Tibetan Man spinning Wool
“I want my rifles back.”
“Your rifles are not here. We have already despatched them to Katmandu” (the capital of Nepal).
“Very good. If you do not return my rifles within two minutes we will come and get them ourselves.”
“We will fight you.”
“All right.”
Pounding with big rocks and by the aid of a wooden lever we got the door loosened, and while the garrison’s attention was directed to prevent our entering that way, four of my best men and I climbed over the wall on the opposite side of the fort and covered the defenders with our rifles. I demanded that they should lay down their weapons or I would shoot. After some indecision, most of them did. The others, especially one who fired at [[47]]us, got a severe pounding and were disarmed by my men, who had now all entered the fort.
We ransacked the place, and eventually recovered the captured rifles, after which we bade the Nepalese a respectful salaam and proceeded on our way.
“But,” humbly put in the trembling Nepalese, “you cannot travel on Nepal territory. It is forbidden to foreigners, and I have orders to stop you.”
“Very well, do it!”