CHAPTER XXXIV
TO LINGA-GOMPA
The day’s march on April 13 takes us along the valley of the My-chu like a hollow way excavated in the solid rock of fine-grained granite, porphyry and crystalline schist, and the landscape is one of the grandest I have ever seen. We follow the western bank, from which rise wild precipitous rocks like the ruins of old walls and embattled forts. A footpath runs along the left bank also, and looks extremely dangerous, passing up above abrupt walls of rock. Here and there valleys open out on the west side, affording views of part of a snow-covered crest in the background. This is, however, a subsidiary range, for it branches off from the Trans-Himalaya southwards and borders the basin of the My-chu on the west. It in turn sends out ramifications eastwards, between which flow the western tributaries of the My-chu. And these again give out branches of the fourth and fifth order; the whole appears in a plan like a tree with its branches and boughs.
The road runs on steep pebble terraces high above the river, which here rages among the boulders in its deeply eroded bed and forms whirlpools. On our left rocky precipices tower above our heads, and avalanches of detritus have slipped down from them and fallen across the road. Many are quite fresh; in other places there has been time to set up the blocks in protecting walls on the inner side and in a breastwork at the outer. And often we pass places where a new landslip may take place at any moment, and where huge blocks are poised in the air and seem ready to roll down the declivity. Flourishing hawthorns in large numbers grow on the stony banks, and high up above rock pigeons have built their nests. Still higher eagles soar with outspread pinions along the mountain flanks. We are 150 feet above the river, where here and there on the bank is room for small tilled fields; a juniper bush has in some places struck root in a fissure of the rock.
The valley is like a trough, and I obtain fine views of constantly changing scenes. We might fancy we were passing through a Gothic cathedral with a colonnade of huge shafts attached to the walls and spanned by a roof of grey and white canvas, the clouds to wit, between which small patches of light blue cloth appear.
The guide, accompanying us on this day, is a half silly old fellow, who laughs and chatters continuously, and frequently begins to dance on the road, flinging his legs about, stamping on the ground and turning round so quickly that his long pigtail flies round him. He tells us in confidence that his wife is a wicked hideous old dragon, whom he has long wished to carry off to the home of the vultures, for there will be no peace in his house till he has done so. When I halt to sketch, he takes his breakfast out of his coat, lays it out on the sand, fetches water from the river in a small bag, shakes tsamba from another into a wooden dish, pours water over it, stirs it with his forefinger and then swallows bowl after bowl of this delicious mixture. He hopes to receive so much pay, that for once he can afford himself a plentiful meal while his old woman cannot see him eat. As often as one looks at him, out shoots his tongue and hangs like a fiery red flag in the middle of his black face. When he has finished he licks his plate clean and rubs it with sand to dry it. Then he wraps his things up in a bundle and hides it under the stones. When Robert tells him that people are about who have seen him hiding it, he quickly takes his bundle out again, thinks over the matter for a while, rummages about and at last finds another hiding-place. Then he sits down beside me, puts out his tongue as far as it will go, winks at me with his little pig’s eyes and takes a large pinch of snuff. When he walks in front of my horse, he turns round every hundred paces and puts his tongue out at me—a token of pure goodwill and deep respect.
Beyond the nunnery Döle-gompa the valley of the My-chu unites with the large side valley Lenjo running in from the west, in which, farther up, three villages are situated. From this valley the My-chu receives a very considerable tributary, which is crossed by a solid bridge of three arches resting on four stone piers; thick belts of ice still lie along the banks. Here we find two fine manis with turrets at both ends, where six-pointed stars are cut into the flat stones. These perpetual manis often stand in long rows so near together that they look like a long luggage train, and one expects to see them move and start off for the abodes of the blessed. Everything here denotes a great highway, a mighty commercial artery connecting the sedentary people of the lower-lying lands with the nomads of the plateaus. The road itself is the largest and best kept that I have seen in all Tibet. Bridges span all the affluents which might interrupt the traffic in summer and autumn, and wherever a landslip has occurred, the road is repaired at once. Sacred cairns, walls, and streamers indicate to the traveller at every step that a monastery is near, where the monks expect a visit and a present of money. We are always meeting caravans, riders, peasants, and beggars who extort money from merchants returning home after a good stroke of business. Many of these beggars turn into robbers and pillage undefended huts, but when they meet us they begin to hobble, gasp, and whine. After the harvest the traffic will be still more active than now.
The valley now contracts to a corridor, and the broad shallow stream occupies all its bottom. On the right side, which we follow, the cliffs of schist fall perpendicularly to the river, and the dangerous, narrow road runs like a sill along the wall of rock. Here nature has opposed endless insurmountable obstacles to the engineering skill of the Tibetans. The baggage has to be carried past these dangerous places, and it is astonishing that the horses can get past. Flat slabs of schist, branches, and roots have been inserted into cracks and fissures of the precipice 120 feet above the river, and on these planks, poles, and stones are laid forming a gutter a foot broad, without a scrap of railing, where one must even keep one’s tongue in one’s mouth lest one should lose one’s balance. Of course we traverse this stretch of road, called Tigu-tang, on foot, leaning inwards and supporting ourselves by the rock. We breathe freely again when we are safely over, and the great basin lies before us where, at Linga, two important valleys converge.
Here is the confluence of the My-chu with a river flowing from the east, the Sha-chu, which farther up is called Bup-chu, and which we crossed two and a half months before on its thick coating of ice. On April 15 the Bup-chu brought down 215 cubic feet of water and the My-chu 222, so the rivers were nearly equal, but the ratio may of course vary considerably according to the distribution of the precipitation.