“No; the land is closed to them as much as to you. And, besides, how long do you expect to have to wait here for the answer? Several months?”
“Oh no; it is 165 English miles to Gyangtse, and the journey will not take more than twenty days, even with short marches.”
“I shall not leave this place till you have started northwards and passed the frontier of Naktsang.”
“And I will not start till I have received an answer to my letter from Gyangtse.”
“You cannot possibly remain here long. You cannot feed your men; there are no nomads here, and those who dwell in the neighbourhood are poor as rats.”
“I saw many tents on the southern shore and large flocks. At the worst we can live by hunting; there is plenty of game here. As I ask nothing but that you will allow me to wait here for an answer, you might oblige me so far.”
“There you make a mistake. In my position neither Shigatse nor Gyangtse has anything to do with me. When the English had evacuated Tibet the Devashung sent a proclamation round to every dzong (governor’s residential town) in Tibet that we had certainly been beaten, but that we had lost none of our territory and were still masters over it, so that the old regulations with regard to European travellers were still in force. I will try to meet you as far as I can, and will now withdraw to my tent to take counsel with my people.”
At the same time I held a council of war with Robert and Muhamed Isa. It was perfectly evident that we could not continue our journey southwards. On the other hand, it seemed possible that, making a detour to the Dangra-yum-tso, we might penetrate into the country on its west side, which was governed, Hlaje Tsering said, from Saka-dzong. Were we driven from there, we would direct our course to Pekin. Why? I am certainly very optimistic, but I had a conviction that I could befool the Chinese Emperor as Marco Polo did, and obtain his permission to travel about freely in Tibet, with some kind of special mission as a pretext. Muhamed Isa thought it was an enormous distance to Pekin, but Robert was enthusiastic about the journey. We would only take our best men; for the others I could procure permission to return to Ladak through Gartok. We should have a hard journey at first, but through Southern Mongolia we should fly on Bactrian camels like wild deer over the steppe. I would on no account return home vanquished. I tried to infect the two others with my enthusiasm, and depicted our camel ride as a fairy tale and a romance.
Now two of Hlaje Tsering’s men presented themselves, bringing a dish of rice and a lump of butter as a present from their master. The secretary lama sent an apron full of rice. In return I sent Muhamed Isa with a whole piece of pashmina cloth and a knife from Srinagar for the Governor, and a similar knife and a turban bandage for the secretary.
I returned the visit about three o’clock, accompanied by Robert and Muhamed Isa. Hlaje Tsering’s tent was large and handsomely fitted up, and all his secretaries and servants were sitting round the fire, which blazed up towards the upper opening. At the sides lay sacks of rice and tsamba, and several whole slaughtered sheep; everything showed that the old man was prepared for a long stay. Guns with rests and pennants, sabres and lances, harness, bridles, saddles and saddle-cloths, lent a picturesque and warlike aspect to this chieftain’s tent. Along the shorter side, opposite the entrance, thick cushions were piled up, and covered with small Lhasa rugs, and round cushions laid upon them served as supports for the back. I was invited to take my seat there beside Hlaje Tsering; a small red lacquered table was placed in front of us. On our right stood an altar shrine with gilded images of gods and gaos, small silver cases with figures of Buddha, which on a journey are suspended by a red strap from the shoulder. And before them flickered a wick, fed with butter, in a bright brass bowl.