Having got rid of my policeman friend, I turned to the Temple for a final act of worship, and then passing under the Palace of the Grand Lama and over the bridge, came out upon the vast plain, where, by the small grove in front of the Rebon Temple, I found the clerk of the drug-store and a few friends waiting to take their leave of me. I had had my dinner, and I never drink wine: there was nothing left for me to do but to change my dress and commence my journey, which I did, requesting my friends to return my clerical clothes to the Minister of Finance. But my friends had brought some wine with them, and insisted on drinking to me before I went, repeatedly expressing their great sorrow at my departure and urging me to take great care of my health in the trying climate of India. They were also very anxious to know whether, after once returning to India, I should ever revisit Tibet again, and they several times expressed their great indebtedness to me. As for myself, I cannot say that I was very sorry to be leaving Lhasa, but the sight of their sorrow made me sad as I passed out of the grove of the Rebon Temple in the direction of Shingzonka, where I stopped for the night.
On the 30th of May, I hired post-horses and left Shingzonka. Here I had been obliged to find serious fault with my luggage-carrier, Tenba. Tibetans, as my readers must by this time be well aware, are prone to lies, and will grossly exaggerate the most trivial and insignificant matters. I had often spoken to Tenba about this, but in spite of my frequent admonitions, he had told the master of the house where we lodged at Shingzonka that I was an incarnation of a Lama. Of course the innkeeper at once was all full of smiles and politeness, put me into a better room and did all he could for my comfort, and as far as that was concerned I had no reason for complaint. But I was afraid that by and by trouble might come to me by reason of that lie, and I spoke to him in severe terms not only about the wickedness but also about the inconvenience of uttering falsehoods.
“I only said ‘yes,’” urged the man in his own justification, “when he asked me if you were not an incarnation. If you go round as an incarnation, you are respected and honored, and can make lots of money. There is no profit in going about just as you are.”
“But, you miserable man,” I returned angrily, “I am not here for the purpose of making money. It is unutterably bad to make money by deceiving others.”
“But,” he grumbled, “everybody wants to make money”. Nevertheless he promised to be more careful with his tongue in the future.
That day we had dinner at Ne-thang, and going six miles further on arrived at the village of Nam. When my teacher, Rai Saraṭ Chanḍra Ḍās Bahāḍur, visited Nam some twenty years ago, it was a village of some thirty houses. It seems almost incredible that we stayed in the single house now standing in the place. The fact is that some six years after the Rai Bahāḍur’s departure from Tibet, some sixteen years ago, the whole village was swept away by a flood of the river Kichu. The villagers then removed their dwellings to a plateau between the ravines where they would be safe from future inundations, erecting just one house on the old site for the benefit of travellers.
So, to return to my story, I passed through Nam and reached the village of Jangtoe, where lived a priest whose acquaintance I had made at Sera.
“Where are you going?” he asked, as he served me with tea.
“On a pilgrimage to India,” was my politic reply, which was received with great joy, and made my host most sympathetic and helpful. He insisted on lending me a horse the next morning, and I was thus enabled to make a rapid journey to Chaksam, where I found several boats, some of hides and some of wood. I embarked on one of these latter, crossed to the other side and arrived at the station of Pashe, under the high and steep mountain of Genpala. At Pashe I hired another horse, (for I had sent back the priest’s horse from the river), and the next morning, 1st June, at four o’clock, started again on my journey. Half-way up the hill I found a Chinaman who had left Lhasa a day before myself. He was feeding his horse by the roadside, and drinking tea, and when I asked him about his luggage, he said that it was being sent after him.