“If this is the case, our anxiety and argument are useless. The only course to be taken now is to leave this country immediately. It is of course of no use to speak of binding you with a rope. You have spoken such things because you thought of us, but it is all in vain. If Ti Rinpoche said your departure was better for yourself and ourselves, it is a sure thing, and if his judgment agrees with yours it is then the will of the Buḍḍha, the breach of which will cause you certain evil. Therefore proceed at once. Though we cannot protect you on your way, if it becomes public and some one pursues you, we will try to find some means for your escape.”
Their unselfish kindness toward me I shall ever remember. I retired with tears back to my room, and then I packed all my sacred books and other writings which I had gathered and took them to the apothecary’s and said to him:
“I intend to go to Calcutta on a certain mission. I also want to make some purchases there. If I can obtain sufficient money from home to buy the books I want, I will soon be back. But if I cannot get the money at Calcutta I must return home and get it, and will come back next year or the year after next. I cannot say when I can come back, but at any rate I must start immediately. But the thing that troubles me most is the despatch of my baggage. I wish to carry these books home and show them to my fellow-countrymen. If I take all of them they must be packed and sent on a horse, or by some other means. Can you find any good way of doing this for me?”
Apothecary Li Tsu-shu was a man who believed in me so much that he would do anything for my sake. If I had not had such a friend, my case would have been undoubtedly hopeless. He was faithful to the end; if his confidence in me had not been so strong, he would not have done anything for me, or he might even have betrayed me to my undoing. He seemed to know that I was a Japanese, for, once when he came to my room, he saw some of the Japanese books in my library, and after that he seemed partly convinced that I was not a Chinese. It was when people began to talk much about my nationality that I saw him and told him that I was going home. He knew it was dangerous to have anything to do with me, but he willingly agreed to my request, and told me that he knew a Chinese merchant who was from the same town as himself, and a good friend of his; that I might go with him, for he was leaving for Calcutta on business in four days, and that as he had probably a few horses without freight he could take my things at a smaller charge than anyone else. The apothecary was also kind enough to promise me that he would go to see the merchant and talk over the matter. As we were talking thus, the apothecary saw a man entering his house. He ran to him and said:
“We have just been talking of you. Lucky to see you here! Could you not take about two horses’ load to Darjeeling for this gentleman?”
As I saw the man I found that he was an old acquaintance of mine; I had often bought musk and other things from him and made him some medicine to sell in his store. He knew well that I was honest in transactions, and would have acceded to my request with pleasure. But he said that he could not take charge of my luggage, for he had no extra horses, but that he knew a man who was going to Calcutta in four or five days, and who would arrive at the city earlier than himself, and that as this man was carrying the salary of soldiers to the Castle of Tomo by the order of the Chinese Amban his horses were not loaded and might take my baggage, but that probably I must pay him more money. I said that I would willingly pay extra money if the baggage would arrive earlier, and asked him to go to that man to get the business settled. I was very glad to have everything thus arranged.
It was about the evening when we parted, and I returned to the monastery at Sera. The next thing to be done was to pack up my religious books and bring them to Lhasa. That night I was so busy packing up the books that I had no time for sleep, and the next day before noon I was able to send away all the packages to the druggist’s in Lhasa. This twenty-fifth day was fortunately the best for such a purpose. On any ordinary day there were always six or seven thousand priests in the temple, and if I were engaged in packing my things, it would have attracted their attention, and caused many enquiries. But on that day there were only two or three men in each boarding-house. Therefore though I was busy all the night in packing and the next morning in sending the things to Lhasa, it caused no suspicion. But there was Chamba-ise, a little fellow who had served me for a long time. I could not leave him without doing something for him. I used to send him to a tutor for study while I was absent, and he would come back when I returned and draw water, make tea and do various other services for me. Now that I was leaving the Lamasery I could not leave him without notice. In the first place I must dismiss him, otherwise he would certainly think it strange to see me taking out my books. So I told this boy and a few others that I must go on a pilgrimage to Tsa-ri, as a younger brother of the ex-Minister lived there and had invited me. Tsa-ri is called the second Sacred Place in Tibet. In Tibet there are the three Sacred Places; the first is Kang Rinpoche or Mount Kailāsa in the north-western plain; the second is Tsa-ri, a peak in the Himālayas in the south-east which forms the frontier of Assam; the third is the highest mountain in the world, the famous Gaurīshānkara or Chomo Lhari, often called Mount Everest. As to the boy, I told him that it would probably take me four months to go there and come back, and that I would leave him money for four months’ tuition and board. But I was afraid a little boy like him would use the money all at once if it were handed him directly. So I took the money and deposited it with his teacher. To a man who had been my security since I entered the Sera seminary I sent a suit of priestly garments and some money; my tutor whose lectures I attended and many others were all presented with some money or things as souvenirs. When all these preparations were finished, it was past four o’clock in the afternoon. Then I went to the Great Hall of Je Tatsang to which I belonged, lighted butter-lamps, made some offerings, and in front of the Image of the Shākya Buḍḍha I read my prayer of farewell, which ran as follows:
“Here in the Great Hall of Je Tatsang of the Sera Temple, Tibet, I, Ekai Jinkō, prostrate myself before the Buḍḍha our benevolent Master and pray. It is with great sorrow and regret that I see that the different deeds of human beings have caused the different existences of Buḍḍha among the believers: for the way to Buḍḍha is originally open to all and accessible to everyone. I, Ekai Jinkō, bound by the chain of deeds done in the previous world, have not been able to accomplish the union and conformity of the Japanese and Tibetan Buḍḍhists, and now am obliged to leave the country. May the good cause of the present day be the beginning of success, and of the union of the Japanese and the Tibetan Buḍḍhists at some future time, and also of illuminating the whole world with the light of Buḍḍhism.” And calling upon the name of Buḍḍha ten times together with an equal number of salutations I left the temple.
Coming down the steps of the Hall and passing the paved yard to the left, there is a descent of long and steep stone steps which leads to the front of the beautiful gate of Choe-ra (a Ḍharma garden) where the student priests are catechised. The premises of the Choe-ra, which are enclosed by white low walls, are very spacious. Here and there elms and willow-trees are planted tastefully, and magnolia flowers perfume the air in their season. A clear stream, which comes down from the rocky hill on the other side of the buildings, runs through the premises, and thus adds much to the beauty of the place, especially when the setting sun shines upon the stream, as it was then doing. This was the seat I loved best in Lhasa, and I could not leave it without paying a visit to this favorite resort of mine. When I came here it was late in the afternoon, and all was quiet while I roamed about the place. Here my heart began to hesitate again. Though I had already bidden farewell to the Buḍḍha, thinking I should leave this country, yet I confess my determination was not strong enough.
“Must I now leave,” thought I, “this quiet land of Buḍḍha to which I have become attached; must I steal out of this beautiful country without telling who I am, just as a spy would do? Are there no means to say that I am a Japanese, without causing harm to others? Death comes to all sooner or later. Why should I not run the risk of death, presenting the letter to the Pope? When I have made such a good composition, how sorry I am not to show it to him!”