CHAPTER XXVII

POPULAR AMUSEMENTS OF THE TIBETANS

The credulous people at whose expense the monks live in laziness—and live well—are not satisfied with religious spectacles alone, which minister only to their spiritual needs; they must also be amused with profane exhibitions, which are more congenial to their lower instincts, and are more adapted to stimulate the senses. On February 15 an exhibition of this kind was to take place on the plain outside the town of Shigatse, and I and my people were invited. We mounted our horses in good time and rode northwards through the small town, which has not more than 300 houses—towns in Tibet are few and insignificant. The houses are white, with a black or red band at the top; with few exceptions they are only one storey high; the roof is almost always flat and guarded by a parapet; the windows and doors are in the same style as those of the monastery. From the street you enter into a yard where generally a large savage dog is chained. The roofs are adorned with a forest of bundles of twigs and rods hung with prayer streamers in all the colours of the rainbow; their object is to drive away devils. Between the irregular lines of houses run narrow lanes and roads, where black swine wallow among the discarded refuse, dead dogs lie about, and stinking puddles stagnate; and we also pass open squares, sometimes with ponds.

133. Staircase to the Mausoleum of the Fifth Tashi Lama in Tashi-lunpo.
Sketch by the Author.

There is something uniformly dull about the whole town, in vivid, humiliating contrast to the dzong (Illustration 134), the castle proudly enthroned on its rock, and the golden temple roofs of Tashi-lunpo at the foot of the mountain. The ground is yellow dust, and here and there we pass abrupt terraces of löss; dust whirled up by the wind lies on all the houses and roads.

A black, continuous procession of pleasure-seekers streams out to the great plain on the north-east of the dzong; the farther we go the thicker it grows; most are on foot—men with prayer mills and tobacco pipes, women with round red aureoles at the neck and crying children in their arms, boys, beggars, monks, and all the pilgrims from neighbouring countries. Here and there rides a fine gentleman with one or more attendants, while hawkers transport dried fruit and sweetmeats on mules to sell among the people.

Arrived at the show-ground, we leave our horses in charge of Rabsang, and watch with keen interest the curious festive scene presented to our sight. It is a sea of human beings, thousands and thousands of Tibetans and travelling strangers in varied costumes, any one of whom is a subject worthy of an artist’s brush. Before us, to the east, we have the gardens of the villages at the foot of the mountains in the Nyang-chu valley, and behind us stretches a whole town of blue-and-white tents with spectators of more or less importance, and in the best position stands a blue-and-white tent open towards the show-ground—there sit, cross-legged, on soft rugs, the officials of the dzong in yellow raiment, solemn as statues of Buddha, and take refreshments now and again. All these tents rise like islands above the sea of heads.

Right through the crowd from north to south runs a race-course, only 6 or 7 feet broad, and flanked on both sides by ridges of earth a foot high. The ground slopes down from the canvas town to the course, and the spectators collected here, ourselves among the number, have seated themselves in groups; but on the east side, where the ground is level, they remain standing. And here the crowd is separated into three divisions by two broad clear lanes. At the end, close to the race-course, two targets are erected, consisting of round discs suspended from poles with a white and a black ring, and a red spot in the middle. The lanes are kept clear lest any one should be hurt during the shooting. Policemen in red-and-white coats with yellow hats, and pigtails both in front and behind, keep the people in order; the pigtail swings backwards and forwards, while a rope’s end is in constant use to drive too inquisitive spectators off the course. Two of these policemen are attached to me, to keep me a clear view, but they cause me more annoyance than satisfaction, for I have constantly to restrain them when they would strike half-naked youngsters who are not at all in the way.