PRAYER-WHEELS
Prayer-wheels[170] may be turned either by water or by hand. The ordinary small hand-wheel is constantly seen in the hands of both lamas and laymen. Old men, especially, who are anxious to devote their slender remnant of life in acquiring new merit or destroying bad karma, hardly ever go out of doors without their wheels. They twirl them with their fingers as they walk, and years of practice enable them to do it without any conscious effort: indeed, I fancy that many old men would twirl an imaginary wheel if the reality were taken from them. It is curious to note that the older a wheel is—that is, the more it has been twirled—the more valuable it becomes; for few Tibetans will exchange an old wheel for a new one, and only the direst poverty will induce them to sell this most precious of all their possessions to a curio-hunter. Another form of hand-wheel is similar in size and appearance to a water-wheel. It is inserted perpendicularly in specially-constructed recesses, and may be twirled round its pin by any devout passer-by. Sometimes it is found in the wall of a temple, and not infrequently in a private house. In the latter case it is generally found inside the house on the right-hand side of the main doorway as one enters. Every one who goes in or out gives it a revolution or two. The stranger on entering thus confers a kind of benediction on his host, and at the same time accumulates a little merit for himself. The custom is an amiable one, and certainly does no one any harm. Not content with flags and prayer-wheels, the Tibetans are also very fond of erecting piles of stones on which are loosely-placed innumerable flat slabs, of varying shapes and sizes, each bearing the om mane formula in large, carved letters. These are variously termed obo,[171] mani-drombo and mani-dong. They were specially numerous in the country through which I passed after leaving Tachienlu, but there are many of them also in the immediate neighbourhood of that town. Lamaism shares with other forms of Buddhism the rule that sacred objects should, as far as possible, be kept on the right-hand side. Where an obo or mani-drombo occurs, therefore, the road always bifurcates so as to enable the devout traveller to keep it on his right whichever way he is going. The inscribed slabs are the pious gifts of pilgrims, or of any person who wishes to conciliate or show his respect to the unseen powers. Every lamasery has among its inmates one or two masons who are employed by such persons in carving the inscriptions.
CHOICE OF ROUTE
Before reaching Tachienlu I had purposely left undecided the route to be followed thereafter, as I was only too well aware of the obstructions which the authorities would be certain to put in my way when I attempted to leave the main routes. I had a vague idea of making an effort to cross the frontier into Tibet proper, and so proceeding to Lhasa by the route which no European has traversed since the days of the abbé Huc; but it soon became obvious that this would be impossible—at least so long as a state of war existed on the border. The Chinese prefect had no doubt acquainted himself with the fact that I was engaged in the study of Tibetan, and when I called upon him he showed considerable anxiety and curiosity as to my intentions. The new amban showing no eagerness to avail himself of a unique opportunity to add a British adviser to his staff, and the undertaking being otherwise impossible in the face of Chinese and Tibetan opposition, I was obliged to give up the idea of a ride to Lhasa, and had to fall back on my original intention of travelling through the Sino-Tibetan states of the Yalung valley to the north-west of Yunnan. If I were prevented by official opposition from following this route as well, I decided to return to the Ta Tu river, and find my way down the Chien-ch'ang valley to Yüeh-hsi and Ning-yuan-fu, the route which has been made famous by the journey of Marco Polo, and has been in recent years traversed by E. C. Baber and Sir A. Hosie. With regard to this route I was told that the road was much infested by robbers—Lolos and others—and that many of the inn-keepers had entered into a league with them to drug and rob, and, if necessary, murder their visitors. There was only one way to avoid molestation, and that was by the discovery and use of the robbers' password. The utterance of this word on appropriate occasions would not only ensure safety, but would remove all difficulties about transport and supplies. The person (a Chinese in Government employment) who gave me this information, and who may, for all I know, have had personal dealings with the gang, was so obliging as to give me the password itself, which consisted, he said, of the single word Ku ("old"). As I did not, after all, follow this interesting route, and therefore had no opportunity of testing the efficacy of the word, I can only express the hope that the timely information now given will be of service to future travellers.
THE YALUNG VALLEY
The Yalung valley is one of the least-known portions of the Chinese empire. In 1895-96 M. Bonin, a French Colonial official, travelled from Tali-fu to Tachienlu by a route which to a certain extent coincided with that taken by myself, and three years later a Swedish missionary, Mr E. Amundsen, travelled in the reverse direction by a road which was evidently almost the same as my own. But no Englishman[172] had traversed the same route before me, and as I had no opportunity of reading the narratives published by either M. Bonin or Mr Amundsen until my return to civilisation, I unfortunately derived no benefit from their previous experience: but their accounts, though interesting, are very meagre in detail and of tantalising brevity.[173] A glance at the map will show that my route lay across the mountains to the south-west of Tachienlu. On crossing the Yalung it enters the Muli or Huang Lama, and thence it crosses the Yunnan frontier a few miles north of Yung-ning-fu. Short as the total distance appears on the map, the series of great mountain ranges over which the road passes makes the journey a long one and arduous. A few Yunnanese merchants[174] choose this route to Ssuch'uan in order to avoid the likin-stations in the Chien-ch'ang valley; but the great difficulties of arranging for the safe transport of merchandise over snowy passes and unbridged rivers have given it a bad reputation.
OFFICIAL OBSTRUCTION
Even at Tachienlu I was unable to gather much information about the country. The king himself appeared to have a very scanty knowledge of the southern part of his own territory. As soon as he and the Chinese prefect heard of my intention—and it was impossible to conceal it from them—the strongest objections were immediately raised. The road was impassable, the mountains were covered with snow that never melted, the lamas were hostile, the whole country was infested with robbers and wild beasts, and I should find neither food nor means of transport. I had already satisfied myself by private enquiry among the Tibetans and some Yunnanese merchants that the route was feasible, and that nothing was to be feared beyond the ordinary difficulties and hardships of travelling in a very wild region sparsely populated. I felt that if the road were safe and easy enough for an occasional trading caravan, it should also be safe and easy enough for an Englishman burdened with little beyond clothes and gun. I therefore declined to put faith in the exaggerated descriptions with which the officials endeavoured to frighten me, and insisted upon the right conferred upon me by my passport to travel where I chose. We exchanged several messages on the subject, and in personal interviews I made it as clear as possible that none of the difficulties which they had mentioned seemed to me sufficiently imposing to justify me in altering the route on which I had determined. The prefect, however, was particularly strenuous in his efforts to dissuade me from my purpose, and pointed out that he would be powerless to grant me any protection during the journey, and that the risks and dangers would be considerable. I need hardly say that his concern was not for me personally, but was due to his fears of what might happen to himself in the event of my coming to grief. From this point of view his attitude was reasonable enough. The upshot of a long discussion was that the king of Chala and the prefect allowed me to set out on my consenting to sign declarations in English and Chinese to the effect that all responsibility for my safety was to rest with myself. The first of these declarations ran as follows:
"This is to certify that I have been fully informed by the Ming Chêng Ssŭ (king of Chala) that the road by which I intend to travel from Tachienlu to the borders of Yunnan, viâ the southern portions of his territory and the country known as Huang Lama, is beset with great difficulties, and that my journey will be very arduous and possibly dangerous. Having been fully assured of these circumstances, and having nevertheless decided to traverse the country in question, I wish it to be understood that I undertake the journey at my own risk and on my own responsibility, and that the king of Chala is not to be held responsible for any delay or accident that may occur in the course of such journey so far as it lies within his territory."
This document was handed to Mr Moyes, to be used by him to save the king from blame in the event of an accident. A similar declaration, containing the name of the Chinese prefect instead of that of the king, was handed directly to that official before my departure. I perhaps created an unwise precedent; but as the prefect seemed determined to prevent my departure unless I relieved him of all responsibility, I was left with no option. The British Consular authorities, I knew, would do nothing: they had already declined to countenance my travelling by this route.