The Chyag-dso-pa salaamed to Ugyen, whom he took for me; and the latter, not taking off his hat to return his salutation (or pay his chyam-bu, as it is called), was reminded of it in a whisper by the Tung-chen.
We then ascended a flight of steps and entered the building. The minister was conducted by the host to his drawing-room, while we were led by his third son, Phuntso Yu-gyal, in company of the [[96]]Tung-chen, to the chapel, the central room on the first floor. The house was very neatly built, with solid rubble walls and beautifully carved beams of old poplar. There was a skylight in the centre of the roof; thick cushions covered with Khamba rugs were placed around, and on these we took our seats. A collation was served on little tables consisting of Chinese cakes, buckwheat cakes, twisted sweet biscuits, and tsamba and tea was given us by the Chyag-dso-pa’s page Pinu. After a little while we were led into the Chyag-dso-pa’s presence, when we presented him a khatag and a few rupees, also a khatag to his wife, Ama Tung-la, and his daughter-in-law, Rinpoche. After dinner we were conducted to a dormitory on the south side of the chapel, where we found three bedsteads, and after a cup of tea we retired to rest.
January 8.—Early in the morning we asked our host’s leave to start for Tashilhunpo, but he was most reluctant to let us go, and, having obtained the minister’s sanction to our remaining here two days more, we postponed our departure.
Breakfast was served by a maid-servant (shetama) and our host’s daughter-in-law (patsa), Rinpoche, the only wife of his two sons. She is entitled to be addressed as Chyam Kusho, though it is seldom used in speaking to her. She is a young lady of about twenty, of modest manners and intelligent looks. She lingered about until the servants and other guests had left, with the evident intention of conversing with us.
Ugyen-gyatso opened the conversation by asking her to what family of Tibet she belonged. She replied by asking him if he had ever heard of Kusho Mankipa of Tanag. “Yes,” replied he, “if you speak of Manki, who is the maternal uncle of the Rajah of Sikkim.” “’Tis he,” she said; “and he died last year without my seeing him. Are you a subject of my cousin Den Jong gyalpo [the chief of Sikkim]? Oh, how I long to see my aunt!” And she began to weep. “It is now full three years since I came here, and never in that time have I been allowed to visit my fatherland. Oh, I am miserable! I have to work continuously at the loom, supervise the workwomen, attend to the kitchen, and serve the meals. My mother-in-law is without mercy. She thinks my frame is made of iron. Though this family is rich, they work like ploughmen.”
She then begged Ugyen to inform the Sikkim rajah’s mother, Lha-yum Kusho, of her trouble, and to persuade her, if possible, to [[97]]take her to Chumbi for a couple of months. I told her, by way of consoling her, that she was a most accomplished person, married into one of the richest families of Tsang, and might hope to soon be a mother, so she must not consider herself miserable. “Do you know palmistry?”[55] she suddenly asked; and placing her right hand on the table, she desired me to tell her fortune by the lines on her hand (lag-ri). I was much embarrassed, and told her that I understood very little of this art. Fortunately just then a servant came and called us to the presence of the Chyag-dso-pa.
I took a seat on his right hand, and his wife, Ama Tung-la, occupied one on his left, while Ugyen, seated a little distance off, acted as my interpreter. The Chyag-dso Kusho began with: “In the sacred books we find mention of Indian Punditas who laboured for the diffusion of the enlightened religion. If you be a Pundita, as I hear from the minister that you are, we are most fortunate to have you among us. I also learn that you know about medicines, and I will later on avail myself of your knowledge.” Then, calling his son, Phunsho Yugyal, he desired me, to my great embarrassment, to foretell his fortune by the lines on his hand. Being considered a Pundit, it was impossible for me to say that I did not know such an essential science as palmistry. After mature reflection I told him that although I had studied a little palmistry, I never attached much importance to explanations it afforded of men’s fortunes. The science was very little understood, anyhow, and, in my opinion, it did not deserve any more attention than it had received: nothing could be more unpleasant than a foreknowledge of one’s misery. Human life was, albeit, full of trouble; it was for deliverance from its recurrence that the Buddha has expounded the doctrine of nirvana.
He listened attentively to me, and seemed to think very highly of me. He said that if he but knew how long he and his son would live, he could devise means of preventing accidents in consultation with the minister, for in the sacred books one is told of religious remedies by the use of which calamities caused by devils (dé) can be averted. He pressed me to examine his palm, and stretched it out toward me. How could I refuse, and how could I predict falsely? So I told him that there are certain figures and lines in the palm of the hand from which experts in palmistry can draw indications of a [[98]]long or short life. In his palm the line of life was very long; and as to fortune, it was well known that he was favoured by the gods.
Ama Tung-la then showed me her hand, and I said, “Ama-la, you are very fortunate. The mother of three sons, all of them grown up and accomplished men; the wife of a great man. What more can you want of the gods?” She smiled at this, and said that for some days past she had been suffering from a cough; could I give her some medicine that would relieve her? I asked for some black pepper and rock-candy, and prepared a powder for her.
At noon we dined with the minister and the Chyag-dso Kusho. The dishes were prepared and served in the Chinese fashion. Chopsticks and spoons were used. The first course was gya-tug, a tape-like preparation of wheat-flour and eggs, cooked with minced mutton, and soup. The minister did not eat it, as he had, in common with all lamas, taken the vow of abstaining from eggs. The second course was rice and half a dozen preparations of mutton curry, rice, mutton with preserved vegetables, white and black mushrooms, Chinese green grass, vermicelli, potatoes, and fresh shoots of peas.[56] The third course (leu, literally, “chapter”) was buttered and sweetened rice; the fourth, and last, boiled mutton, tsamba, and tea. The Tung-chen told me that at sumptuous entertainments thirteen courses are usually served.