Beyond the steep ascent, and across the slope of the snow-mountain, there is a very large stream. Its water was so clear and transparent that all the pebbles at the bottom looked like white or black gems. I quenched my thirst with a palm-full of it; it was very cold and I felt as if my hand were almost shrivelled up. As I had sent the horse back from Phari Castle, I could not cross the water on horseback. While I was hesitating about taking off my shoes and crossing the cold water, my servant carried the luggage to the other side and then took me also. Although this stream did not differ in temperature from the neck-deep-stream I had often crossed in the north-western plain, I had now become accustomed to the easy and comfortable life in Lhasa, so that I felt the cold almost unbearable. In times of distress and hardship, it is not impossible to stand the severest pains and sufferings; in times of ease and comfort, even the slightest discomfort seems almost intolerable.
After crossing the brook and descending about two miles we came to the foot of a snow-mountain where, among the scanty bushes, yellow, red, purple and light-pink flowers of various kinds were growing close together almost like a spreading carpet. As I never studied botany, I do not know the names of these plants; anyhow they were very beautiful. I was attracted also by the surrounding scenery; the incessant change of the snow-mountains was almost as if a fairy riding on the clouds were rambling about here and there. As I descended step by step, the rain fell quietly; and as the bodies of the snow-mountains gradually disappeared, their snowy peaks presented a still finer aspect. Here and there on both sides of the mountain path the dewdrops on the fragrant red and yellow azaleas and other flowers looked like mountain gems arranged in rows.
Descending still lower along the mountain brook, the bounding current dashed against the rock, and its spray splashing on our feet was one of the most pleasurable sensations I ever experienced. To the unrefined Tibetans such a delightful prospect often becomes the cause of complaint. My servant grumbled at the rainy weather, and told me that, if the sun were there, he might have changed the weather for us, so as to keep my luggage dry and make our lodging easy and comfortable. No doubt it was a great trouble for him, but if he had had any love of nature, it would have diminished his trouble. As most of the Tibetans are born and die on the stony plains and bald mountains, they do not understand the idea of beauty in the least. Even in pictures, they have none representing the scenery of their own country; or if they have, their pictures are imitations of the Chinese style. For that reason my servant was quite indifferent as to whether he was amongst mountains of incomparable beauty, or on a barren wilderness with yak’s excrements scattered everywhere. I had entirely forgotten the discomfort of the rainy weather and my wet clothes in the pleasure of the scenery. If I could have taken a sketch or a photograph of it for the entertainment of my countrymen, my gratification would have been almost infinite.
As I proceeded slowly, the picturesque view changed from time to time, and the rhododendrons, the famous plants of the Himālaya mountains, growing here and there among old trees and rugged rocks, opened their bright flowers with indescribable beauty. Rare flowers and curious plants were bestrewn along both sides of the roaring brooks, the water of which was perfectly transparent and as cold as snow.
BEAUTIFUL SCENERY IN THE TIBETAN HIMALAYAS.
“Shall I stay in this land and become a fairy in this fine scenery? If I could describe the unutterable beauty of this fairy land, how much should I gratify my parents and countrymen!” was the hearty expression of the pleasure I felt, while I was sitting on a rock and enjoying the whole scene before me. Whenever I recollect the pleasure of that hour I feel as if I had been free from the cares of the dusty world.
The rain was falling furiously, and there was no place to get shelter or to cook our food. Having heard that a little further on there was a cave near a brook, we hurried there, and kindled a fire by collecting half-decayed branches of trees soaked with rain. We made tea, and after finishing our meal gradually descended, and came to the village of Dakarpo (the village of the white rock). That day we walked twenty miles. The place can hardly be called a village. It is only a small barracks, with sixteen soldiers, and one solitary house where a number of soldiers’ wives were living at the side of the barracks. A large white rock sixty yards in height stands out prominently. I did not determine its nature; but it was an exceedingly white rock partly covered with mosses and lichens.
That night I stopped in the barracks. The duty of these soldiers did not oblige them to examine the passports of travellers.