But to return to my itinerary. Leaving the scene of this tragedy, we had to proceed up a very steep slope about nine miles long, and then down another, seven and a half miles long. At the end of the latter distance we found a river, on the banks of which we passed the night. The next day, November 19th, we skirted the base of a mountain (upon which there stood a big temple of the Old School, called the Tasang Gompa) until we reached the bank of a river where we encamped for the night. On the 20th we made a journey of five miles, again in a mountain region, at the end of which we found ourselves at a village called Larung, which was situated on the western shore of a lake bearing the name of Manuyui Tso. It was about twelve miles in circumference, and appeared to be very deep. For the first time during my journey, I observed in this village patches of wheat-fields, dotted with cottages.
[CHAPTER XXXIX.]
The Third Metropolis of Tibet.
Owing to the cold season I could not observe the condition of the wheat actually growing in the fields, but I learned at the above village that in that locality the wheat crop was considered ordinary when it was at the rate of two bushels from two pecks of seeds, and unusually abundant when the rate reached three bushels. In the neighborhood of Lhasa four or five bushels are obtained from two pecks of seeds, if the weather proves favorable, but three bushels are passed as fair.
This testifies to the primitiveness of the methods of farming obtaining in Tibet. One cannot but be surprised at the ill-kept condition of the fields which, with their ‘rich’ deposits of pebbles, cannot be termed cultivated land in the proper sense of the word. I do not mean to speak ill of the Tibetans, but this curious neglect of cleaning the land is a fact; indeed, it is a universal feature of the country. I once suggested to a native farmer the advisability of removing the pebbles, but the reply was simply that such practices were not endorsed by tradition. Tradition is to the Tibetans a heavenly dictate, and controls all social arrangements. Those residing in more civilised parts of the country, however, entertain somewhat more progressive ideas, and have learned to utilise the products of modern ingenuity from the West. The case is quite different with the mass of the people, who are still laboring under a thousand and one forms of conservatism. A very curious story, in a way substantiating the foregoing statement, was told me by a village paṇdiṭ whom I could hardly credit, because of the apparent absurdity of his narrative. The story, which is given below, was subsequently confirmed, quite to my surprise, by more than one citizen of Lhasa.
In Tibet, as in other countries, taxes are assessed on cultivated fields, but, as the Tibetans are practically strangers to mathematics, as stated in a preceding chapter, a very curious and primitive method is adopted with regard to the land-measuring which forms the basis of the assessment.
The method consists in setting two yaks, drawing a plough, to work upon a given area, the assessment being made according to the time taken in the tillage. In other words, the different plots of cultivated lands are classified as lands of half a day’s tillage, or a day’s tillage, and so on, as the case may be, and assessed accordingly.
After being entertained by the aforesaid scholar with many other interesting stories concerning the manners and customs of Tibet, as well as the conduct of native priests, we left the village and, proceeding for twelve miles along the edge of the lake mentioned above, reached a spot where we passed the night. On November 21st we struggled on our way through a gorge extending over a distance of five miles, till we found ourselves again on the edge of a big lake, called Nam Tso Goga. It measured about twelve miles in circumference, and its water was very pure. Proceeding along the northern bank of the lake, we passed into a valley commonly called the Senge Rung, or Lions’ Vale. This name must have been derived from the surrounding rocks, which somewhat resemble the figure of the king of beasts. After a journey of seven and a half miles through the vale, we arrived at a village bearing the same name, and then at another, where we took lodgings. We covered more than twenty-five miles that day, this forced journey being due to the necessity of altering our travelling arrangements. The fact was that, while our previous journey was through Jangthang, so that it was necessary for us to stop early and graze our horses sufficiently, we had now entered into a more peopled and cultivated part of the country, where pastures were few, so that we could not stop until we reached a village where we could secure sufficient fodder for our animals. The fodder, which in Tibet usually consists of wheat and barley stalks and the stems of bean plants, is generally purchased from inn-keepers. The latter, however, extort such high prices, that fodder enough to feed a horse during a night often costs the traveller full thirty sen, though in some cases half that sum will be sufficient. In addition, beans and a solution of butter are sometimes given to horses, so that the caravan trade in the interior of Tibet is at once trying and expensive.
On November 22nd we proceeded about twelve miles over a steep slope and across plains, and arrived again on the northern bank of the Brāhmapuṭra. At this place the river was not quite as it was when we crossed it on our way. It now appeared quite fathomless, with its waters azure-blue, though it was only about two hundred yards wide. There was no hope of negotiating the stream on horseback, and we were told that the river-bed would become much wider in summer. There was, however, a ferry-boat service, a rectangular flat-bottomed boat, resembling those we see used for the purpose in India. The boat had in the middle of her stern a figure representing the head of a serpent, and had capacity enough to accommodate thirty or forty persons and twenty horses. When we landed on the opposite bank of the river, we found ourselves in the outskirts of Lharche, the city which is the third in importance in Tibet. Once there, we could fairly claim that we had gone far into the interior of the forbidden country, for it is only five days’ journey thence to Shigatze, the second Tibetan city.
Looking southward, we could see a caravanserai erected by the Chinese. It is spacious but unfurnished, no one being in charge of it. It serves the double purpose of accommodating the Chinese itinerant traders and the native soldiers on march. We betook ourselves to the building for the night, which proved a jolly as well as a noisy one. It was thought very fortunate for us to have escaped from the dangers of robbers and wild beasts which infested the north-western regions, and my companions decided to celebrate the successful journey to their hearts’ content.