicity of my personal equipment that I was able, as will be seen presently, to climb to one of the greatest altitudes ever reached by a human being.[1]
My provision of medicines cost me only half-a-crown, firm as I am in the belief that man, living naturally under natural conditions, and giving himself plenty of exercise, can be helped very little by drugs.
And thus I started.
On the first day I rode from Naini Tal to Almora, thirty miles by the lower and well-known road viâ Khairna.
Almora (5510 feet) is the last hill station towards the frontier where I expected to find a European, or rather an Anglo-Indian, community, and I made it my headquarters for a few days. It was my intention to obtain some reliable hill men, possibly Gourkhas, to accompany me. I applied in vain for this purpose to the Lieut.-Colonel of the 1st 3rd Gourkha Regiment quartered in the station, duly showing letters, introductions, and documents from the highest authorities and institutions in England, plainly demonstrating the scientific object of my journey to Tibet.
The superior authorities seemed open to negotiations had I been able to afford a wait of several months; but, as this would have involved the postponement of my journey for a year on account of the passes leading into Tibet becoming impassable at the end of the summer, I decided to snap my fingers at all the red tape the job required, and to start on my journey without the Gourkhas.
As luck would have it, I came across a gentleman at Almora, a Mr. J. Larkin, who showed me great politeness and gave me much useful information with regard to the roads, the mode of travelling, etc. on the British side of the Tibetan frontier. He had himself travelled nearly up to the boundary the previous year, and knew that part of Kumaon better than any Anglo-Indian in the province. In fact, with the exception of Colonel Grigg, Commissioner of Kumaon, Mr. Larkin is the only other official who has any knowledge at all of the north-east of Kumaon, now so neglected by the Government of the N.W.P.
Gourkhas being unobtainable, the question weighed heavily on my mind of obtaining plucky, honest, wiry, healthy servants, of whatever caste they might be, who would be ready for the sake of a good salary and a handsome reward to brave the many discomforts, hardships, and perils my expedition was likely to involve. Both at Naini Tal and here scores of servants and Shikaris (sporting attendants) offered themselves. They one and all produced "certificates" of good conduct, irreproachable honesty, good-nature and willingness to work, and praises unbounded of all possible virtues that a servant could possess. Each certificate was duly ornamented with the signature of a General, a Captain, a Lieut.-Governor, or some other considerable personage, but each bearer of such testimonial seemed sadly neglected by those who had been so enthusiastically pleased with his services, for he invariably commenced by asking for a loan of several rupees to purchase boots and blankets, and to enable him to support a wife with or without a family whom he would be leaving behind.
I decided that my means did not permit of my supporting "the dear ones at home" of the two or three dozen followers I should require, and I made up my mind to wait and see whether I could not find men to suit me farther on my road without involving myself in the liability of supporting the entire population I left behind me. I made only one exception. I was sitting one fine day in my room at the Dâk Bungalow (post resting-house) when an odd creature entered and offered his services, salaaming me.
"Where are your certificates?" I asked.
"Sahib, hum 'certificates' ne hai!" ("Sir, I have no certificates.")
"Well, then I may employ you."
I had previously had a good look at the fellow. His facial lines showed considerably more character and force than I had noticed in the features of other local natives. His attire was peculiar. He wore a white turban, and from under a short velvet waistcoat there protruded a gaudy flannel shirt in yellow and black stripes, which he wore oddly outside of his pyjamas instead of in them. He had no shoes, and carried in his right hand an old cricket stump, with which he "presented arms," as it were, every time that I came in and went out of the room. I at once decided to try him. It was about nine o'clock in the morning, when I, having many people to see, handed Chanden Sing, for that was his name, a pair of shoes and some blacking.
"Mind I find them clean when I return."
"Acha, Sahib." ("All right, sir!")
"You will find some brushes in my room."
"Bahut acha, Sahib." ("Very good, sir!")
I left. At six p.m. when I returned to my quarters I found Chanden Sing still polishing my footgear with all his might. He had been at it the whole day and had used for the purpose my best hair and clothes brushes.
"Oh, you budmash! crab log, pagal!" ("Oh! you bad character! bad man, fool!") I exclaimed, disgusted, making as much display as possible of the only three or four words I then knew of Hindustani. I snatched the blackened articles of toilet out of his hands, while he, with an air of wounded feelings, pointed out the wonderful results he had achieved.
It was clear that Chanden Sing was not much of a valet, neither was he a master at opening soda-water bottles. He generally managed to give you a spray bath if he did not actually shoot the flying cork in your face. It was owing to one (by no means the first) of these accidents that Chanden Sing, having hit me full, was a few days later flung bodily out of the front door. I am very adverse to the habit of punishing the natives injudiciously and unjustly, but I believe that firm if not too severe a punishment administered in time
My Start from Naini Tal
is absolutely necessary with native servants, and generally saves much trouble and unpleasantness in the end. Anyhow Chanden Sing, none the worse, returned the next day to fetch his cricket stump which he had forgotten in his hurried and involuntary departure. He seized this opportunity to offer his humblest apologies for his clumsiness, and produced the following letter which he had got written in English by a Babu in the Bazaar:
"Dear Sir,—I am a stupid man, but I hear you intend to take two Gourkha soldiers with you to Tibet. I am a good and very stout man and therefore far superior to any Gourkha. Please employ me.
"Your faithful servant,
"Chanden Sing."
This was touching, and I forgave him and allowed him to stay. He improved as time went on, and after a while became quite tolerable. One morning Mr. Larkin called when Chanden Sing happened to be about.
"Who is that?" said Larkin.
"That is my bearer."
"But he is not a bearer! He was once a policeman, and a smart fellow too. He worked out a good case in his own village and had many people arrested and convicted for theft. As a reward they sacked him."
"I am thinking of taking him with me."
"He is a good lad," replied Mr. Larkin. "You can anyhow take him as far as the frontier, but I would not advise you to take him into Tibet."
Mr. Larkin counselled Chanden Sing to be diligent and attentive, and the ex-policeman beamed all over with joy when I told him definitely that he might accompany me to Bhot. He turned out to be the one plucky man among all my followers, and he stood by me through thick and thin.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See Appendix. Letter by Dr. H. Wilson.
CHAPTER III
Pithoragarh—Fakir women—A well-ventilated abode—Askote—The Rajiwar and his people.
The country up to Bhot is comparatively well-known, therefore I will not dwell at length on the first portion of my journey.
On May 9 all my baggage, accompanied by two Chaprassis, left on its way to the frontier, and I followed on the next day. Two days' marching, at the rate of twenty-five miles a day, brought me to Shor, otherwise called Pithoragarh.
The road is good all the way, running through thick forests of pine and fir trees, and you get here and there pretty views of wooded mountain ranges. Nevertheless, it is tiring owing to the many ascents and descents, as will be seen from the following figures showing the principal elevations. From 5510 feet we climbed to 7650 feet, descended to 2475 feet, climbed again up to 6020 feet at Gangoli Hat, and re-descended by a steep incline to 2500 feet. The intense heat prevented me from walking at my usual pace, and I did not, therefore, reach my destination before sundown. Walking on in the dark, we saw the distant flickering forest fires crawling here and there like incandescent snakes along or up the mountain-side: these are caused by the igniting of the grass, shrubs, and undergrowth by the natives, the flames not unfrequently spreading and playing havoc among the finest trees of the forest.
At Pithoragarh (6650 feet) there is the old London Gourkha fort to be seen, on a hilltop, also a well-kept leper hospital, a school, and a mission-house. The soil is fertile and there are many stretches of well-cultivated land dotted with habitations. Water is plentiful, and though the scenery certainly lacks trees except in the immediate neighbourhood of the villages and houses, it has, nevertheless, a certain picturesqueness on account of its background of wooded mountains. I started from Pithoragarh at 6.30 a.m.; leaving the road to Tal on the left, I followed the track at a medium elevation of 6250 feet, arriving at Shadgora (6350 feet) just in time to witness the blessing of a calf by a Brahmin. Inside a diminutive shrine—into the door of which I was curious enough to peep—I discovered two skinny, repulsive old women, with sunken, discoloured eyes, untidy locks of scanty hair, long unwashed, bony arms and legs, and finger and toe nails of abnormal length. They were clad in a few dirty rags, and were busily attending to the lights burning on several primitive stone candlesticks along the walls of the shrine. There were also some curiously-shaped stones standing upright among the candlesticks. The ceiling of this place of worship was not high enough to allow the women to stand, and they were compelled to crawl about inside on all fours. When they saw me they stretched out their angular arms towards me, begging for money. I gave them a silver coin, which they shoved under one of the peculiar stones, and then, turning round, immediately made violent gestures suggesting to me that I was to depart.
Castle at Pithoragarh
Farther on I came upon a point where three roads branched off to Deolthal (six miles) on the left, to Askote (twelve and three-quarter miles) in the centre, and to Pithoragarh (eleven and a quarter miles), a different route from the one followed, on the right. I took the middle one, and travelled on in a storm of hail and wind with a constant deafening roar of thunder and splendid flashes of lightning, which produced magical effects on the ever-changing and fantastic clouds and the weird mountain-sides along which I ploughed my way.
Lepers showing stumps of Limbs
I arrived late in the evening at Askote, where there is neither Dâk Bungalow nor Daramsalla,[2] and found to my disgust that none of my carriers had yet arrived. I was offered hospitality by Pundit Jibanand, who put me up in his schoolroom, a structure consisting of a number of planks put together regardless of width, height, length, or shape, and supporting a roof of straw and grass. The ventilation of my abode was all one could wish for, and as during the night I lay wrapped up in my blanket under the sheltering roof, I could admire through the disconnected portions of the walls the brilliancy of the star-studded heaven above. When the sun arose, bits of scenery appeared between plank and plank, until by degrees the gaps were all stopped up by figures of natives, who took possession of these points of vantage to gaze to their hearts' content on the sahib, who, with signs of evident suspense on the part of these spectators, managed even to shave. Hilarity, on the other hand, was caused when I smeared myself all over with soap while bathing. Admiration followed at my putting on my last starched shirt and other mysterious garments, but the excitement grew almost to fever-heat when I went through the daily nuisance of winding up my watches and registering daily observations of temperature, etc. The strain was too much, I fancy, and a general stampede followed the moment I touched my unloaded rifle.
The town of Askote is not unlike an old feudal castle such as are found in many parts of Central Italy. Perched on the crown of a central hill, the Rajiwar's palace overlooks a fine panorama of mountains encircling it on all sides. Among the higher peaks discernible from the palace are the Chipla Mountain and the Dafia. Then across the Kali River, forming the boundary of Nepal, is Mount Dooti. The "gown" or town itself numbers some two hundred houses scattered on the slope of the hill, and includes a school, a post-office, and two Mahommedan shops. The Rajiwar had on my arrival just completed building a new Court, a simple and dignified structure of brown stone, with fine wooden carvings on the windows and doors, and with chimneys in European fashion in each room. One wall in each room was left open, and formed a charming verandah, commanding a magnificent view of mountain scenery.
The Rajiwar of Askote occupies a unique position in Kumaon. Having repurchased his right to the tenure of land in the Askote Pargana as late as 1855, he now possesses the right of zamindar (translated literally, landed proprietor), and he is the only person to whom has been granted to retain this privilege in the Kumaon Division. Jagat Sing Pal, the Rajiwar's nephew, assured me that the people of the Askote Pargana are brave and good-natured. They never give any trouble to the Rajiwar, who, on the other hand, is almost a father to them. They apply to him in every difficulty, in sickness and distress, and he looks after them in true patriarchal fashion. The Rajiwar is not rich, probably because he spends so much for the benefit of his people and of the strangers who pass through Askote. Many of these are little more than beggars, of course, even when they travel as fakirs, or other religious fanatics, going to or returning from the sacred Mansarowar Lake in Tibet. The present Rajiwar,[3] Pushkar Pal, belongs to the Ramchanda family, and he is a descendant of the Solar dynasty. His ancestors lived in Aoudh or Ayodye (as it was formerly called), whence they migrated to the hills of Katyur in Kumaon, where they built a palace. The hill regions up to Killakanjia and the Jumua River were under the Raja of Katyur's rule, he assuming the title of Maharaja. A branch of the family came from Katyur to Askote, its chief retaining the hereditary title of Rajiwar beside that of Pal, which each male assumes. The Rajiwar pays a yearly tribute of 1800 rupees to the Government of India. In the time of the Gourkhas he paid nothing except occasional gifts of Nafas or musk-deer to his neighbour the King of Nepal, with whom he is still in very close relation. He was then practically an independent king. Still Rajiwar Pushkar Pal has always been perfectly loyal to the Government of India.
"Are the people very obsequious to the Rajiwar?" I asked of Jagat Sing Pal.
"Yes, sir. For instance, when the Rajiwar sits on his Karoka (a kind of throne) he is saluted with a particularly respectful salaam. His subjects bring their hand up to the forehead and support the elbow with the left hand, as a sign that this salutation is so weighty that it requires the support of the other hand."
At Court functions, the male relatives, friends, and servants sit near the Rajiwar, his brother first, his son next, then his nephews, etc. Women are of course not admitted, and although no strict code of etiquette exists, the Rajiwar and his family are nevertheless always treated with Eastern deference.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Daramsalla, a stone-walled shelter for the use of travellers and natives.
[3] Rajiwar: head of kingdom.
CHAPTER IV
The Raots—A slippery journey—Superstitious notions—Anger and jealousy—Friends—To the homes of the savages—Photography—Habitations.
We had walked seventy-eight miles in three marches, and my men being footsore, I gave them a day's rest, which I employed in going to the haunts of the "Wild men of the forest," or Raots or Rajis, as they style themselves. They live in the woods several miles off, and to reach them I had to descend a steep incline covered by an uncommonly slippery carpet of dried grass and pine needles. I had to take off shoes and stockings to get along, and even bare-footed I found it difficult to maintain my hold. I was accompanied by one of my chaprassis and a man from Askote, and we were forced down more swiftly than comfortably till we reached a faint track, which we followed until we came upon a man hiding behind some trees. He was a wild-looking creature, naked and unkempt, with flowing hair and scanty beard and moustache, and, regarding us with an air of suspicion, he was most reluctant to show us the way to the homes of his tribe. He was a Raot, and his reluctance to let us approach his home seemed justified enough when he said to my guide, "No white man has ever visited our home, and should one ever come we shall all die. The spirits of the mountains will prevent your progress—not we. You will suffer pain, for the spirit who watches over the Raots will let no one enter their homes."
I gave the man a rupee, which he turned and weighed in his hand.
"You can come," he muttered, "but you will regret it. You will have great misfortune."
Raot on Tree
There was something so weirdly peculiar in the tone of voice in which the man spoke, as if he had been in a trance, himself only the channel through which the threat of some occult being was conveyed to us, that for some minutes I could not get his words out of my head. I followed him as best I could, for he climbed up huge boulders with the agility of a monkey. It was no easy job, for we bounded and leapt from rock to rock and vaulted over fallen trees. The track became more marked and went up along the incline of a steep ravine. We continued until, hot and panting, we arrived at a large hollow high up in the cliff of clay. There, on a semicircular platform with entrenchments of felled trees, were about a dozen men almost devoid of clothing, some sitting on their heels and resting their arms on their knees, others lying down flat. One fellow smoked dry leaves inside a pipe of Hindoo origin. I snatched a photo of the group as, with an air of suspicion mingled with surprise and sadness, but no apparent fear, they stared at the unexpected visitors. Two of the elder men having overcome their first stupor sprang to their feet and with mad gesticulations refused to let me come nearer. But I penetrated right into their circle, and found myself surrounded by a sulky and angry crowd.
"No man has ever been here but a Raot. You will soon die. You have offended God!" screamed an old man, in a sudden outburst of temper. He bent his knees and curved his spine, protruding his head towards me. He shook his fists in my face, waved them about in the air, opened and tightly clenched them, digging his nails furiously into his palms. Instead of contracting the scalp of his forehead, the old
Raots
Raot raised his eyebrows and turned his polished forehead into a succession of deep wrinkles, stretching in a straight line across almost from ear to ear, and showing only a dark dimple over his nose. His nostrils, flat and broad to begin with, became widely expanded and raised so as to cause two deep lines to diverge from the nose along his cheeks. His mouth was open and a peculiar vacillation of the lower lip demonstrated plainly that its owner had but little command over speech and articulation. His eyes, which may have been brown originally, were discoloured, probably through the abuse of excessive animal powers, to the possession of which the formation of his skull strongly testified, but they assumed extraordinary brilliancy as his fury increased. He opened them wide, apparently with an effort, and showed the entire circle of his iris. The pupils were dilated, notwithstanding that the light upon his face was strong at the time.
Following his example, some of the rest displayed their discontent in a similar fashion, but others, among whom I especially noticed two youths with sad languishing faces, drooping large eyes, and luxuriant growth of black hair, stood apathetically apart, with head reclining towards the right shoulder, their features perfectly composed, and supporting their chins on their hands. Even if they had overcome their stupor, they did certainly not betray it, and appeared perfectly emotionless as far as their countenances were concerned.
One fellow with an extraordinary head, a mixture it seemed of a Mongolian and a Negroid type, was the first to calm himself of those who were so madly excited. With piercing though unsteady eyes, and with nervous twitching movements, he scrutinised my face more closely than the others, and seemed to reassure them all that I had not come to hurt them. He made signs to the rest to desist from their threats, and then, squatting down himself, invited me to follow his example, by sitting on my heels. When the storm had subsided and they had all sat down, I drew out of my pocket some coins and gave one to each of them, with the exception of one man on whom I thought I might study the passion of jealousy in its most primitive form. I watched the man closely, and soon saw him draw apart from the others and become sulky. The others were by now comparatively calm. They seemed predisposed towards sadness, and I could with difficulty extract from any of them more than a very faint sort of a smile. They turned and twisted the coins in their hands, and compared them among one another, jabbering and apparently content. The jealous man kept his head turned away from them determinedly, pretending not to see what was going on, and, resting his chin on his hand, he began to sing a weird, melancholy, guttural song, assuming an air of contempt, especially when the others chaffed him. Having allowed him to suffer enough, I gave him two coins instead of one, and with them the satisfaction of the last grin.
I then tried to photograph them, but my camera was looked upon with suspicion, and as plate after plate was exposed in portraying single individuals or groups, they shuddered at each "click" of the spring.
"The gods will be angry with you for doing that," said a Raot, pointing at the camera, "unless you give us a large white coin."
I took advantage of this, and promised them as best I could through my guide "two large coins" if they would take me to their huts, some few hundred yards below the lofty eyrie in the cliff, but I must for the sum be allowed not only to see but to touch and have explained to me anything I liked.
They consented, and we began our descent of the precipitous track leading to their habitations, a track fit really only for monkeys. Several women and children, who had come up attracted by the sight of strangers, joined with the men in giving us a helping hand, and in fact, I believe there cannot have been a single paw in the company that did not at one time or other during the descent clutch some portion of my clothing in the friendliest spirit. Holding on to one another, we proceeded in a body, not always at a pleasant pace, down the dangerous cliff. Two or three times one of the natives or myself tripped and almost dragged the remainder of the party over the precipice, while the piercing yells and screams of the women seemed to echo back for miles around. I was not sorry when we at last reached the small huts by the river which made up their village.
Two Men sitting down with Children
The habitations were squalid beyond measure. Constructed with a rough frame of tree-branches, fortified by wooden posts and rafters, roofed over with a thatch of dried grass, the majority of them measured about ten feet. They were built against the hillside, a strong bi-forked pole in the centre of the structure supporting the roof, and were usually divided into two sections, so as to give shelter each of them to two families. They contained no furniture, and but few utensils of the most primitive make. There were circular wooden bowls scooped out in the past by means of sharp-edged stones, and more recently by cheap blades, which were of Indian manufacture. For such cultivation as they were capable of these people used primitive earth rakes, and they also possessed coarse mallets, sticks, and net bags in which they kept their stores. Their staple food in former days was river fish, flesh of wild animals, and roots of certain trees; but they now eat grain also, and, like all savages, they have a craving for liquor. The interior of Raot habitations was so primitive and lacking of furniture, that it hardly requires to be described, and the odours that emanated from these huts are also better left to the imagination of the reader.
Entering one of the dwellings, I found squatted round a fire of wood some women and men, the women wearing silver bangles and glass bead necklaces, the men very little more than string earrings. Only one of the men had on as much as a diminutive loin-cloth, and the women had scanty dresses of Indian manufacture, obtained in Askote.
Scanning their features carefully, it struck me that in their facial lines many points could be traced which would make one feel inclined to attribute to them a remote Mongolian origin, modified largely by the climate, the nature of the country, and probably by intermarriage. In the scale of standard human races the Raots stood extremely low, as can be judged from the accompanying photographs. The women, as will be seen, had abnormally small skulls with low foreheads, and although they looked devoid even of a glint of reason, they were actually fairly intelligent. They had high cheek-bones; long, flattish noses, broad and rounded as in the Mongolian type. The chin was in most instances round, very receding, though the lips were in their normal position, thin, and very tightly closed with up-turned corners to the mouth. The lower jaw was extremely short and narrow, whereas the upper one seemed quite out of proportion to the size of the skull. Their ears were large, outstanding, and unmodelled, but capable of catching sounds at great distances.
The men had better heads than the women, underdeveloped yet comparatively well balanced. They had higher and broader foreheads, similar though shorter noses, chins not quite so receding, the whole lower jaw extraordinarily narrow, but the upper lip, as with the women, huge and out of all proportion.
Undoubtedly the Raots are not a pure race, and even among the few I came across variations so considerable occurred as to puzzle one in tracing their origin. They invariably possess luxuriant coal-black hair, which never attains more than a moderate length. It is not coarse in texture, but is usually so dirty that it appears coarser than it really is. They have very little hair on their bodies except in the arm-pits, and their moustaches and beards hardly deserve the name.
The men generally part the crop on their head in the middle, so that it flows on either side of the skull, just covering the ears, and I found the same strange custom that I observed years ago among the Ainu of Yezo of shaving a lozenge-shaped portion of the scalp in the centre of the forehead directly above the nose. The women, using their fingers as a comb, draw their hair to the back of the head and tie it in a knot.
The bodies of the better specimens I saw were slight and agile, with no superfluous fat or flesh. Supple to a degree, yet solid and muscular, with well-proportioned limbs and a skin of a rich tinge between bronze and terra-cotta colour, these savages, dirty and unclothed as they were, certainly appealed to the artistic side of my temperament, particularly on account of their very majestic deportment. I noticed their regular breathing, which they usually did through the nose, keeping their mouths tightly closed, and also one very curious peculiarity about their feet, viz., the length of the second toe, protruding considerably beyond the others, and giving them no doubt the power of using their toes almost as we should our fingers. The palms of their hands were almost without lines, the finger-nails flat, and their thumbs stumpy with the last phalange curiously short.
If the Raots to-day have adopted some articles of clothing and ornament, besides altering their diet to a certain extent, it is due entirely to the Rajiwar of Askote, who, taking a great interest in the tribes he rules over, provides them in a patriarchal way with all sorts of necessaries of life. Very few Raots have of late years visited Askote, as they are of a retiring nature and seem contented with their primitive abodes in the forests of Chipula, which they claim as their own. Their only occupations are fishing and hunting, and they are said to have a predilection for the flesh of the larger Himahlyan monkey, although from my own observation I should have said that they would eat almost anything they could get. It has generally been assumed that the Raot women are kept in strict seclusion and hidden from strangers, and I cannot better prove the absurdity of this than by reproducing in these pages one of several photographs of the Raot women, for which they posed at my request without the slightest objection from the men. They are generally believed to be chaste, and my photographs prove, I think, that whatever charm they may possess for the Raot men, their peculiar beauty offers but little temptation to others.
They are rapidly diminishing in numbers, chiefly no doubt on account of constant intermarriage. I was assured that the women are not sterile, but that there is enormous mortality among the young children. They bury their dead, and for several days afterwards offer food and water to the spirit of the departed.
I was unable to ascertain what their marriage ceremonies were like, or if they had any to speak of, but it appeared that there was a considerable family feeling among couples living maritally together. They are superstitious and hold in curious awe the spirits of the mountains, the sun, the moon, fire, water, and wind. Whether this amounts to a definite form of worship I cannot say: I certainly saw no signs of the offering of prayers or sacrifices.
The Raots claim to be the descendants of kings, and they refuse allegiance to any one. They will neither salute you nor bow to you.
"It is for other people to salute us. Our blood is the blood of kings, and though for choice we have for centuries retired to the jungle, we are none the less the sons of kings."
After a while, and when I had spent some considerable time among them, these royal savages seemed uncomfortable and apprehensive. I had turned over, examined, drawn or photographed every household article I had seen, had measured every one, male and female, who consented to be measured, and paid them the stipulated money. As I was about to leave, the grey-haired man approached me again.
"You have seen the home of the Raots. You are the first stranger who has done so, and you will suffer much. The gods are very angry with you."
"Yes," rejoined another savage, pointing at the ravine, "whoever treads along that track and is not a Raot will be afflicted by a great calamity."
"Kush paruani, Sahib" ("Never mind, sir"), interrupted the guide, "they are only barbarians, they know no better. I have myself never been here, so I suppose I shall also come in for my share."
"You too will suffer," said the old Raot, with self-assurance.
The Raots stood round me silently as I packed up the camera, and I felt that they looked upon me as a man whose fate was settled. They did not acknowledge my farewell, and, had I been in the least superstitious, might have made me thoroughly uncomfortable with their solemn, stolid gravity.
Raot Women of the Forest
CHAPTER V
A pilgrim from Mansarowar Lake—The spirits of the mountains—A safeguard against them—Tibetan encampments—The Rajiwar—A waterfall—Watermills.
Having returned to Askote from my excursion, I saw while going round the town with Jagat Sing, in a low stone shed by the side of the palace, the tall gaunt figure of a man emerging from a cloud of smoke.
"Who is that?" I inquired of my companion.
"Oh, that is a fakir returning from a pilgrimage to the sacred lake of Mansarowar in Tibet. Many of these fanatics pass through here during the summer on their religious journeys."
The Rajiwar of Askote, his Brother and Son
My curiosity drew me towards the weird individual. He was over six feet in height, and his slim body had been covered with ashes, giving the dark skin a tinge of ghastly grey. I asked him to come out into the light. His masses of long hair had been plaited into small tresses which were wound round his head in the fashion of a turban—the "Tatta." The hair, too, had been whitened, while the long thin beard had been dyed bright red. His eyes were sunken and, apparently to add to the ghastly and decidedly repulsive effect, his forehead and cheeks were plastered with a thick white paint. He seemed half stupefied, and had very little to say for himself. As can be seen by the illustration, he was scantily clothed, but he wore the Kamarjuri or fakir's chain about his loins, and he had a bead bracelet round his arm above the elbow. His waist was encircled with a belt of wooden beads, and a necklace of plaited hair ornamented his neck. He spent his days rolling himself in ashes and enduring self-imposed bodily privations, with a view to attain a state of sanctification.
Fakir Returning from Mansarowar
Rumours had reached me of some curious superstitions prevalent among these mountain folk.
"Tell me," I said to Jagat Sing, "are there 'spirits of the mountain' in these ranges? And do the people really believe in them?"
"Yes, sir," replied the young fellow, "there certainly are a number of them, and they are often very troublesome, especially to certain people. They are seldom known, however, to kill any one."
"Then they are not quite so bad as some human beings," I replied.
"Well, sir, they are very bad. They seize sleeping people by the throat with claws like iron, sitting on the chests of their victims."
"Does not that sound more like an attack of indigestion?"
"No, sir. The ghosts of the mountains are the spirits of people that have not gone to heaven. They are to be found in swarms at night in the forest. The people are terrified of them. They haunt the mountain-tops and slopes, and they can assume the semblance of a cat, a mouse, or any other animal; in fact they are said to frequently change their appearance. Where no man can tread, among rocks and precipices, or in the thick jungle, the spirits seek their retreat, but often they abandon their haunts to seek for men. The person who becomes possessed generally remains in a semi-conscious condition and ejaculates mad cries and unintelligible words. There are men who profess to know charms to draw them out. Some remedies are for that purpose commonly used by the natives with more or less success. A grass called Bichna (nettles) has the faculty of frightening the spirits away when applied on the body of the sufferer, but the most effective remedy is to make pretence to beat with a red-hot iron the person possessed. The spirits seem to fear that more than anything else."
"Do the spirits ever speak?" I inquired, interested in the curious superstitions of these hill men.
"No, sir, not often, nor usually directly, but they do it through people who are possessed by them. It is they who tell many strange tales of the spirits. One curious point about them is that they only seize people who are afraid of them. If defied they vanish."
"Do the natives adopt any special method to protect themselves from these mountain demons?"
"Fire is the only sure protection. Any one sleeping near a fire is safe, and as long as there is a flame blazing the spirits keep away."
"Do you know any one who has seen them?"
"Yes. A chaprassi called Joga tells of having been compelled to travel at night through a forest: he heard a voice calling him by name. Terrified, he stopped, and for some moments his voice failed him. At last, trembling all over, he replied, and instantly a swarm of spirits appeared and challenged him to do them harm. Joga ran for his life and the demons vanished. Spirits have been known to throw stones at passers-by."
"Have you ever seen a spirit, Jagat Sing?"
"Only once. I was returning to the palace late in the evening when up the steep road I perceived a woman's figure. It was a beautiful moonlight night. I walked up, and as I passed, the face of the strange being appeared black, inhuman and ghastly. I staggered when I saw the weird apparition approach, my blood ran cold with fear. I struck a mighty blow with my stick, but behold! the cane whirled through the air and hit nothing. Instantly the ghost vanished."
"I wish, Jagat Sing, that you could show me some of these spirits; I would give anything to make a sketch of them."
"You cannot always see them when you want, sir, but they are always to be avoided. They are evil spirits and can do nothing but harm."
Leaving Askote (4600 feet) by the winding road through a dense forest, I crossed by a suspension bridge the Gori River at Gargia (2450 feet). The track was along the low and unpleasantly hot valley of the Kali River, a raging stream flowing with indescribable rapidity in the opposite direction to that in which I was travelling. It formed the boundary line between Nepal and Kumaon. Huts and patches of cultivation were to be seen on the Nepalese side, whereas on our side we came upon deserted and roofless winter dwellings of Shokas (usually but not correctly called Botiyas) and Tibetans, who migrate to these warmer regions to graze their sheep during the colder months of the year. The Shoka summer residences are at greater elevations, mostly along the highways to Tibet and nearer the Tibetan boundary. On arriving at the Kutzia Daramsalla, a messenger brought me the news that the Rajiwar, whom I had missed seeing at Askote, was now here for the purpose of making offerings to certain deities. He would call upon me at 3 p.m., so, having some time to spare, I went to bathe in the deliciously cold though, as I found, dangerously rapid stream. Swimming was out of the question, and even an immersion bath was attended with a certain amount of risk. The current caused me to lose my footing, and I soon found myself washed with great force against some rocks thirty or forty yards down stream. I came out of the water minus a few patches of skin on my knees and shins, and while drying myself in the sun, received a deputation of the Patan (head village man) and other natives, conveying with their most respectful salaams gifts of milk, kielas (bananas), kakri (gigantic cucumbers), and nuts. These hill fellows impressed me as being of a far superior standard to the Hindoos of the plains. They were lightly yet strongly built, and showed evidence of both character and dignity. With their fair complexion and luxuriant black hair and moustache they resembled Spaniards or Southern Italians. They lacked entirely the affected manner and falseness of speech and demeanour, so common among the natives who are constantly in contact with Europeans.
Below the Daramsalla, near the water-side, was a large Tibetan encampment of some twenty or thirty tents which had all originally been white, but were now black with smoke. In these were men, women, and children, with all their paraphernalia; and the first thing that attracted my eye in each tent was the quantity of shiny brass bowls strewn upon the ground, the entire energy of the tent-owners seemingly being spent in keeping these utensils clean and bright, to the utter neglect of their other property. Walls of sheep-loads were erected either inside the tent or directly outside, covered in the latter case with cloths in order to protect them from the rain.
Punctually at 3 p.m. the Rajiwar arrived, carried in a dandy, and followed by his brother, who sat in a mountain dandy. The Rajiwar's son and heir rode a splendid grey pony. I went to assist the old Rajiwar to alight, as for some years he had been paralysed. We shook hands heartily, and I led him into the Daramsalla (2875 feet), where in default of furniture we all sat on packing-cases. His refined, well-cut features, his attractive manner, and the soft, dignified voice in which he spoke clearly indicated a man of superior blood and uncommon ability. His modesty and simplicity were delightful.
"I hope that your health is good and that you have not suffered too much on your journey. I was grieved not to be in Askote to receive you. Are your dear parents alive? Have you any brothers and sisters? Are you married? I would much like to visit England. It must be a wonderful country, and so much do I admire it that I have given my nephews a British education, and one of them is now serving the Maharanee (Queen) Victoria as Political Peshkar."
I answered his questions as best I could with the aid of a Hindustani dictionary, expressive gestures, and quick sketches. He spoke of many of our latest inventions with marked interest and intelligence.
He seemed greatly struck with my scientific instruments, but he and his people were more particularly attracted by my rifles, revolvers, and other weapons, especially the 256° Mannlicher, sighted to 1000 yards.
The Rajiwar pressed me to return with him to Askote, where he offered to give me tiger, bear, and leopard shooting. Tempting as the invitation was, I could not accept it, for my plans would lead me in the opposite direction. His visit lasted for more than three hours; and I was pleased to feel that we parted great friends.
The Rajiwar and his Brother in Dandies.
On the road to Dharchula, along the low-lying valley, the heat was unbearable, although the sun was near the horizon. We came upon a waterfall falling from a great height over a series of umbrella-like stalactites covered with moss. The last rays of the sun shone on the dropping water, brilliant and sparkling as a shower of diamonds. Several small rainbows added to the beauty of the scene. I rested some time in this cool and beautiful retreat. There were birds singing and monkeys playing among the trees. Farther on, where the river bends, there are two large caves hollowed in the rock; the smoke-blackened ceilings prove that these are used as camping grounds by travelling Shokas and Hunyas (Tibetans). Large black-faced, white-bearded monkeys swarmed everywhere, frankly and gladly mischievous. They throw or roll stones down upon the passers-by, often causing accidents, the track being rather narrow and sheer above the river.
Previous to arriving at the spot where the Tsuagar flows into the Kali River one meets with many Tibetan, Humli and Rongba encampments.
I camped at Kalika (3205 feet) by the side of a gigantic tree with boughs spreading well over the road, the chaprassis and men erecting a comfortable chöpper of mats, foliage, and branches.
I was anxious to get through the hot valley with the greatest possible speed, so, notwithstanding that we had halted very late at night, I roused my men at 3 a.m. and again set forth on the march. Here and there along the road we passed deserted winter dwellings of Shokas, nearly all with broken thatched roofs. Some, however, were roofed with slate, the distinctive mark of residence of the Darma Shokas.
The primitive Shoka water-mills were curious. By a very ingenious contrivance the water of a stream propelled a heavy cylindrical stone revolving on the top of another. The grain fell slowly from a magazine above into a hole pierced in the centre of the upper wheel, and finding its way through a channel between the two cylinders, was ground into fine flour.
Dharchula (3550 feet) the largest Shoka winter settlement, is situated on a fine stretch of flat land some hundred feet above the river; the village consists of twelve long rows of roofless houses very similar in size and shape. Four larger buildings at the extreme limit of the settlement attract notice. One of these is a Daramsalla. The others, two high stone buildings, are a school, hospital and dispensary belonging to the Methodist Episcopal Mission and under the careful supervision of Miss Sheldon, M.D., Miss Brown, and that wonderful pioneer, Dr. H. Wilson. A bungalow of the same mission is built higher up on the hillside.
Between the two spots where from Nepal the Lachu and the Shakta join the Kali, was Dubart (3700 feet), and from thence one gradually rose to 4120 feet at the Relegar River, also a tributary of the larger stream. Having crossed the Rankuti River I ascended still higher by zigzag walking, slowly leaving behind me range after range of mountains beyond the valley of the river; while on the Nepal side, beyond the three nearer ranges, snow peaks of great height and beauty stood out against the sky-line. The highest point on the road was 5450 feet, after which we descended to 5275 feet at Khela Daramsalla, which we did not reach till late at night.
Near Khela on the top of a high mountain stood a tall quadrangular rock not unlike a tower. The natives say that a mere touch causes it to shake and revolve, but this belief is not general, for others deny that it ever moves. I could not spare the time to go and test the facts, nor could I obtain reliable information from any one who had had actual experience. So far as I could see with the aid of my telescope, the rock seemed to be standing firmly on a very solid base. To my regret also, I was unable to visit the curious hot sulphur springs on the Darma Ganga, and the strange cave in which much animal life is lost owing to the noxious gases rising from the ground. I gathered from various reports that this cave or grotto is packed with skeletons of birds and quadrupeds who have unknowingly entered this chamber of death.
CHAPTER VI
Highways and trade routes—The Darma route—The Dholi River—A rough track connecting two valleys—Glaciers—Three ranges and their peaks—Altitudes—Darma, Johar, and the Painkhanda Parganas—The highest peak in the British Empire—Natural boundaries.
There are two principal highways from Khela to Hundes: one by the valley of the Dholi or Darma River, the other along the Kali River and over the Lippu Pass.
View of the Himahlyas—showing Nanda Devi and Trisul Peaks
The trade route viâ Darma is less frequented than the one by the Lippu, but it is nevertheless of considerable importance, inasmuch as a certain portion of the trade of South-west Tibet with India is carried on through the medium of the Darma Shokas. It consists mainly of borax, salt, wool, skins, cloth, and utensils, in exchange for which the Tibetans take silver, wheat, rice, satoo, ghur, lump candied sugar, pepper, beads of all kinds, and articles of Indian manufacture. For a mountain track, and considering the altitudes to which it rises, the Darma way is comparatively good and safe, notwithstanding that in following upwards the course of the Dholi River the narrow path in many places overhangs deep ravines and precipices. There are many Shoka villages and settlements on the banks of the stream, the most important ones being the Nyu, Sobala, Sela, Nagling (9520 feet), Bahling (10,230 feet), Sona and Tuktung (10,630 feet), Dansu and Yansu, where there is a bridge. On the north-east bank is Goa, facing Dakar, and farther up, at an elevation of 10,400 feet, the Lissar, a rapid tributary with muddy water.
The Dholi springs from a series of comparatively small glaciers north-east of a range forming a branch of the higher Himahlyan chain, and extending in a south-easterly direction as far as the point where the two streams meet. It receives, on its precipitous descent, many small snow-fed tributaries, those from the Katz snowfields and the Nui glacier being the most important. Its way lies in a tortuous channel amidst rocks and ravines, first tending towards the South-East, then due South, and last South-West down to the point where it is joined by the Lissar, coming from the North-West along a line almost parallel on the opposite watershed of the range.
Darma Shokas and Tibetans
Tyang, Sipu (11,400 feet), and Marcha (10,890 feet), are the three most important Shoka villages on the Lissar.
From Marcha there is a track connecting the valleys of the Lissar and Gori. You ascend the high mountain range west of the Lissar by skirting the northern edge of the Nipchung Kang glacier and keeping south of the Kharsa glacier, and, on a route that is unpopular on account of its constant difficulties and perils, you pass, as you descend in a westerly direction, the Tertcha glacier. South of the Shun Kalpa glacier you reach first Ralem and then Sumdu, which is situated on a tributary of the Gori River, itself a tributary
View of the Himahlyas. Showing Nanda Devi and Trisul Peaks.
of the Kali. The rugged, barren chain of mountains separating the Gori from the Lissar extends in a general direction from S.S.E. to N.N.E. up to the Ralfo glacier, and there turns in a curve North-West among a succession of perpetual snow-fields and glaciers. The glaciers to the North-East and East of the range outnumber those on the West, but there is one of importance called in its different sections the Kala Baland, the Shun Kalpa, and the Tertcha. There are, along the fifteen most northerly miles of the range, south of the point where it joins the Himahlyan chain, other glaciers of considerable size and importance, but I was not able to ascertain their names, excepting that of the Lissar seva, the most northern of all, forming the source of the Lissar. The inter-Lissar-Gori range is of considerable geographical importance, not only because it forms the boundary between the two parts of Bhot called Darma and Johar, but also because of the magnificent peaks reaching in the Bambadhura an elevation of 20,760 feet, and in a higher unnamed peak, South-East of it, 21,470 feet. There are also the two Kharsa peaks, the one North-West of the glacier bearing its name being 19,650 feet, the one South-West of it slightly over 20,900 feet, and S.S.W. one peak 21,360 feet, another 21,520 feet, and farther still, North of the Telkot glacier, the highest of all, 22,660 feet. In a South-East direction there are peaks 20,700 feet, 20,783 feet, and 21,114 feet high. At the point where the ridge turns South the elevations become lower, the two highest being 19,923 feet and 19,814 feet, the latter situated at the point where a smaller range branches off to the South-East, the principal range running South for the next eleven or twelve miles, with no very remarkable elevations. In the side range there are peaks of 18,280 feet, 17,062 feet, 14,960 feet, 14,960 feet respectively.
In Lat. 29° 59′ 10″ N. and Long. 80° 31′ 45″ E. the range again separates into two secondary ridges, one extending South-East, the other South-West, and in turn both these are again subdivided into minor hill ridges, along which no summits are found surpassing 13,000 feet, except the Basili, 13,244 feet.
The Bungadhura Mountain (9037 feet), in close proximity to Khela, terminates the South-Easterly division of the range, separating the Pargana of Darma from that of Askote. The actual boundary line, however, does not follow the higher mountain range as far as the Kali River, but swerves to the south along the ridge overlooking the valley of the River Relegar. These mountains are called the Mangthil.
There is west of the above ridge a second and even more important chain, running out parallel to it from the backbone of the Himahlyan great mountain system. This second ridge contains the highest mountain in the British Empire, Nanda Devi (25,660 feet) with its second peak (24,380 feet), also Trisul (23,406 feet), East Trisul (22,360 feet), and Nanda Kot (22,530 feet). This range and its ramifications divide the valleys of the Gori River (the Pargana of Johar) from the most Western portion of Bhot, the Painkhanda Pargana.
The well-known Milam and Pindari glaciers are one on the Eastern, the other on the South-West side of this range. The Milam highway to Tibet, frequented by the Johari traders, traverses over the Kungribingri Pass (18,300 feet), and the Uttadhura (17,590 feet) directly S.S.W. of it into Hundes.
The Pargana Painkhanda, a region equally Alpine, similarly covered with vast stretches of perpetual snow and extensive glaciers, is in the North-East corner of Garwhal, bordering on Tibet, and along the Dhauli River; intersecting it, another trade route finds its way into Western Tibet by the Niti Pass. Leaving the course of the Dhauli at Jelam (10,100 feet), this track proceeds almost due east, rising to an altitude of 16,600 feet on the Niti, in Lat. 30° 57′ 59″ N. and Long. 79° 55′ 3″ E., which is, from all accounts, a very easy pass, and quite free from snow during the summer months. The people of the Painkhanda Pargana use this pass as well as the other passes of Malla Shilanch and Tumzun, besides the Shorhoti, visited by H. R. Strachey some years ago, over which, however, only a small portion of the trade with Hundes is carried, for it is considered the most dangerous of the three. The cold and turbid waters of the Dhauli, swollen by dozens of equally foaming and muddy tributaries, become ultimately the sacred waters of the Ganges.
The three Alpine Parganas, viz., the Painkhanda, Johar, and Darma (Darma, Chaudas, and Bias) are inhabited by races closely allied and akin to those of Tibet proper. The region is collectively named Bhot, although that designation is more particularly applied by the natives of India to that portion of the country which includes Darma, Bias, and Chaudas, and which has for natural boundaries the Kali River to the South-East, separating it from Nepal and the great Himahlyan chain to the North-East, extending from the Lissar Peak in a general direction of about 115°.
A ramification leaving the main range at the Darma Pass stretches across from N.N.W. to S.S.E., separating the above-mentioned Darma Ganga from the Kuti River, along which I eventually travelled on my way to Tibet. The main elevations found on this ridge are 18,510 feet on the Darma Pass; north-east of the Rama glacier a peak 20,760 feet; the Gurma Mountain 20,320 feet; and others south of them as high as 20,380 feet, 20,330 feet, 20,260 feet. East of the latter summit is one 20,455 feet.
CHAPTER VII
The word Bhot and its meaning—Tibetan influence—Tibetan abuses—The ever-helpful Chanden Sing—The first Shoka village—Chanden Sing in disgrace—Weaving-loom—Fabrics—All's well that ends well!
The name Bhot, pronounced Bod, Pote, Tüpöt, or Taipöt, by which this inter-Alpine region is called, means Tibet. In fact Tibet is probably merely a corruption of Tüpöt. These lofty "pattis" of Darma, Bias, and Chaudas nominally form part of the British Empire, our geographical boundary with Nari Khorsum or Hundes (Great Tibet), being the main Himahlyan chain forming the watershed between the two countries. In spite of this actual territorial right, I found at the time of my visit in 1897 that it was impossible not to agree with the natives in asserting that British prestige and protection in those regions were mere myths; that Tibetan influence alone was dominant and prevailing, and Tibetan law enforced and feared. The natives invariably showed abject obsequiousness and servile submission to Tibetans, being at the same time compelled to display actual disrespect to British officials. They were driven to bring the greater number of civil and criminal cases before Tibetan magistrates in preference to having them tried in a British court.
The Tibetans, in fact, openly claimed possession of the "pattis" bordering on Nari Khorsum; and the more obviously to impress our natives with their influence as superior to British, they came over to hibernate on our side, and made themselves quite at home in the warmer valleys and in the larger bazaars. They brought their families with them, and drove before them thousands and thousands of sheep to graze on our pasture-lands; they gradually destroyed our forests in Bias to supply South-Western Tibet with fuel for the summer months. For this they not only paid nothing, but our native subjects had to convey the timber over the high passes without remuneration. Necessarily such unprincipled task-masters did not draw the line at extorting from our natives under any pretence money, food, clothes, and everything else they could possibly levy. Some were known to travel yearly as far south as Lucknow, Calcutta, and Bombay.
Shoka Weavers
So much for the gentleness of the Tibetans—a hermit nation living in a closed country!
Chanden Sing, ever anxious to be polite and helpful, would not hear of my carrying my own sketch and note books as had always been my custom, but insisted on doing so himself.
"Hum pagal neh!" ("I am no fool!") said he with an expression of wounded feelings. "I will take great care of them."
We started up the steep road, having first descended to the level of the River Dholi, 800 feet lower than Khela, crossing by a wooden bridge. The zigzag up the mountain-side seemed endless. Here and there a cool spring of crystal water quenched our thirst, welcome indeed on that tedious ascent in the broiling sun. Six miles above Khela we had risen to 7120 feet, and from this point the incline became less trying. Still we rose to 7450 feet two miles farther on, where under the shade of some magnificent old trees, at Pungo, I halted for lunch. We had entered the first inhabited village of the Shokas, visually but erroneously called Botiyas, and were now in that part of their country called Chaudas.
A pleasant surprise awaited me. A smart-looking lad in European clothes came boldly forward, and, stretching out his hand, shook mine for some considerable time in a jovial and friendly fashion.
"I am a Christian," said he.
"I should say that you were by the way you shake hands."
"Yes, sir," he proceeded. "I have prepared for you some milk, some chapatis (native bread), and some nuts. Please accept them."
"Thank you," I said. "You do not seem to be a bad Christian. What is your name?"
"Master G. B. Walter, sir. I teach in the school."
A crowd of Shokas had collected. Their first shyness having worn off, they proved to be polite and kind. The naïve nature and graceful manner of the Shoka girls struck me particularly on this my first introduction to them. Much less shy than the men, they came forward, and joked and laughed as if they had known me all their lives. I wished to sketch two or three of the more attractive.
"Where is my book, Chanden Sing?" I inquired of my bearer.
"Hazur hum mallum neh!" ("I do not know, sir!") was his melancholy answer as he searched his empty pockets.
"Ah! you villain! Is that the care you take of my notes and sketches? What have you done with them?"
"Oh Sahib, I drank some water at the Dholi River. I had the book then in my hand. I must have left it on a stone when I stooped to drink water from the stream," the wretched man explained.
It is hardly necessary to say that Chanden Sing was promptly despatched to the spot he had named, with strict orders not to appear before me again without the book. I spent two or three pleasant hours in having the primitive Shoka weaving-looms, the processes of spinning and cloth manufacture, explained to me. As can be seen from the illustration on [p. 42], the weaving looms of the Shokas are in every way similar to those used by the Tibetans proper, and are quite simple in construction. The warp is kept at great tension, and the cloth-beam on which the woven tissue is rolled rests on the woman's lap during the process of weaving. There are no treadles in the Shoka loom, by which the two sets of warp threads are alternately raised or depressed between each time that the transverse thread is passed, and all work is done by hand. The transverse thread is beaten firmly home by means of a heavy prismatic piece of wood. The material used in weaving is yak or sheep's wool, either in its natural colour or dyed in the primary colours of red and blue and yellow, and one secondary only, green. Blue and red are used in the greater and equal proportion; then green. Yellow is very parsimoniously used. The thread is well twisted and is subjected to no preparation before spinning, leaving thus a certain greasiness in the closely-woven material that renders it waterproof. In weaving colour fabrics several shuttles are used.
Shoka women are very adept at this ancient art, and they patiently sit out of doors day after day weaving most intricate and artistic patterns. These coloured tissues, if we except the simpler ones with blue ground and lines for women's garments, are usually very narrow (about seven inches in width), whereas the less elaborate ones, such as the white material of which men's clothes are made, average sixteen inches.
The patterns in these many-coloured materials are woven from memory, and do not contain curves or circles, but are entirely composed of lines and angles, combinations of small lozenges and squares separated by long tri-coloured parallel lines, forming, so far as weaving is concerned, the main Shoka ideas of decoration and ornament. The fabrics are extraordinarily strong. The narrow coloured cloth of better quality is used mostly for making bags in which money and food are carried; the coarser kind for the double sheep-loads.
The more talented of the Shoka young women show much ingenuity in carpet or rather rug making. They have copied the idea from old Chinese rugs which have found their way here viâ Lhassa, and though upon close examination it is true they differ considerably in quality and manufacture, they are pleasing enough to the eye. These rugs are woven upon coarse thread matting, the coloured material being let in vertically. A soft surface is obtained not unlike in general appearance to that of Persian carpets, but not quite so pleasant to the touch. These small rectangular rugs are offered in the house of Shoka gentlemen to guests to sit on, and are also used to render the Tibetan saddles less uncomfortable.
As time went on I became very anxious as to the missing book, for it contained all my notes of the journey. The thought of its being deposited on a rock washed by a rapid stream into which it might easily slip and be carried away kept me in a state of suspense. At last a staggering figure approached; it was Chanden Sing waving the book triumphantly in the air. He had run the distance of many miles down to the river and back so quickly that when he reached me he was utterly exhausted. He handed me the book, and once more we started, followed by Walter and the whole community, down the steep incline to the river. At this place some of the Shokas seized my hands and placed them on their foreheads, at the same time making deep bows. Others embraced my feet, while the women folks bade me the usual Hindustani "Acha giao" ("Go well").
After some time had been wasted, or at least spent, in receiving these odd salutations, I persuaded them to retrace their steps, and they left me.
CHAPTER VIII
Prayer by wind-power—Photography under difficulties—A night of misery—Drying up—Two lady missionaries—Their valuable work—An interesting dinner party—An "eccentric" man's tea party.
To reach Shosha I had to climb a further three miles, which proved almost as steep as the previous ascent to Pungo.
A curious custom of praying by wind-power, probably borrowed from the Tibetans, prevails among the Shokas. The Tibetans, with a more intense religion than the Shokas, use for this purpose not only the wind but even water to propel their praying machines. Let me explain these simple mechanical contrivances for prayers. One or more rags or pieces of cloth, usually white, but on occasions red or blue, are fastened and hung by one end to a string stretched across a road, a pass, or a path. On crossing a pass for the first time Shokas invariably cut a strip of cloth and place it so that it will flap in the breeze. Also when materials for a new dress are purchased or manufactured, it is customary for them to tear off a narrow strip of the stuff and make a flying prayer of it. As long as there is motion in it there is prayer, so that the natives tie them very fast to sticks, poles, or branches of trees; and certain shrubs and trees in weird romantic spots on the mountains are covered with these religious signs. Moreover, on the top of nearly every Shoka dwelling a vast number of similar little flags can be seen, as well as near their shrines and at the outer gates of a village.
I put up at the Titela Daramsalla, one mile above Shosha village. The weather had been threatening for several days, and a steady downpour came upon us during the evening. Work had been accumulating daily. I decided to develop the large number of plates I had taken on my journey, a job hateful beyond measure when you are on the move. Having duly unpacked all the developing dishes and prepared the different solutions, I set to work to make the shelter completely dark. The next important item required was water, and of this there was plenty in that wretched shanty! I had just developed half-a-dozen negatives, and was delighted at the excellent results, when, in consequence of the storm having grown more violent, the rain began dripping on my head through the leaky roof of the Daramsalla. To move all the trays of developers, baths, and fixing solution would have been a nuisance; besides, I was too interested in my work to be put out by such small trifles, so I patiently stood this new discomfort. I shifted my position continually, merely with the result that the rain dripped alternately on my back, my legs, or my shoulders, according to my position. It fell in torrents, and the roof over me was so leaky that I might as well have been out in the open. I was sitting in a pool of water and could not lay my hands upon anything that was not drenched. Fortunately my boxes and cases were water-tight, or all the instruments and plates would have been damaged.
Annoying as it was, I had to give up work. The best thing to do was to go to sleep. Easier said than done. My bedding and blanket were soaked. The attempts to lie under a waterproof sheet failed, for I felt suffocated, so I passed the cover to my servant, who, rolling himself in it, was soon in the arms of Morpheus. Tired and disgusted, I crouched myself up and eventually fell asleep. I woke up in the morning with a biting pain in my toes. I had been lying face downwards, and had involuntarily stretched my legs during the night. I discovered to my horror that one foot rested in the developing bath and the other in the fixing solution, which I had forgotten to empty out of the large celluloid trays.
The morning was spent in drying up things in the sun, including our clothes, while we, clad in a "doti" (large loin-cloth as used by the natives of India), squatted down in the warmth in order to restore our saturated skins to their natural condition.
I was in the meantime interviewed by many Shokas, applying for medicines, and wishing to sell their native wares.
A pretty girl, from whom I bought a curious set of neck hangings made of musk-deer teeth, wished to be cured of the goître, a complaint too common, alas! on these hills. Then a child was brought with a nasty tumour in a state of suppuration inside his left ear. Others wished to be cured of pains in the stomach and liver, which are very general among them owing to their abuse of liquor.
Upon hearing that two lady missionaries lived a mile and a half farther on, at Sirka, I gave myself the pleasure of calling upon them. They possessed a nice bungalow at an elevation of 8900 feet above sea level, by the side of which was another structure for the accommodation of converts and servants. Lower on the hillside they had built a dispensary and hospital.
Wrinkled Shoka
I was received with the utmost courtesy by Miss Sheldon, M.D., and Miss Brown, of the Methodist Episcopal Mission. I have in my lifetime met with many missionaries of all creeds in nearly every part of the globe, but never has it been my luck before to meet two such charming, open-minded, and really hard-working ladies as the two who now so kindly received me.
"Come right in, Mr. Landor," said Miss Sheldon with her delightful American accent, and she shook hands with me in a good, hearty fashion.
The natives had praised to me the charity and helpfulness of this lady. I found this more than justified. By night or day she would never refuse help to the sick, and her deeds of kindness which became known to me are far too numerous to detail in these pages. Perhaps her most valuable quality is her perfect tact—a quality I have found none too common among missionaries. Her patience, her kindly manner towards the Shokas, her good heart, the wonderful cures she wrought among the sick, were items of which these honest mountaineers had everlasting praises to sing. A Shoka was telling me that it was not an uncommon thing for Miss Sheldon to give away all her own food supplies, and even the clothes from her back—courting for herself discomfort, yet happy in her good work.
With it was combined a charming modesty. No word about herself or her actions ever passed her lips. A pioneer in these parts, she evidently must have encountered much difficulty in the beginning. At present her good influence over the Shokas is very considerable. The same can be said of Miss Brown, who was in every way a worthy comrade of Miss Sheldon.
Lal Sing Tokudar and his Brother
They have both in a comparatively short time become fully acquainted with the Shoka language, and can converse in it as fluently as in English, this fact alone endearing them greatly to the natives.
They were kind enough to ask me to dinner. "It is Sunday," said Miss Sheldon, "and we shall have all our Christians dining with us. You will not mind, I am sure."
I assured her that nothing would interest me more.
I arrived punctually at the hour appointed, and on the verandah of the bungalow were laid some nice clean mats upon which we all sat cross-legged in native fashion. We three Europeans were provided with knife and fork, but all the natives helped themselves with their fingers, which they used with much dexterity. There were among the converts some Hindoos, some Shokas, some Humlis, and a Tibetan woman. All counted, I suppose they were about twenty, and it would be impossible to find a better behaved set of Christians anywhere. They ate heartily and only spoke when they were spoken to.
"I doubt whether I have ever dined with so many good Christians," said I jokingly to Miss Sheldon. "It is delightful."
"They would much like to hear some of the experiences of your travels if you would be kind enough to tell them. That is to say, if you are not too tired and do not mind."
Interpreted by Miss Brown, I related some of my adventures in the country of the Ainu. Rarely have I had such an interested audience. When the story ended they all salaamed me, and an old veteran Gourkha, one of the converts, took my hand and shook it warmly.
"You must not mind, Mr. Landor: you see, we treat our Christians like ourselves,"[4] quickly interrupted Miss Sheldon.
"Oh no, I do not mind," I replied. "On the contrary, I am glad to see it done."
I took my leave and asked the ladies to come to tea with me the next day. The afternoon came and they arrived, when to my horror it flashed across my mind that I had neither cups, nor saucers, nor spoons. I had some tea, but I had no idea in which box it was, and to save my life I could not lay my hands upon it. This caused a frank and delightful remark on the part of Miss Sheldon to Miss Brown.
"Does not Mr. Landor remind you of 'that other' eccentric gentleman that came through here last year?"
The moment she had uttered the words Miss Sheldon saw what she had said, and we all laughed heartily.
"You know, Mr. Landor," put in Miss Brown, "we half foresaw that you would not be provided with these articles of luxury, and we brought our own cups and saucers."
The news was a great relief to me.
"Well now, let me persuade you to take some delicious chocolate instead of tea."
"Very good, we would prefer it. We have not had chocolate for a long time."
A solid block of chocolate was produced weighing twenty-eight pounds, and Chanden Sing set to chip off bits with a stone—a primitive but effective method. In the
House of a Wealthy Shoka
meantime the kettle was boiling, while my two visitors made themselves as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances on pack-saddle cases.
The tea party went off well, for the ladies, evidently suspecting the "eccentricity" of their host, had come provided not only with cups and saucers, but with spoons, cake, bread, butter, and biscuits!
FOOTNOTES:
[4] N.B.—Anglo-Indians very rarely condescend to shake hands with the natives.
CHAPTER IX
Discouraging reports—A steep ascent—How I came to deserve the name of "monkey"—Hard at work—Promoted in rank—Collapse in a gale of wind—Time and labour lost.
The weather again became rainy and cold. The reports that I received of the state of the roads farther up were not encouraging.
"The track is impassable," said an old Shoka who had just arrived from Garbyang. "The Lippu Pass by which you wish to enter Tibet is still closed, and there is much snow on it still. Then the Jong Pen of Taklakot in Tibet, having been left unpunished for his last years' attack on Lieutenant Gaussen, has now a strong guard of three hundred men to prevent foreigners entering the country. The Dakus (brigands) infesting the region of the Mansarowar Lake seem to be more numerous this year than ever."
I shall come in for a lively time, I thought to myself.
My next camp was at Shankula, 7450 feet above the sea level. It was reached by going over a delightfully cool track, not unlike a shady path through a picturesque park, among tall cedars of Lebanon, beeches and maples, with here and there a stream or spring of water, and hundreds of black-faced, white-bearded monkeys playing and leaping from tree to tree.
I encamped by the river. The day was glorious. In front of me, north-east by east, stood, gigantic and majestic, some high snowy peaks. The valley was narrow, and the remainder of the snowy range of mountains was hidden from sight. What a lovely subject for a picture! I was tempted to halt and get out my paint-box and sketch-book; and abandoning my lunch, which was being cooked, I climbed to the summit of a high peak in order to obtain a more extensive view. The ascent, first on slippery grass, then over slaty rocks, was by no means easy, nor devoid of a certain amount of danger; but so keen was I to get to the top that I reached the summit very quickly, leaving half-way down the mountain slope the two men who had followed me. In places near the top there were rocks to climb that stood almost perpendicular, and it was necessary to use hands as well as feet. It was not unlike climbing up a rough wall. I was nevertheless well repaid for my trouble. The view from that high point of vantage was magnificent, and I confess that I felt almost too ambitious when, having unslung my paint-box, I attempted to reproduce on paper the scene before me.
"I am a fool," said I to myself, "to try and paint that! What painter could do those mountains justice?"
I dashed off the picture as usual very hastily, but never was a rash venture rewarded with poorer result, and those eternal giants remained unpainted.
Disconsolate, I made my way down. It was more difficult even than the climb up. A false step, a slip, and it might have cost my life, especially along the steep precipice, where I had to cling to anything projecting in the wall-like rock. I had gone four thousand feet higher than the camp, reaching an elevation of 11,450 feet above sea level.
It was this performance, watched anxiously from my camp down below, as well as by the army of men belonging to the Deputy Commissioner of Almora, who was also here encamped, that won me the name among the natives of "Chota Sahib," the "Langur," the "small sir," the "monkey," a name of which I have been proud ever since.
Some seventy-three miles from Pithoragarh the Shankula River enters the Kali, the course of the Shankula being roughly from N.N.W. to S.S.E.
The track once crossed, the Shankula stream tends towards the South-East and with a gentle incline rises to 8570 feet at Gibti, where I encamped somewhat above the Gala Daramsalla. I had gone through forests of maple, beech, oak and rhododendrons, with a thick undergrowth of scrub and bamboo.
The Kali River, about two thousand feet down below my camp, marks the boundary between Nepal and Kumaon. From this high point the foaming stream can be seen for miles, winding between thickly wooded hills and mountains like a silver ribbon on a dark reposeful background.
The march from my last camp was a very short one, so I had the greater part of the day left for work. Previously I had usually halted in Daramsallas (stone-walled shelters), and in default of these my men put up for me a neatly-made "Chahna"[5] or "chöpper," a hut of mats and branches of trees, in the construction of which the Paharis are wonderfully dexterous. I had also my small "mountain tent," a tente d'abri, quite comfortable enough for ordinary requirements.
The Tent
It seems, however, that this style of travelling is not considered comme il faut by the officials of India. It is the number and size of one's tents, according to these authorities, that make one a greater or a smaller gentleman! I had put up my tent—three feet high, seven feet long, and four feet wide—by the side of the two double-leaf eighty pound tents of the Deputy Commissioner, but this official and his companions were far from pleased with this act of familiarity. For a double-tented sahib to be seen in company of another sahib whose bijou tent rose from the ground hardly up to one's waist, was infra dig and a serious threat to the prestige of the British in India. I was therefore politely requested to move from my cosy quarters to a more dignified abode lent me by the one-eyed Lal Sing, a Tokudar[6] and brother of the Patwari.[7]
Being thus promoted in everybody's estimation except my own, I wrote and copied out my first article for The Daily Mail, and, having done this, I dined and spent a pleasant evening with Mr. G.
The night was stormy; the wind shook my tent. I went to sleep wrapped in my solitary camel-hair blanket. Some hours later a sharp knock on my head woke me. It was the centre pole of the tent that had moved out of its sockets and had fallen on me. This was followed by a rushing noise of canvas, and I found myself in a moment uncovered and gazing at the stars.
There were white things flying about in the air, and, to my horror, I discovered the leaves of my Daily Mail article scattered in the wind.
I jumped up, but of the ten or twelve foolscap leaves on very thin paper, I only managed to recover two or three. The others soared gracefully to and fro in the air, and I suppose settled eventually in the Kali. This meant recopying the article next day, a tedious job when you are burning to get on.
The sun rose. The camp began to wake up. All were shivering with cold. I took my usual cold bath surrounded by a half-frozen crowd of astonished onlookers, wrapped up in their thick woollen blankets, crouching round me with their chins on their knees.
The tent was recovered after a while, and soon all was ready to start.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Chahna—Pahari. Chöpper, Dehsi—Hindustani.
[6] Tokudar—Head-village man.
[7] Patwari—Accountant for a Pargana.
CHAPTER X
The Nerpani, or "waterless track"—Exaggerated accounts—A long shot—The rescue of two coolies—Picturesque Nature—An involuntary shower-bath—The Chai Pass.
The renowned Nerpani, or Nerpania, "waterless track," begins at Gibti. Very few travellers have been on this road, and by the accounts brought back many people have been prevented from imitating their example.
The Nerpani Road
Personally I found the track far better than I anticipated. I have been on worse mountain roads among less precipitous cliffs. From what I had heard it seemed as if the greater part of the road for several miles was supported on crowbars fixed in the rock, but such is not the case. Here and there, however, are found along the track spots overhanging precipices; and where the perpendicular cliff did not allow of a road to be cut except at great expense, crowbars have been more or less firmly planted horizontally in the rock, and a narrow path made over them with large slabs of stone. The drop from the path to the river is often from eighteen hundred to two thousand feet, and the path is in many places no wider than six inches. But to any surefooted traveller that would not constitute a real danger. The road is tedious, for the Nerpania cliff along which it has been constructed is subdivided into three smaller cliffs, separated in turn one from the other by ravines. It is thus troublesome to climb up and down some thousands of feet, each time along interminable and badly put together flights of steps, only to descend again on the other side. Some of the descents, especially the last to Gulamla, are precipitous, but with no nails in one's shoes and no stick in one's hand, there is really very little danger for people accustomed to mountaineering.
These are the main elevations on the road: Gibti, 8650 feet, 6750 feet, 7600 feet, 6700 feet, 7100 feet, 6600 feet from Gulamla. At bearings magnetic 350°, going close to the river-bed through a gorge, one obtains a fine view of a huge gneiss peak towering on the left side of the Neganza or Nejangar Mountain. This peculiar rock, shaped like a fortress, goes by the name of the Ladjekut Peak and rises where the Nejangar River meets the Kali. Here we pitched our tents.
The Nerpani Road
Towards sunset there was much agitation in camp over the appearance of wild goats on the other side of the Kali River in Nepal.
"Your rifle, Sahib, your rifle!" shouted a chorus of impatient natives. "Quick, quick, your rifle!"
I seized my Mannlicher and followed the excited gang to a place some hundred yards away, where a large boisterous crowd had collected to watch the game.
The Nerpani Road
"Where are they?" said I, as I could not see anything.
"There, there!" they all screamed at the top of their voices, pointing to the summit of the opposite cliff over four hundred yards distant.
"Oh, that is too far."
"No, no, Sahib, please shoot," they all implored.
The Nerpani Track
I put up the Lyman back-sight to four hundred yards, took aim and fired. Down came rolling from rock to rock the poor wild goat, amid the frantic excitement of the crowd around me. It rolled down until it came to the shrub and vegetation, where its progress became slower. It fell on the small trees and, bending them by its weight, it would drop a few seconds later on to a lower one. The trepidation on our side was intense. At last the graceful body stuck across a bigger tree and swung on it for some minutes. The oscillation slowly ceased, and tree and goat became motionless. There our prey stuck fast.
The Chai-lek Pass
Hatchets were immediately produced, and two tall trees hurriedly cut and felled. A bridge was being spanned to cross the dangerous cold and swift waters of the Kali. A tree was thrown across, and its point just about reached a high rock on the other side. Then, amidst a dead silence, a coolie balanced himself over it. He had nearly reached the opposite bank when there was a crash. The tree broke, and the man was in the water, frightened and screaming pitifully, clutching a branch with convulsive fingers.
Another coolie went to his rescue, but the tree being now swung by the current, he also was pitched into the water. It was only after a terrible moment of suspense that our men had the common sense to draw the tree back towards the shore. One and all joined in a supreme effort, and the two men were eventually saved.
A Narrow Gorge between Two Mountains
Our way to the next camp was first through a high narrow gorge. A beautiful waterfall on terraces faced us. From 6700 feet, the road ascended to 7650 feet, then on flights of steps and in places over crowbars the weary traveller descended to 7000 feet, where at Malpa the road was for a space nearly level. The Malpa River, running from North to South, was crossed. On the Nepal side across the Kali the vegetation was luxuriant, while on the Kumaon side it was sparse and bare. Farther on another beautiful waterfall.
The track now rose on a steep incline to 8120 feet among huge rocks and boulders. What with the gigantic snow-peaks, the pretty waterfalls, the weird character of the country traversed, one got so interested in one's surroundings that one forgot all about any difficulty of climbing. From barren hills and rocks the track suddenly became clayish and sandy, and in a series of zigzags well shaded by Tchuk, Utish, and Ritch trees, with a thick undergrowth of scrub wood and stunted vegetation, we found ourselves down as low as 6750 feet, ascending immediately after in a very short distance to 8100 feet to Camp Lahmari.
In olden times the path went over the highest part of the cliff, and it took a good walker the whole day to reach from one spring of water to the next, hence the name of "waterless."
Here practically ended the Nerpani (waterless track), and an involuntary shower-bath soon awaited the passer-by, drenching him to the skin, unless he was provided with waterproof and umbrella. The spray descended from a great height for a length of some thirty or forty yards, the road being very narrow and very slippery, so that progress was particularly slow. The name of the waterfall was Takti.
The track, if not more level, was nevertheless better after this to the sore-footed walker. It was less rocky and devoid of the tiresome flights of steps.
On leaving Lahmari we immediately had a steep rise to 9600 feet. Then a drop of 400 feet, and we found ourselves on the Buddi River, a tributary of the Kali. Just above the bridge was a magnificent waterfall, by the left side of which we found a kind of grotto hollowed out under a rock. The Shokas and Tibetans used it as a camping ground.
To our right, high up on the cliffside, was the picturesque village of Buddi (9300 feet), with its two- and three-storeyed houses. Below and over it in long zigzags could be seen the track ascending to the top of Chai-Lek, or Tcheto Pass as the Shokas call it. At bearings magnetic 170° we had the towering Namjun peak, so high that I was told it could be seen even from Almora and Ranikhet.
Then as we proceeded up the steep clayish track, I could not, on looking back, help admiring the magnificent Kali valley with its gigantic cliffs and gorges surmounted by lofty snow peaks. On the Chai Pass the two aneroids I had on me registered an altitude of 11,190 feet. I was now on a small flat tableland. Darcy Bura, the richest Shoka trader from Buddi, had erected here a bargain-house for the purchase and exchange of borax, salt, wool, and other articles from Tibet. On the left side of the road a large cave in the rock had been walled and partly roofed over for the use of wife-seekers from the villages of Buddi and Garbyang. These houses were called Rambangs, and were an old institution among the Shokas, of which I shall have occasion to speak at length later on. As everywhere else, a few high poles with flying prayers and a bell had been placed near the pass.
CHAPTER XI
A series of misfortunes—Tibetan atrocities on British subjects—Tibetan exactions—Revolting cruelty to one of her Majesty's subjects—Assault on a British officer—A smart British Envoy.
My arrival at Garbyang was watched by hundreds of men, women, and children, all squatting on the edge of the flat mud roofs of their habitations, while a few dozen people followed me respectfully to my camping ground beyond the village. A large tent had been put up for me by Pundit Gobaria's brother, who had been informed of my coming by Anti Ram Sah, my banker at Almora. Mr. G., Deputy Commissioner, arrived later.
I was very anxious to make immediate arrangements to enter Tibet, but all my efforts to obtain reliable followers were of little avail.
I heard to my regret, a day or two later, that the plan of my journey, which with so much trouble and care I had kept secret, had been divulged to the Tibetan authorities. Misfortunes never come singly! Against my will I had been advised to pay a certain sum at Almora, in exchange for which I received a letter of credit on Pundit Gobaria, a rich trader of Garbyang, who was to pay me the amount in silver. Unluckily, Gobaria was still absent in Nepal, and no one else could cash a cheque for the amount I wanted. This was tiresome—all the more so as I had counted on the money. I immediately sent a runner to Almora to have the sum in silver sent at once. This involved much publicity and considerable risk.
Also delay was inevitable. All the passes were closed and fresh snow was falling daily. It was just possible with much difficulty for a man to cross the Lippu Pass, but no baggage could be taken through. I made up my mind to remain a few days in Garbyang, and took this opportunity to have a large Tibetan tent manufactured to shelter my future followers—if ever I could find any—and it might help me, I calculated, to become friendly with the natives, among whom I hoped to find some willing followers.
The Gates of Garbyang
Doctor H. Wilson, of the Methodist Evangelical Mission, went to much trouble in trying to get together men for me, but though his influence was and is considerable in Bias and Chaudas, his efforts were not crowned with success. The Shokas know well how terribly cruel the Tibetans are. They have suffered at their hands more than once, and even of recent years the Government of India has had reported by its own officers cases of horrible tortures inflicted by the Tibetan authorities on British subjects captured by them on our side of the frontier. Some of the atrocities committed by the Lamas on British subjects are revolting, and it is a matter of great regret and indignation to the Englishmen who visit these regions to think that the weakness of our officials in Kumaon has allowed and is allowing such proceedings still to go on. So incapable are they, in fact, that the Jong Pen of Taklakot in Tibet sends over, "with the sanction of the Government of India," his yearly emissaries to collect Land Revenue[8] from British subjects living on British soil. The Shokas have to pay this tribute, and do so out of fear—in addition to other taxes and trade dues iniquitously exacted by the Tibetans.
On the slightest pretext the Tibetans arrest, torture mercilessly, fine, and confiscate property of, British subjects on British territory.
At the time of my visit there could be seen, in Garbyang and other villages, British subjects (Shokas) who had been mutilated by the Tibetan authorities.
Even Dr. H. Wilson, who had erected a dispensary at Gungi (one march beyond Garbyang), was lately threatened with confiscation—and worse perhaps—if he did not immediately comply with the exactions of the Tibetans. He declined to do so and reported the matter to the Government, relying on a good rifle in the house and his many servants. His determination not to be intimidated seems to have given him temporary security, for the Tibetans are as cowardly, when they think themselves matched, as they are cruel.
Let me quote one example of cruelty which occurred as late as 1896. A Shoka trader, undeniably a British subject, had gone over the border, as is customary with them during the summer, to dispose of his merchandise on the Tibetan market. He and another Shoka, also a British subject, had a quarrel. Aware that the first Shoka was wealthy, the Tibetan authorities took this pretext to arrest him and impose upon him an exorbitant fine, besides the additional punishment of two hundred lashes to be administered to him by order of the Jong Pen. The Shoka remonstrated on the plea that he had done no harm, and that being a British subject they had no right to so punish him. The Jong Pen saw his orders executed, and further commanded his men to cut off the wretched prisoner's hands. He was made over to two soldiers entrusted with the carrying out of the sentence. They led him away to the place of punishment. The Shoka was of a powerful build and possessed courage. Though half dead and covered with wounds, he overcame his guardians and escaped. The alarm was instantly given and a large party of horsemen sent to capture him.
They caught him up, and when at close range fired on him and wounded him in the knee, smashing the kneecap. He was surrounded, pounced upon, beaten mercilessly, and last but not least, all his fingers were one by one crushed into pulp between two heavy stones. In this condition he was dragged before the Lamas, only to be decapitated! Mr. Sturt, an able and just officer, who was then Deputy Commissioner at Almora, became acquainted with these facts, and, having fully ascertained their accuracy, reported them to the Government, strongly advising immediate action against the Tibetans for this and other cruelties that were constantly taking place on our frontier. Though it was undeniably proved that the victim was a British subject, the Government of India took no steps in the matter.
The same year, 1896, Lieutenant Gaussen, who on a shooting trip tried to enter Tibet by the Lippu Pass, was surrounded by Tibetan soldiers, and he and his servants were seriously ill-treated. The British officer received a nasty wound on his forehead, and one of his servants, who behaved heroically, was so cruelly handled that to-day, two years later, I hear he is still an invalid.
| Matan Sing Chaprassi | Narenghiri Chaprassi |
Mr. J. Larkin, Deputy Collector at Almora, was then despatched to the frontier. No better man could have been sent. Firm, just, and painstaking, he became popular and much respected among the Shokas. He listened to their troubles and sufferings; he administered justice wherever possible. He refused audience to no one, and during his flying visit became well acquainted with the country, the people, and all that went on. The poor Shokas felt much relieved, thinking that at last the Tibetan abuses would be put an end to. They were not mistaken, at least for a
Garbyang
time. The Jong Pen of Taklakot was called upon to answer for his many misdeeds. He refused an interview. Mr. Larkin sent word across the border that he would have no trifling and that he must come, upon which the Jong Pen, with his officers and Lamas, crossed the snowy Lippu Pass. Trembling with fear and bending low to the ground, the Tibetans, with abject servility, entered the tent of our British envoy. The account of the interview, which I received in full from a Shoka gentleman who was present as interpreter, is amusing and curious, showing the mutability and hypocrisy of the Tibetans. In the long run, and being well acquainted with the cowardice of his visitors, Mr. Larkin not only obtained redress on every point but gave the Jong Pen and his officers a severe harangue. The result of the interview was that the collection of the Land Revenue should be put a stop to, and that Tibetan law should no more be administered on our side of the frontier.
Mr. Larkin's visit to Bhot was cut short by urgent orders to return immediately to Almora.
The following year (the year of my visit, 1897), Mr. G., Deputy Commissioner, undid much that the previous officer had accomplished. The Jong Pen, when summoned, declined to come, and sent over deputies in his place. The upshot of it is, that Land Revenue is again paid by the Shokas to the Tibetan tax-collectors through the Peshkar.
I have mentioned these facts as representative of many, and to show how it came that the natives, who had never had any protection from our Government, were disinclined, notwithstanding the temptations I offered them, to brave the dangers of Tibet. I, who later on suffered so much through being betrayed by Shokas, am the first to forgive and not to blame them. Though nominally our subjects, their actual rulers are the Tibetans, and we do nothing to protect them against the exactions and tortures of the intruders. Why then should we expect them to be faithful to us? The Shokas are not treacherous by nature, but they are compelled to be deceitful to protect their lives and their homes. Properly treated, these honest, gentle, good-natured mountaineers would assuredly become loyal and trustworthy subjects of her Majesty.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] The sums are now collected by the Political Peskhar and handed over in Garbyang to the Tibetans.
CHAPTER XII
Tibetan threats—My birthday—Ravenous dogs—A big dinner—Shoka hospitality.
The Jong Pen of Taklakot, on hearing of my proposed visit, sent threats that he would confiscate the land of any man who came in my employ, besides menaces of "flogging" and subsequent "beheading" of myself and any one caught with me. Personally I paid little attention to these intimidations.
Consulting the calendar one day—a thing I did with great regularity in these regions—I made out that it was the first of June, and I then remembered that the following day would be my birthday. Feasts were scarce in these high altitudes, and the prospect before me was that they would in the near future be even scarcer. It therefore occurred to me that I could not better while away a day at least of this weary waiting than by treating myself to a real big feast.
The House where I Stayed at Garbyang
Chanden Sing was despatched round the village to summon up to my tent all the local Bunyas (tradespeople). Rice, flour, eight pounds of butter (ghi), a large quantity of lump sugar, pepper, salt, and a fat sheep were purchased. The latter was forthwith beheaded, skinned, and dressed in the approved fashion by the faithful Chanden Sing, who was indeed a jack of all trades.
Unfortunately, I am a careless house or rather tent keeper, and I entrusted my chaprassis with the job of stowing away the provisions, for which purpose a recess under the native low bedstead served to perfection, holding as it did the different-sized vessels, with the bachri (sheep) in pieces, and the rice, flour, butter, etc.
While this was being done, I worked away hard at writing, and getting interested, continued at it till an early hour of the morning; I got tired at last, and, wrapping myself up in my blanket, I soon went to sleep next to a heap of stones piled up by the cautious Chanden Sing.
"Sahib," had been his warning, "there are many hungry dogs about. If they come, here are a few missiles ready for them!" and he pointed at the ammunition.
"All right; good-night."
The wisdom of this was soon apparent, for I had not slept long when I was aroused by the hollow sound of lip-smacking, apparently arising from more than one mouth, accompanied by the movement of the stretched canvas bed on which I was lying. Jumping to my feet, I alighted upon a living mass of unwelcome guests; but before I even realised what had been going on, they had scampered away, the brutes! carrying between their tightly-closed jaws a last mouthful of my dainties.
The ammunition at my disposal was quickly used up—a poor revenge, even when I heard the yell of a dog I happened to hit in the dark. On striking a match, I found the large brass bowls emptied, the rice and flour scattered all over the tent, and the sheep practically vanished.
I determined not to be done out of this piece of indulgence, which now seemed desirable beyond words, although I crawled back into my blanket, and found for a while oblivion in sleep. I was no sooner up in the morning than I planned a new banquet. But in the nick of time, Mr. G., who had gone a march farther, returned with his escort of policemen, moonshees, pundits, and chaprassis.
"Never mind, Landor," said he kindly, when I had told him of my trouble, "you come and dine with me. These chaps shall get you up a special dinner in their own way."
My stores were put under tribute, instead of the native Bunyas, and we had a very excellent meal indeed. We had Bovril soup and Irish stew, roast mutton, potted tongue, roast chicken, gigantic swan eggs poached on anchovy toast, jam omelette, chow-chow preserves, ginger biscuits, boiled rhubarb, and I must not forget, by the way, an excellent plum cake of no small dimensions, crammed full of raisins and candy, which I had brought from Mrs. G. at Almora to her husband, and to which we did, with blessings for her, the fullest justice.
Shoka House with Strange Ladder
Thanks to Mr. G. and also to the fortunate coincidence of receiving a batch of letters from parents and friends, which reached me on that day by runner from Khela, I do not think that I could have spent a happier birthday anywhere, and I knew well enough that these were to be the last moments of contentment—an end to the fleshpots of Egypt. After this I should be cut off from civilisation, from comfort even in its primitive form; and to emphasise this fact, it happened that on the very morning following my birthday, Mr. G. left and continued his journey to Almora.
Shoka Houses
The weather was cold and rain fell in torrents, the thermometer being never above 52° during the warmest hours of the day. My soaked tent stood in a regular pool of water, notwithstanding the double trenches round it, and several Shoka gentlemen had before asked me to abandon it and live in a house. They were all most anxious to extend to me hospitality, which I, not wishing to trouble them, and in order at all hazards to be entirely free and unhampered in my actions, courteously but firmly declined. Nevertheless, quite a deputation arrived on June 4, renewing their request; but I was determined to have my way. In vain! They would not see a Sahib under cold canvas while they themselves had comfortable homes. They held a consultation. Unexpectedly, and notwithstanding my remonstrances, my loads were suddenly seized and carried triumphantly on the backs of a long row of powerful Shokas towards the village. I had to follow nolens volens, and from that day on I grew through constant contact daily more convinced of the genuine friendliness and kindheartedness of these people.
To prevent my coming back, they even pulled down the tent, and, wet as it was, carried it away. Zeheram and Jaimal, two leading Shokas, held my hands and patted me on the back as they led me with every sign of courtesy to my new dwelling.
This turned out to be a fine two-storeyed building with nicely carved wooden door and windows coloured red and green. So great was the anxiety and fear of these good people that I should turn back at this juncture, that some twenty outstretched hands seized me by the arms, while others pushed me from behind up a flight of ten or twelve steps into the house, where I found myself the guest of my good friend Zeheram. I was given the front of the first floor, consisting of two large clean rooms, with a very fair native bedstead, a table and two or more moras (round cane stools covered with skin); and I had no sooner realised that I must stay than presents of sweets, preserved fruit, dried dates, and tea were brought for my acceptance—tea made in the Tibetan fashion with butter and salt in it.
Even if at first I had had slight apprehensions at the expression of such very unusual hospitality, these were soon dispelled, and I was proud to be assured by my host that I was the first Englishman (or for that, European or American) who had been allowed to enter the living part of a Shoka house and partake of food in a Shoka dwelling. The opportunity was too good to be lost, and I was sorely tempted to tarry among them, so as really to get an insight into their mode of living, their customs and manners.
Shoka Child Smeared with Butter which is Left to be Absorbed in the Sun
CHAPTER XIII
Shoka hospitality—How I obtained much information—On a reconnoitring trip—A terrible slide.
They are indeed Nature's gentlemen, these worthy Shokas, and as such they did all in their power to make my stay among them pleasant. It was a contest between them as to who should entertain me first, and who should be the next. Invitations to breakfast and dinner literally poured in; and those convenient "sick headaches," "colds," and "previous engagements," so opportune in more conventional parts, were of no avail here. No card—no friendly note bade one to come and be merry. They generally arrived en masse to fetch me. Pulling and pushing played a not unimportant part in their urging, and to decline was thus out of the question. Indeed I must confess there was but little inclination to decline on my part. When you arrived, your host spread out fine mats and rugs, of Tibetan and ancient Chinese manufacture, and often of great value. In front of a raised seat were displayed in shiny brass bowls the various viands and delicacies which constituted the meal. There was rice always; there was curried mutton, milk and curd with sugar; then chapatis made in Hindustani fashion and Shale, a kind of sweet pancake made of flour, ghi (butter), sugar or honey, also Parsad, a thick paste of honey, burnt sugar, butter and flour, all well cooked together—a dainty morsel even for a jaded palate.
I was invariably made to sit on the raised seat, which I did cross-legged, while the crowd squatted respectfully on the floor round the room, forming a semicircle with me in the center. I generally ate with my fingers in their own manner, a courtesy they particularly appreciated, and although I must have seemed awkward to them at first, I soon acquired a sort of dexterity in manipulating hot food—meat and vegetables, for instance—with my hand. The trick is not very difficult, but it requires practice. You gather up your five fingers downwards in the dish, seizing a mouthful, and with a rapid circular twist of the hand you collect as much sauce as you can round the morsel you have caught. With a still more rapid movement, and before anything has time to drip between your fingers, you half drop and half throw it into your mouth.
Shoka Child being Smeared with Butter
I soon found that I could, during these cordial repasts, enlivened as they were by moderate libations of chökti and syrap (wine and spirit distilled from wheat), acquire considerable knowledge of anthropological and ethnological interest, and gather also much valuable information about Tibet and its people. They became, in fact, in the few days I spent among them, confiding to such a degree, and looked upon me so much as one of themselves, that I soon obtained the run of the whole place. They came to confide their grievances and troubles; they related to me their legends and folk-lore. They sang to me their weird songs and taught me their dances. They brought me to their marriages and strange funerals; they took me to their sick men, women, and children, or conveyed them to me for cure. Thus, to my delight, and with such unique chances, my observations of a pathological, physiological, and anatomical character became more interesting to me day by day, and I have attempted to describe in a later chapter some of the things I was able to note.
The Master of a High School Altitude 10,940 Feet
After lingering in Garbyang for several days, I paid off my two chaprassis, Matan Sing and Narenghiri, and they returned to Almora.
On June 6 I started on a journey towards the frontier, with a view to reconnoitre.
Crossing into Nepal territory below Chongur village, and following upwards the right bank of the Kali River in a direction of 320° (bearings magnetic) I reached Kanwa, a Shoka village on a high cliff-like plateau under which meet the three rivers Kali, Taki, and Kuti. The Kali turns suddenly to 37° (bearings magnetic), while the Kuti River keeps a general direction of 325° (bearings magnetic).
Having crossed again into Kumaon, I struck camp at Gungi. Before entering the village, I passed Dr. Wilson's dispensary, not then completed. In the village the houses were decorated with long poles joined by strings, from which hung and flew gaily in the breeze hundreds of wind prayers. The dwellings were mostly of the ancient, pure Shoka architecture, and not so fine or so clean as those in Garbyang. The place was picturesque, clear-cut against the curious background of the dome-like mountain, the Nabi Shankom, a peak of uncommon beauty with its grey and reddish striped strata. Near it on another mountain is the Gungi Shankom, a gigantic quadrangular rock of a warm yellow and reddish colour, not unlike a huge tower. When I reached its foot, the sun was casting his last dying rays on it, and the picture was so magical that I was tempted to sketch it. As I sat there, the shadow of the coming night rose higher and higher on the mountain-side, tinting it violet blue, and above it the Gungi Shankom stood resplendent in all its glory like a tower of fire—till night descended covering the mountain first, and little by little the Gungi Shankom itself. I shall not easily forget this sight.
Gungi Shankom
I slept under my little tente d'abri and found it delightfully cosy and warm.
At 10 a.m. the next day I raised camp. The elevation here was 10,940 feet. Interesting was the Chiram, a collection of tombs, five in number, made of slabs of white stone with poles placed vertically upon them, and from the summit of which hung flying prayers. The Kuti River to my left was wide and rapid. On the opposite bank the village of Ronkan (11,100 feet) made a pretty vis-à-vis to the Nabi village on our side of the stream, at the same elevation, and directly under the lee of the Nabi Shankom.
As I rose gradually along the river course the vegetation grew sparse, and in front of me there remained nothing but barren rocks and high snowy peaks. The spot where, from opposite sides, the Gunkan River and the Nail River throw themselves into the Kuti River is most picturesque. There are on the water's edge a few pine-trees, but above there is nothing but wilderness—rock and ice and snow.
I soon came upon much snow, and places where the track along the mountain-side was undiscoverable. Walking was tiresome enough on the loose shingle and shale, but it became worse when I actually had to cut each step into the frozen snow. The work was tedious to a degree, and the progress slow. After a while I noticed a series of lofty snow tunnels over the raging stream, which is earlier in the season covered entirely by a vault of ice and snow. The higher I got the harder and more slippery grew the snow. The soles of my shoes having become soaked and frozen made walking very difficult. At 12,000 feet, being about three hundred feet above the stream, I had to cross a particularly extensive snow-field, hard frozen and rising at a very steep angle. Some of my coolies had gone ahead, the others were behind. Notwithstanding the track cut by those ahead, it was necessary to re-cut each step with one's own feet, so as to prevent slipping. This was best done by hammering several times into the white sheet with the point of one's shoe until a cavity was made deep enough to contain the foot and to support one upright. It ought to be done carefully each time, but I fear I had not the patience for that. I thought I had found a quicker method, and by raising my knee high, I struck the snow with my heel, leaving my foot planted until the other one had by the same process cut the next step.
Zazzela Mount, near Gungi
It was in giving one of these vigorous thumps that I hit a spot where, under a thin coating of snow, was hard ice.
Involuntary Tobogganing
My foot, failing in its grip, slipped, and the impulse caused me to lose my balance. I slid down the steep incline at a terrific pace, accompanied in my involuntary tobogganing over ice and snow by the screams of my horror-stricken coolies. I realised that in another moment I should be pitched into the stream, which would have meant being carried under the long tunnel of ice to meet certain death beneath it. In those few seconds I found time to speculate even as to whether those stones by the water's edge would stop me, or whether the impetus must fling me past them into the river. I attempted to get a grip in the snow with my frozen fingers, to stem myself with my heels, but with no success, when I saw ahead of me a large stone rising above the snow. With desperate tension of every nerve and muscle, I knew as I approached it, with the foaming water yonder, that it was my only hope. I consciously straightened my legs for the contact. The bump was tremendous, and seemed to shatter every bone in my body. But it stopped me, and I was saved only a few feet from the water's edge—miraculously, although fearfully bruised, with no bones broken.
Chiram
My fingers were cut by the ice and bleeding. When I was able to stand, I signalled to the frightened and wailing coolies above to go on, and I myself proceeded along the watercourse until I found a spot from which I could regain the upper track.
CHAPTER XIV
A palaver—To see is to believe—Dangers and perils on the snow and ice—Thar and Ghural—Stalking—A tiring climb to 16,000 feet—The collapse of a snow bridge.
At Kuti I halted and summoned the leading natives to my tent.
Would it be possible, I asked them, to get over the Lumpiya Pass or the still higher Mangshan? The first is a rarely frequented pass on the way to Gyanema, the other a high and most difficult pass by which it is possible, though not easy, to reach the Rakstal Lake by the jungle without going near a Tibetan settlement or encampment.
"No," was the decided answer from all the Shokas. "The snow is now too deep. Fresh snow falls daily. For another fortnight at least no human being can get across. To attempt it will mean losing one's life. At their best during one month in summer, those two passes are arduous and dangerous. Now it would be mere folly to attempt their ascent."
With my distressingly sceptical nature I believe little that I do not see. I started next morning to observe for myself. My bearings were roughly North-West. Seeing me determined, several of the Kutial Shokas changed their mind and volunteered to follow me. They were of considerable help in many dangerous places. Here and there a few paces of narrow track were uncovered, otherwise we went long distances on frozen snow, over precipices down which it was almost fatal to look.
The lucky hairbreadth escape of the previous day contributed to make me lose confidence, not in myself, but in that white emblem of purity and innocence, in reality the most treacherous substance in creation. I soon found that wherever there was snow there was trouble. In spots where the snow was particularly hard frozen we dared not attempt to walk on the steep slippery surface, and we had to descend to the river, which was here bridged over completely with ice and snow. Crossing, we would attempt progress on the other side, and having proceeded with difficulty for a few hundred yards, had to retrace our steps and try the first bank again. We thus crossed and recrossed the Kuti River more than half-a-dozen times, each crossing being preceded by a precipitous descent and immediately followed by a steep ascent. The cracks in the ice by the water-side were constant and perilous, and we did not risk remaining near them longer than was necessary. In six or seven hours we had walked a distance of less than four miles. Leaving the Kuti River and following due North the course of a tributary, the Kambelshio, we crossed over to its farther bank and pitched our tents at an altitude of 13,420 feet.
Kuti
There remained a few hours of daylight when we arrived, and I employed them by going after Thar or Tehr and Ghural (Himahlyan chamois) a couple of miles farther. I rose to 15,000 feet on a needle-like peak towering over the spot where, in a narrow picturesque gorge, the Tongzu
Snow Bridges over the Kuti River
pangti enters the Kuti River. The sources of the Tongzu pangti are about a thousand feet higher than the spot where it meets the Kuti River, and the stream has its birth from the melting snows, descending precipitously and in a very short distance into the larger river.
The rocks are here furred with saltpetre, and it is said to be a favourite spot for Thar.[9]
Old Shoka Woman Smoking
I enjoyed my trip so much that, rising with the sun, I started on the following morning to repeat my experience. Moreover, I wanted to climb to some high point wherefrom I could make certain whether it was possible to proceed immediately across the Himahlyan range, or whether it was advisable to wait patiently until the snow had to some extent disappeared. I walked four miles from camp, reaching an altitude of 16,000 feet. The ascent was rather tiring. Having wounded a Thar, I went after it up a fatiguing snow-field at a speed too great to be comfortable at such a very high elevation. When I reached the top, I was out of breath and the Thar too far off for a second shot.
The view this high point commanded was stupendous. For miles and miles—and it seemed hundreds of miles—snow, snow, nothing but snow! There stood Jolinkan Mount rising above 19,000 feet. On either side of the Kuti River were peaks as high as 20,000 feet and more. Here and there the white sheet that covered the surrounding country seemed almost greenish. Those spots were glaciers, and I saw many of them, feeding as they do the numerous streams flowing into the Kuti River. I returned to camp for lunch. It was useless to proceed and even more useless remaining still. I gave orders to raise the camp, and at 2 p.m. we were under way back to Kuti.
The day had been an unusually warm one, and the surface of the snow, so hard the previous day, was now soft and watery. Several of the snow bridges had already disappeared.
I had descended to the river preceded by some of my coolies. Two of them just in front of me were crossing over the stream on a thick and broad archway of ice. I was waiting for them to be safely across. When the men had nearly reached the other side they noticed a peculiar vibration underfoot. Scrambling away as best they could, they gave the alarm.
I drew back hastily. In the nick of time! for with a deafening roar like magnified thunder echoed from cliff to cliff, down went the bridge. The huge pieces of ice, only a moment before forming part of the vault, were now swept away by the furious stream and thrown with tremendous force against the next bridge, which quivered under the terrible clash.
Three days' marching over the same route brought me back to Garbyang.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] The Gural is the Himahlyan chamois found at even comparatively low elevations. They are generally seen in herds, with the exception of the oldest males, which are usually met with alone. It is not uncommon to see as many as eight or ten together, especially during their feeding time, shortly after sunrise and an hour or two before sunset.
Tehr or Thar (male) and Jahral (female) is the true and proper wild goat of the higher Himahlyan range. It is rarely found lower than 7000 feet and often as high as 15,000 feet above sea level. Those found at lower elevations do not possess quite such a luxuriant growth of hair, nor, I am told, are their curved horns quite so long. They climb about precipices and dangerous spots with the greatest ease.
CHAPTER XV
An earthquake—Curious notions of the natives—A Shoka tailor and his ways—The arrival of silver cash—Two rocks in the Kali—Arrogance of a Tibetan spy.
On hearing that Dr. Wilson was now in Garbyang I went to call upon him. Squatted on soft Chinese and Tibetan mats and rugs, we were enjoying cup after cup of tea and devouring chapatis, when suddenly the whole building began to shake and rumble in the queerest manner, upsetting teapot and milk and sending the chapatis roaming to and fro all over the room.
Leaving Dr. Wilson to save our precious beverage, I pulled out watch and compass to notice duration and direction of the shock. It was undulatory, very violent, and oscillating from S.S.W. to N.N.E. The duration was exactly four minutes two seconds. The earthquake began at 5.20 p.m. and ended at 5h. 24m. 2s.
"It strikes me that it would have been wise to have gone out of the house," said I. "It is a wonder the building did not collapse. My cup is full of mud and débris from the ceiling."[10]
"I have saved the tea for you!" said the Doctor, triumphantly lifting in his muscular hands the teapot, which he had carefully nursed. He had soon discovered my devotion to the yellow liquid.
We were quietly going on with our refreshment when a band of excited Shokas broke into the room.
"Sahib! Sahib! where has it gone?" cried they in a chorus, stretching their hands towards me and then folding them in sign of prayer. "Sahib! tell us where it has gone!"
"What?" rejoined I, amused at their suspense.
"Did you not feel the earth shake and quiver?" exclaimed the astounded visitors.
"Oh yes, but that is nothing."
"Oh no, Sahib! That is the precursory notice of some great calamity. The 'spirit' under the earth is waking up and is shaking its back."
"I would rather it shook its back than mine," said I jokingly.
A Well-attended School
"Or mine," added the Doctor lightly, much to the astonishment of our awestricken callers.
"Which way did it go?" repeated the impatient Shokas.
I pointed towards the N.N.E. and they gave a sigh of satisfaction. It must have proceeded to the other side of the Himahlyas.
It appears, according to the primitive notions of the Shokas, that inside the earth lives in a torpid condition an evil spirit in the shape of a gigantic reptile. The rumbling preceding an earthquake is, to the Shoka mind, nothing else than the heavy breathing of the monster previous to waking, whereas the actual shock is caused by the brute stretching its limbs. When fully awake the serpent-like demon darts and forces its way in one direction, compelling the earth to quake all along its subterranean passage, often causing by so violent a procedure great damage to property and loss of life, not to speak of the fear and terror which it strikes in man and beast, should the capricious spirit by chance make a return journey to the spot below the earth's crust directly underfoot. It is curious and interesting, in analysing these crude notions, to find that, independently of the cause attributed to its origin, the Shokas are aware of the fact that an earthquake "travels" in a certain direction. Moreover, common symptoms of the approach of a violent earthquake, such as depression and heaviness in the atmosphere, which they attribute to a feverish state of the giant reptile, are readily recognised by them.
On my return to civilisation some months later I discovered that on the same day a violent shock was felt all over India, causing considerable damage, especially in Calcutta.
I had on first arriving in Garbyang ordered a tent, and the tailor who was entrusted with its manufacture had, after several days' intoxication, completed it. It was on the Tibetan pattern, with picturesque ornaments in blue. He had also been making me some Nepalese clothes, and these really turned out quite a success, no small wonder considering the way he went to work. I had given him cloth and lining, which he took away with him, but he never troubled to take my measure! He simply assured me that the suit would be ready on the following day. This was of course not the case, and on the next afternoon and for six consecutive days he placed himself in a state of hopeless intoxication under my window, singing, and making comical salaams each time I, after the custom of the country, threw something at him to induce him to go away. On the seventh day I caught him and shook him by the ears, explaining that if the clothes were not ready before nightfall, I would, in default of other tailors, sew them myself.
"I have a drop too much in me," confessed the amusing rascal. "I will go to sleep now. When I wake in the afternoon I shall be sober and will finish my work. Do not be angry, Sahib. If only you drank yourself, Sahib, you would know how lovely it is to be drunk." His philosophy did not agree with mine. But I felt sure that I had so far impressed him, that he knew he must risk some personal violence if he delayed much longer. Sure enough, late in the evening he came with his work.
"How they will fit I do not dare to guess," I remarked to Dr. Wilson, "considering the condition the man has been in while making them, and taking into account that he never measured me nor tried them on. After all, Nepalese clothes should be tight-fitting all over."
The Valley of Garbyang
Wonderful as it may seem, the clothes fitted like a glove. Clearly, that man was a genius. Anyhow he was intemperate enough to have been one.
One day I had gone for a walk along the deserted road from the village. I was about a mile and a half from the inhabited part, when three men, who had been fast approaching, stood with blunt swords in front of me. They waved their blades clumsily and shouted at the top of their voices in an excited manner: "Rupiya! Rupiya!" ("Rupees! Rupees!") Without thinking of the money that I had sent for and expected to receive, I took their attitude as a threatening demand for the cash I might have on me. They were really grotesque in their gesticulations, and I brusquely pushed by them and continued my constitutional. When they saw me depart, they scurried away hastily towards Garbyang, and I gave the occurrence no further thought. On my return to the village, however, some hours later, a crowd of Shokas came up to me announcing that my money had arrived, and that the scared messengers, not daring to come near me a second time, had gone to Dr. Wilson's house. There I found a peon and two chaprassis, the three men I had met on the road. They had brought a sum of eighteen hundred rupees in silver, nearly all in two-anna and four-anna pieces (sixteen annas to a rupee), which I had sent for from my banker, Anti Ram Sah, at Almora, and which it had taken three men to carry, owing to its weight.
After an easy explanation with these three very peaceful highwaymen, the silver was conveyed to my room, and the greater part of the night had to be spent in counting the diminutive coins and packing them up in rolls of ten rupees each.
Just below Garbyang in the Kali River were, among a mass of others, two large rocks in the centre of the stream. These two rocks were constantly watched by the Shokas. The Kali, though named after a small spring below its real source, is, like most of its tributaries, mainly fed by melting snows. The greater quantity of water descends from the Jolinkan, the Lumpiya, the Mangshan, the Lippu, and the Tinker passes. The first four are in Kumaon, the last in Nepal. It stands to reason that the warmer the weather the greater is the quantity of snow melting on the passes, and therefore the higher the level of the river. When the two rocks are altogether under water all the passes are known to be open.[11]
During the time I was in Garbyang I never had the luck to see this, but the level of the river was daily rising, and the time of tiresome expectation was certainly relieved by many amusing, and a few awkward incidents.
Having once been informed of my plans, the Jong Pen of Taklakot in Tibet was kept fully acquainted with my movements. His spies went daily backwards and forwards with details about me. This my friends confided to me regularly. One of these emissaries, a stalwart Tibetan, more daring than the rest, actually had the impudence to enter my room, and to address me in a boisterous tone of voice. At first I treated him kindly, but he became more and more arrogant, and informed me, before several frightened Shokas to whom he was showing off, that the British soil I was standing on was Tibetan property. The British, he said, were usurpers and only there on sufferance. He declared that the English were cowards and afraid of the Tibetans, even if they oppressed the Shokas.
This remark was too much for me, and it might anyhow have been unwise to allow it to pass unchallenged. Throwing myself on him, I grabbed him by his pigtail and landed in his face a number of blows straight from the shoulder. When I let him go, he threw himself down crying, and implored my pardon. Once and for all to disillusion the Tibetan on one or two points, I made him lick my shoes clean with his tongue, in the presence of the assembled Shokas. This done, he tried to scamper away, but I caught him once more by his pigtail, and kicked him down the front steps which he had dared to come up unasked.
Chanden Sing happened to be basking in the sun at the foot, and seeing the hated foreigner make so contemptible an exit, leapt on him like a cat. He had heard me say, "Ye admi bura crab!" ("That man is very bad.") That was enough for him, and before the Tibetan had regained his feet, my bearer covered his angular features with a perfect shower of blows. In the excitement of the moment, Chanden Sing, thinking himself quite the hero, began even to shy huge stones at his terror-stricken victim, and at last, getting hold of his pigtail, to drag him round the yard—until I interfered and stopped the sport.
Chanden Sing and the Daku Rolling up my Bedding
FOOTNOTES:
[10] The ceilings of Shoka houses are plastered with mud.
[11] N.B. The Lippu Pass, the lowest of all, may be crossed, with difficulty, nearly all the year round.
CHAPTER XVI
The Rambang—Shoka music—Love-songs—Doleful singing—Abrupt ending—Solos—Smoking—When marriage is contemplated—The Delang—Adultery—Punishment.
Motema, a Shoka Beauty
One Shoka institution, surprising in a primitive people, but nevertheless, to my way of thinking, eminently sensible and advantageous, is the Rambang, a meeting-place or club where girls and young men come together at night, for the sake of better acquaintance, prior to entering into matrimony. Each village possesses one or more institutions of this kind, and they are indiscriminately patronised by all well-to-do people, who recognise the institution as a sound basis on which marriage can be arranged. The Rambang houses are either in the village itself, or half way between one village and the next, the young women of one village thus entering into amicable relations with the young men of the other and vice versâ. I visited many of these in company with Shokas, and found them very interesting. Round a big fire in the centre of the room men and women sat in couples, spinning wool and chatting merrily, for everything appeared decorous and cheerful. With the small hours of the morning, they seemed to become more sentimental, and began singing songs without instrumental accompaniment, the rise and fall of the voices sounding weird and haunting to a degree. The Shoka men and women possess soft, musical voices, and the sounds which they utter are not simply a series of notes emitted through the throat, but, as it were, the vibration of impressions coming from the heart, and transmitted by means of their voices to others. Eastern in its character, the Shoka music is pleasing to the Western ear, not because it possesses quick progressions, flourishes, or any elaborate technicalities, but because it conveys the impression of reality and feeling. The responsive duets, sung by a young man and answered by a girl, pleased me most.
On the Way to the Rambang
All their songs are plaintive, and contain modulations of the voice so mysteriously charming in effect, and so good in tone, that they really affect one profoundly. They only sing when the mood takes them; never with a view to please others, but always simply to give vent to their emotions. Their love-songs generally open with a sentimental recitative, and then change into actual singing, with frequent modulations from one key into another. The time is irregular, and though certain rhythmical peculiarities recur constantly, yet each performer gives to what he sings so strong a personality of execution as to make it almost an individual composition. Any one hearing Shokas sing for the first time would imagine that each singer was improvising as he went along, but on closer comparison it will be found that musical phrases, certain favourite passages and modulations in the voice, constantly recur not only in each song, but in all songs. They seem all of them based on the same doleful tune, probably a very ancient one, and only the different time in which it is given, and the eccentricities of the singer, give it a separate and special character. One characteristic of Shoka songs—as of so many other Oriental tunes—is that they have no rounded ending, and this, to my ears, rather spoiled them. A similar abrupt break is a feature of their dances and their drum-beating. The song suddenly stops in the middle of the air with a curious grating sound of the voice, and I could not obtain any entirely satisfactory explanation of this: the only answer given me was that the singer could not go on for ever, and that as long as he stopped it did not matter how he did it. Further, they considered an abrupt ending most suitable to music (or dancing), as it immediately brought you back to your normal state, should your mind have been carried away. One pleasant feature was that their songs were never sung in a loud tone of voice, nor did they aim at notes too high or too low for their voices, but kept themselves well within their compass.
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| Shoka Earrings | |
The only difference between solos given by men, and those sung by women, was that the former showed more plaintiveness and sentimentality, and greater mutability of thought, whereas the latter were more uniform, more lively, and less imaginative in their representation of feelings. The words of the love-songs, nearly always impromptu, can hardly be set down in these pages. From our standard of morality, and away from their own special surroundings, they might seem almost lewd, while in their place they certainly did not impress me as offensive. When singing, the Shokas usually raise the end of their white shawl or dress, and hold it by the side of the head.
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| Silver Earrings of Tibetan Origin, with Coral Beads | |
Smoking was general, each couple sharing the same pipe. A few burning sticks of pine stuck in the rough wall formed the only illumination, save the fire in the centre of the room slowly burning out. Signs of sleepiness became evident as morning came, and soon they all retired in couples, and went to sleep in their clothes on a soft layer of straw and grass. There they slept peacefully in a row, and I retraced my steps to my diggings amidst a deafening barking of pariah dogs. At these gatherings every Shoka girl regularly meets with young men, and while she entertains the idea of selecting among them a suitable partner for life, she also does a considerable quantity of work with her spinning-wheel. Eventually, when a couple consider marriage advisable, the young man, dressed in his best clothes, proceeds to the house of his intended father-in-law, carrying with him a pot of chökti (wine), dried fruit, ghur (sweet paste), miseri (sugar-candy), and grilled grain. If the bridegroom is considered a suitable match, the parents of the girl receive the young man with due consideration, and partake heartily of the food and drink proffered by him. The marriage is there and then arranged, the bridegroom further disbursing to the father a sum of not less than five rupees and not more than one hundred. This is the etiquette of good Shoka society, and of all people who can afford it, the payment being called "milk-money," or money equivalent to the sum spent by the girl's relations in bringing her up. The marriage ceremony is simple enough. A cake called Delang is baked, of which the friends of the two families partake. If either the bridegroom or bride refuses to eat a share of the cake, the marriage is broken off; if they both eat some of the cake, and later any dissension arises between them, all those who assisted at the function are called as witnesses that the marriage took place. Often even this primitive ceremony of eating cake is dispensed with, and Shoka marriages begin and continue as happy and faithful unions, without any special form of service or rite to solemnise the tie.
Shoka Woman Weaving
They not only visit adultery on the guilty man himself by beating him, but the men proceed en masse to the house of his parents and denude it of all furniture, stores of grain, and merchandise. They confiscate the sheep, goats, yaks, and all their valuable saddles and loads, and present the whole proceeds to the man whose wife has been seduced—a recompense for the shame suffered. Frequently the unfortunate and innocent relations of the evil-doer are bound and even beaten to death by the villagers. These severe measures are resorted to in order to maintain a high standard of morality and honour, and there is little doubt that, primitive as these methods may seem, the good results obtained more than justify them. There are very few illegitimate births, with the exception of occasional Rambang children, and their arrival is a matter of such disgrace that they cannot be looked upon as seriously discrediting the social value of the Rambang.
Rambang Girls with Ornaments
