At 3 p.m. we left for Dongtse, where we arrived before dusk. The minister’s page met me at the foot of the hill, and led me to his master, who made many kind inquiries about my trip. I told him how greatly I had enjoyed it, and that, as it was a holiday, all the buildings, the great chorten and the temples, had been open to me. “I rejoice at it,” he replied; “and I must say the gods have shown you the way [lha lam tan song], for it did not strike me at the time that to-day was a holiday. If you should have put it off till to-morrow, you would have seen but very little.”
January 5.—I called on the minister, and talked to him of my visit to Gyantse. He told me that there were half a dozen chorten in Tibet like the one I had seen there. There were now, he said, about six hundred monks in the Palkhor choide, and an equal number in the adjacent lamaseries, but in former times there were three thousand monks on the register of the college.
Ugyen-gyatso returned to-day from Gyantse, and told the minister of his experiences there. He had been lodged in Litophug [[92]]in a priest’s house, where the master (nabo) and mistress (namo) showed him great courtesy. Ugyen presented the minister a dozen oranges he had bought in the Gyantse market for one anna each. I told the minister that these oranges came from Sikkim. “Oh, indeed!” he said. “It must be a happy land. In Tibet no oranges mature; at Lhasa there are orange trees producing small fruit, which do not, however, ripen.”
In the evening Ugyen told me a tale he had heard from the Chyag-dso-pa of the Palri monastery.
Once on a time Dugpa-kunleg, a famous but eccentric saint of the red-hat school, was staying at Khang-toi shikha, in Lhasa. He saw the wife of his host stealing a piece of amber from the bag of a beggar who was stopping in the house, and putting an apple in its stead into his wallet. The saint told her it was both sinful and criminal to act thus, and related to her the following tale by way of instruction.
In ancient India there lived two friends. One, a highlander, was a dishonest man; the other, a lowlander, was upright and honest. One day the two, while walking in a valley, found a bowl of gold. The lowlander said, “Well, now that fortune has favoured us with a treasure, let us first return thanks to the local divinities, and then divide the gold between us.” The other rejoined, “Friend, the day is far advanced; we can do all this to-morrow; let us rather take the bowl home now.”
To this the lowlander agreed. The next morning when he called at his friend’s house, he found him in a corner wailing and shedding tears. “Ah, friend,” he exclaimed, “my heart is filled with grief and shame. How can I tell you! The bowl of gold has been miraculously changed, for this morning I found but sawdust in it. The gods alone know what has become of the treasure! This, I am grieved to say, will put an end to our friendship, for it will create in your mind a suspicion against me.” So saying he began weeping afresh.
The other, perceiving his design, said, with wonderful calmness, “Friend, you need not cry. The loss of the treasure is not the greatest mishap which might befall us. If we two continue friends, we should hold ourselves very happy. Chance brought the treasure; chance has taken it away; crying will not bring it back.”
The false friend, thinking he had gained his end, soon dried his [[93]]tears. Before leaving for his home, the lowlander said, “Friend, I have not mentioned something to you. In my orchard most delicious mangoes and other fruits are now ripe. I have no children to eat them; let your two sons come home with me that I may regale them with the luscious fruits.”
To this the other assented, and the two boys accompanied the lowlander home. On his return to his home he bought two monkeys, to which he gave the same names as the boys, and trained them to come when called by their names.