That night, I slept but very little, in a sitting position, and early the next morning I started off on horseback towards the great snowy peak of Chomo-Lhari. By going round the side of the mountain, and gradually proceeding south, after leaving lake Lham tso, we at last saw far to the east and south, the great peak towering up above the clouds almost like a snowy image of sitting Ḍharma. It was summer; yet the weather was so exceedingly cold that no plants could grow there, except lichens of flattened kinds. By dint of whipping my horse all the time, I tried very hard to reach Phari on that day; but as my servant walked on foot and could not keep up with me, it was quite dark when we came to the village of Chu-kya. It is on a very high plateau, and the climate is exceedingly cold. The land here is not only high, but large snow mountains stand round it on both sides in one continuous row and it has been said to be the bleakest and most barren wilderness in the Tsang district. At night unless dried yak dung can be collected, piled up and burned continually, the cold is almost intolerable. Notwithstanding that it was early summer, it was colder than our most rigorous winter in Japan: indeed it is the coldest, wildest, most barren place between Lhasa and Darjeeling. The next morning, June 11th, we took tea and started at four o’clock, going about five miles south along the river flowing through the wilderness. I came to the Phari Zong just at sunrise.
[CHAPTER LXXXV.]
The First Challenge Gate.
Phari is a large castle standing on a hill, in form like the Dalai Lama’s palace in Lhasa, but not so elegant. All the houses standing at the foot of it looked somewhat black. Phari is more or less of a prosperous town, situated on the plain between the snow-mountains; and as all the commodities imported from Darjeeling and Calcutta or Bombay come to this town, there is a custom-house for levying taxes. The customs duties for imported goods amount to one-tenth, two-tenths, sometimes even four-tenths of the original cost according to their nature. Most of the duties are paid in kind; but in cases where this is impossible, they are paid in money after the value has been reduced to the corresponding silver coins.
As we went through the town we saw by the side of it a large pond. On the road between the pond and the castle there were watchmen, who asked me where I was going to lodge. As I did not know where to stop, I requested them to find me a very good house, and when they saw my dress (which was suitable for a man of high position) they mistook me for a priest belonging to the nobility, and led me to a very good lodging-house.
There are no real inns or hotels in Tibet; what they call inns or hotels being no better than our Japanese Kichin-yado.
“Where are you going, Sir?” asked the inn-keeper respectfully, thinking that I was a high priest.
“I am going to Calcutta,” replied I; “and if circumstance allow me to worship at Buḍḍhagayā, I will do so; but as I have some pressing business, I am not sure whether I can or not.”
“What is your service, Sir?” he asked again.