CHAPTER XIV
In heart and soul the Tibetan is a sportsman; but if you look for grace in his movements you will be sorely disappointed. Indeed, more fervour and clumsiness combined are hardly to be paralleled anywhere. Perhaps the Tibetan is seen to advantage on his pony, and some of his feats on the saddle I will here describe.
A Lama Standard-Bearer
Horse races are quite a favourite form of amusement, and are run in a sensible manner. Only two ponies at a time go round the course, the final race being run between the winners of the two best heats. Praying is usually combined, in some form or other, with everything people do in Tibet, and so even races are run round the foot of an isolated hill or around an encampment of tents; for, as you know, circumambulation of any kind, if in the right direction, is equivalent to prayer, and pleases God. Thus, just as with their prayer-wheels, a rotatory [[151]]motion is kept up from left to right, so races are run in the same way from the standpoint of the spectator.
A Tibetan race would astonish an English crowd—the means adopted by the well-matched couples being very effective, if somewhat primitive. Such simple devices as seizing one’s opponent’s reins, or lashing him in the face to keep him back, or pushing or pulling him off his saddle, are considered fair and legal means in order to win the race. The last heat is usually the most exciting, especially for the spectators, for blows with the lash are exchanged in bewildering profusion by both riders taking part in it, their respective ponies sharing unsparingly in the punishment. Occasionally the race becomes a regular hippic wrestling match, when both riders, clinging tightly together, tumble over and roll to the ground. When the ponies are recaptured, the bruised horsemen remount and continue the race as if nothing had happened.
The heavy sheepskin coats worn by the Tibetans are some protection when the lash is applied, and the pain inflicted is not always in proportion to the noise made by the blow; but such is not the case when they catch one another across the face. [[152]]
The winner is presented with a kata by the umpire—a high Lama or a military officer, a most picturesque creature in a brilliant red coat and fluffy hat, who has a peculiar standard with hundreds of long, vari-coloured strips of cloth, or flying prayers. Sitting on a handsome pony, with gaudy harness of green leather inlaid with brass, a valuable Chinese rug upon the saddle, and many tinkling bells round the pony’s neck, the umpire and his pony certainly produce a gay ensemble. This gentleman takes himself very seriously, and seldom condescends to smile.
The kata, or “scarf of love and friendship,” which is given to the winner is a long piece of silk-like gauze, the ends of which have been trimmed into a fringe. As I have elsewhere described at greater length, these katas play quite an important part in the social intercourse of Tibetans. They can be purchased or obtained from the Lamas of any monastery, or where no monastery exists the natives manufacture them themselves, for they are constantly needed. No gift can be sent nor accepted without “a veil of friendship” accompanying it, and no stranger ever enters a tent without offering, with outstretched hands, a kata, which he quickly lays at the feet of [[153]]his host. Diminutive katas are enclosed in letters; sweethearts exchange katas on every possible occasion—until they are actually married. Polyandry being prevalent in Tibet, when one of the several husbands returns to his wife after the customary absence, he never fails to bring a kata with him. Not to offer a kata to an honoured visitor is as palpable a breach of manners, and as great a slight as can possibly be offered in the Forbidden Land.
Necessarily, when a kata has been blessed by the Lamas, or is won in a race before high officials, it has additional value, and these simple folks value it more than a gift of money or food. It is stored away in the tent among the heirlooms, and is handed down to posterity.
A slightly more difficult feat, very common in a similar form in most countries, is the picking up of a kata by horsemen at full gallop. One horseman, a high official, revolves the kata seven times in the wind, and then darts full gallop in one direction, followed by twenty, thirty, or more horsemen riding wildly, and each trying to push his neighbours out of the way. The official, some thirty yards ahead, flies the kata in the wind, and when fancy takes him lets it drop out of his hand. The kata eventually settles on the ground, and the horde [[154]]of riders gallops away from it, yelling and quarrelling. At a signal from the officer the horsemen turn round and make a dash for the scarf, towards which all the ponies are converging. Clinging to the saddle with one hand and hanging over, each rider attempts to pick up the kata without dismounting. Collisions and nasty falls are numerous, and this sport generally partakes of the character of an all-round fight among the ponies’ legs. Somebody, however, always succeeds in picking up the scarf and getting clear of the others, when he triumphantly rides round the camp fluttering the prize in the wind.
Some of the younger fellows are clever at this sport, and when one rider at a time does the feat, he seldom misses picking up the kata at the first swoop.
A Race for the Kata
An interesting and more difficult feat of horsemanship I witnessed in Tibet was the loading and firing of a matchlock while at full gallop—a performance which requires a firmer seat on the saddle than appears. The heavy and cumbersome weapons had to be unslung from the shoulders, the props let down, the fuse lighted by flint and steel, some gunpowder placed and kept in the small side receptacle, and last, but not least, the shot fired off—that [[155]]is to say, when it would go off! The full use of both hands was required in this exercise, and therefore the horsemen held the reins with their teeth. When firing they lay almost flat on the ponies’ backs in order to prevent being thrown by the sudden bucking of the frightened ponies.
Another exercise consists in bodily lifting a person on the saddle while the pony is at full gallop. The pedestrian is seized as low near the waist as possible, and the impetus of the pony’s flight, not the rider’s actual strength, is utilised in raising the person on the saddle.
The women seemed particularly interested in this sport, because a practical application of this exercise is used by enterprising lads of Tibet to overcome the scruples of reluctant maids who do not reciprocate their love. At a suitable opportunity the doomed young lady is abducted bodily in that fashion, and conveyed in all haste to the suitor’s tent, with the honourable intention, of course, of making her his happy bride.
Women are scarce in Tibet, and actual raiding parties, I was told, occasionally take place against neighbouring tribes in order to obtain a fresh supply of wives.
Taking things all round, there are few men and [[156]]women in Tibet who cannot ride well, yet there are few who can claim exceptional skill in that line. The Tibetan generally values his bones too much to indulge in fancy tricks upon his pony. Some young fellow, more ambitious than others, will master the art of standing erect upon the saddle while going full speed, his feet being inserted into the stirrups, which have for the purpose been shortened as high as they could go. By pressing with his ankles against the saddle he manages to maintain his balance, in the familiar way of the Cossacks and tribes of Central Asia, who all excel in this game.
Tibetan saddles, as you know, are in appearance not unlike a cross between a Cossack saddle and a rude Mexican saddle, and as good as neither, but quite suited to the country where they are used. Men and women ride astride, with exceptionally short stirrups, so that the leg is bent at the knee at a right or even an acute angle. In order to maintain one’s equilibrium when riding fast some additional stability is obtained by stretching out the arms sideways.
Tibetan Soldier at Target Practice
Taking all things into consideration, there is no doubt that in a rugged, mountainous country like Tibet, and for a Tibetan, his is the most practical [[157]]and useful type of saddle, and his fashion of riding the most sensible—evidently the outcome of practical experience. When riding in caravans, driving herds of laden yaks or ponies, the advantages of legs doubled up high upon the saddle are soon apparent, avoiding the danger of crushing one’s lower limbs or having them partly torn off. In the English way of riding, when among obstacles, one’s legs are always in the way; in the Tibetan fashion they are always out of the way, or, at any rate, can easily and quickly be moved over from one side to the other of the saddle. Also, when tired of riding in one position, altering one’s position to side-saddle is quite convenient and easy.
The blocks of the saddles are of wood imported mainly from India, Nepal, or China, with bindings of hammered iron or brass, often inlaid with silver and gold. Lizard skin and coloured leather adorn the front and back of the saddles, and a substantial pad covers the central part and the otherwise very angular seat. For extra comfort rugs—occasionally valuable and always decorative in blue and red tints—are spread, while to leather laces behind the saddle are slung double bags containing tsamba, chura, or cheese, a brick of compressed tea, and whatever sundry articles may be used on a journey. [[158]]The last, but not least attachment on a Tibetan saddle is a long coiled rope of yak hair with a wooden peg at the end for tethering the pony at night.
Whatever one may say of Tibetans, the best-inclined could not compliment them on their shooting. Their matchlocks—their only firearms, made in Lhassa and Shigatz—are weapons so clumsy and heavy and badly made, that when fired it is truly more dangerous to be behind them than in front of their muzzle. During my captivity in Tibet in 1897, indeed, I was fired upon twice—by distinguished marksmen who took accurate aim only a few paces from me—but neither time was I hit. Nor in all my experience of Tibet have I any remembrance of ever seeing a Tibetan hit with a projectile from his matchlock anything which he intended, although the range was never more than twenty or thirty yards. Few are the matchlocks in the Forbidden Land which will carry as far as fifty or a hundred yards.
Tibetan Woman using a Sling for throwing Stones
They possess a long barrel, not always perfectly straight nor cylindrical; they are smooth-bore, the explosion being caused by a primitive fuse attachment which, when lighted by means of a flint and steel, applies the fire to a small cup of gunpowder at the side of the barrel. They have a peep-hole [[159]]sight, but this is absolutely devoid of mathematical accuracy, and the bullets and gunpowder used by the Tibetans are home-made and of inferior quality. Pebbles, or small pieces of iron, are frequently used for ammunition. A movable prop is necessary in order to enable the long weapon to be held in a horizontal position, and this should in a way facilitate accurate shooting. Apart from the various faults of the matchlocks themselves, an additional difficulty arises in Tibet even when firing with more perfected weapons. Shooting at great altitudes, it may be pointed out, involves special sighting of one’s rifle; the variation in the trajectory of a projectile being considerable, at 15,000 or 16,000 feet above sea-level, owing chiefly to the rarefied air. The clearness of the atmosphere also prevents the correct estimate of range. For instance, with my ·256 Mannlicher rifle, with the usual sight at 100 yards, it was necessary at that altitude to aim about a foot lower than the target in order to make a bull’s eye.
When people get to high elevations for the first time, and until they have the cause explained to them, or learn it for themselves, this is a constant puzzle, and frequently leads to the condemnation of a good weapon. [[160]]
It must be said for the Tibetan that his eye is generally fairly accurate and his hand steady, and with bows and arrows I have seen some archers make quite creditable performances. These are, however, now looked upon as obsolete weapons by the natives. The soldiers as well as civilians are armed with matchlocks.
Men and women in Tibet are extremely skilful in the use of a rope sling, which they always carry about their person, and with which they can fling stones long distances with great precision. It is not uncommon, as I have said, to see them strike in this manner a picked recalcitrant sheep in a large flock, or a distant yak which they want to drive to camp. Even children, through constant practice, are adepts at stone-throwing.
Tibetan Games. Stone-Throwing
All over Asia, as we have seen, is found the ancient custom of “stone-fighting,” either as a sport or to settle disputes between factions; and although in Tibet these combats do not assume such gigantic proportions as in Corea, for instance, where thousands of combatants are engaged in fierce fights, still in the Forbidden Land, too, there is plenty of scope for broken skulls and bruises. The battles are generally fought between the male members of two or more rival families, [[161]]and seldom between large factions or guilds, except in big towns such as Lhassa or Shigatz, where these stone fights occasionally assume alarming proportions. They are undoubtedly a speedy and practical method of settling controversies among rival families, besides affording some considerable amusement and excitement to the gathered crowd of spectators watching the progress of the combat well out of range of the missiles.
Stone-throwing in a different form, as a sport, is indulged in on festive occasions by young men. Some large rocks, more or less spherical, and some 30 to 50 lbs. in weight, being collected, and the participants in the game having divested themselves of their heavy coats, which are left hanging from their waistbands, the rocks are lifted and swung over the head and flung some considerable distance, often ten or twelve yards, either into an appropriate hole or near a mark-stone. This exercise generally takes place near a mani wall, such as is represented in the illustration in this book. Another form of the same game consists in kicking to or near a particular spot a small stone with the instep of one’s foot, swinging one’s stiffened leg as if it were a golf-club.
Wrestling is one of the few other sports noticeable [[162]]in Tibet. It is, however, not commonly indulged in, and is done according to no rules. It is, in fact, in the “catch as catch can” style, with additional biting and vicious kicking until the victor can firmly hold the helpless vanquished flat under him.
The amusement which always causes much mirth among Tibetans is tobogganing. They do not always indulge in it as a sport; but when opportunity offers, for instance, to save themselves the trouble of long and steep descents on snowy mountain slopes, they greatly enjoy the fun. I have seen Tibetans slide on their backs at a terrific pace for a hundred or two hundred yards down precipitous inclines, laughing and yelling, with their heavy sheepskin coats collected in front, and their legs up in the air except when required for steering purposes.
Tobogganing made easy
With the exception of the above, I do not recollect seeing any other national sport; nor, as a matter of fact, do Tibetans indulge much in sports of any kind—partly owing to the great altitudes which they inhabit, where violent exercise leads to considerable personal discomfort and suffering; partly because of a somewhat depressed nature. Although not always devoid of considerable humour, [[163]]the Tibetan can seldom be roused from his normal sulkiness and made to put forth superfluous exertion either for his own delectation or that of others.
Also, the nomadic existence which he leads from one end of the year to the other, is full of ever present wild excitements and surprises. He often travels over snowy passes several thousand feet higher than the highest mountains of Europe, where precipices and avalanches and land-slides or falling rocks are of daily occurrence, and any devised sport becomes in comparison rather tame and uninteresting.
Naturally, there is no such thing in Tibet as training to be an athlete, nor are the few sports and games specially taught to the children. They are merely picked up from one generation to the other by imitation. The Tibetan is extremely hardy and wiry.
Amusements which are the result of prosperity and happiness are not plentiful in Tibet. Playing cards and dice and a primitive sort of chess, and one or two more elaborate games imported from China and Nepal, are occasionally to be seen; but perhaps the most interesting to us is their dancing, notably their war-dances, curious in people so little martial. With a sword in one [[164]]hand and a kata in the other, and with the knees bent, the dancers keep time to the beating of a double drum and the clapping of hands from the spectators. They attempt some more or less clumsy revolutions on their heels, but the movements of their arms are quite graceful. Alternately each bent arm is raised in front of the head, while the other is held far back, and they manage to give a pretty semi-rotary twist to both forearms and hands when they have reached the highest and lowest points respectively.
As the dancers and musicians get excited the movements of the arms and legs are greatly accelerated, and some of the best dancers can move their limbs so quickly that on looking at them one’s eyes get confused to such an extent that only a shapeless moving mass is distinguishable. Owing to the rarefied air, they cannot, however, keep this up very long, and, panting, their lungs in convulsion and eyes bulging out of their sockets, they abruptly end the dance with a suggestive and humorous—often too humorous—posture, or else with a leap in the air, doubling up the body and resting the head upon the knees before the feet touch the ground again.
Tibetan Dance with Sword and Kata (Veil of Friendship)
The most appreciated dancing, from a Tibetan [[165]]point of view, is when the performer can continue his evolutions, bringing his legs forward alternately with knees bent low and almost touching the ground. In a way, this dance is not unlike Russian peasant dancing. The best dancers give solo performances, while the rest join in a circle round and round them until they get tired out and dizzy.
The women’s dancing has precisely the same characteristics, except that it is done with no sword. Only a kata is held in the right hand, and the contortions are less exaggerated, and, therefore, more graceful. The abrupt end also is done away with, together with odd posturing. The women, whenever I saw them dance, usually danced singly to the accompaniment of softer and more sentimental music than was the case with the men. They added sad, melodious chanting to their movements, weird and wild to a degree, yet full of expression and quite pleasing to the ear. [[166]]