I also received during our return a very kind letter from the Maharajah of Nepal condoling with us on the loss of our porters. He writes as follows:—
“Personally, and as a member of the Royal Geographical Society, I share with you the grief that must have resulted from the frustration of the keen hope entertained by you and the party. My heartiest sympathies go to you and to the families of the seven men who lost their lives in the attempt. This puts in my mind the curious belief that persistently prevails with the people here, and which I came to learn so long ago in the time of our mutual friend, Colonel Manners Smith, when the question of giving permission for the project of climbing the King of Heights through Nepal was brought by you and discussed in a council of Bharadars. It is to the effect that the height is the abode of the god and goddess Shiva and Parvati, and any attempt to invade the privacy of it would be a sacrilege fraught with disastrous consequences to this Hindu country and its people, and this belief or superstition, as one may choose to call it, is so firm and strong that people attribute the present tragic occurrence to the divine wrath which on no occasion they would draw on their heads by their actions.”
This, I must point out, is, of course, the Southern and Hindu people’s tradition, and did not in the same way affect all the porters whom we employed, as they were Buddhists by faith. The whole of our people, however, took the view common to both and dismissed their troubles very rapidly and very lightly, holding simply that the men’s time had come, and so there was no more to be said about it. If their time had not come, they would not have died. It had come, and they had died and that was all. What need to say any more? As a matter of fact, this philosophic way of looking on everything also allowed them to say that they were perfectly ready to come back for the next attempt, because if it was written that they should die on Everest, they should die on Everest; if it was written that they would not die on Everest, they would not, and that was all there was to be said in the matter.
CHAPTER III
THE RETURN BY KHARTA
On June 14 we were cheered with the news that our transport was approaching, and I think a good many sighs of relief were uttered. We had quite made up our minds to cross over into the Kharta Valley, and, having had a sufficiency of rest, to explore the Kama Chu more completely than had been done in 1921, and, if possible, to examine the whole gorge of the Arun where it breaks through the great Himalayan range; but our first idea was to get down to a decent elevation where some rest could be obtained, where we could get adequate bathing and washing for our clothes and get everybody into a fairly respectable condition again. Living continuously for many weeks at elevations never below, and generally far above, 16,500 feet, does not tend to general cleanliness, and it also, after a time, I think, tends to general degeneration. At the same time, we were by no means convinced that at medium elevations there is any particular loss of physical powers or that acclimatisation takes long to complete. I found, personally, that I was getting better and better when exerting myself at the medium heights to which I went. I found, during the march that was in front of us, that I could walk at elevations of over 16,000 feet very much more easily than when I first arrived at the Rongbuk Glacier, and this certainly does not show that one had been degenerating physically. I think, really, that the strain was more a mental one; and this remark probably also applies to every member of our party. At the same time, it was most exhilarating to think that one was descending to a low altitude.
We made our first march back to the Rongbuk Glacier, and that evening we were left in peace—by the Lamas, that is to say, but not by the wind, which howled consistently, bringing with it thin driving sleet.
The Chief Lama, Rongbuk Monastery.
On the following morning we arranged that we should all meet the Rongbuk Lama; and so, having got our kit packed, we left it to be loaded by the Tibetans, and the whole party, including all our followers, porters, all the Gurkhas who were with us (with the exception of Tejbir, who had gone on in advance with Geoffrey Bruce and Norton), went up to the monastery. There we waited in the courtyard until the Lama himself descended from his inner sanctuary in state. Tea was first served in the usual way, ordinary tea being provided, I am glad to say, for the others and myself by special arrangement of the interpreter. I think Noel, however, a man of infinite pluck, took down a bowl or two of true Tibetan tea. The Lama made special inquiries after the Expedition, and then began the blessing. He offered us his very best wishes, and presented me, through Paul, with a special mark of his goodwill, a little image of one of the Taras, or queens, of Tibetan mythology. My special one was the Green Tara, who takes precedence among all ladies. This was a mark of very great favour. Paul was also presented with another little mark and many little packets of medicine, which were to preserve him from all and every description of the illnesses which afflict and worry humanity. The Buddhistic side of Paul came up on this occasion, and he received his blessings and the medicines in the most humble and reverent spirit. The Gurkhas all went up too, and were suitably blessed, being even more humble in their aspect than the very much overcome and reverent porters themselves; they could hardly be induced to approach his Holiness. However, we all parted on the most friendly terms, and left our own good wishes, for what they were worth, with the old gentleman.