We visited some other halls, where I noted down the names of the images. At length there remained only two convent buildings on a sharp ridge of rock. The first was named Chörigungkang, and had a sort of shed in which swords, guns, drums, masks, tiger-skins, and other lumber were stored. In the very front, on the point of the rock, is a cubical house called Pesu. It is surrounded on three sides by a gallery without balustrades, and here the abyss is deeper than elsewhere. Here I stayed to sketch the panorama, but the weather was anything but pleasant, and snowstorms veiled the mountains from time to time. Nevertheless it was hard to leave this terrace. The flat roofs down below look no larger than postage-stamps. Bright as silver, or dark, according as they are lighted, the two rivers hasten to meet each other. Then I could not help thinking how singular it was that the loftiest and grandest alpine country in the world, which must surely impress the human mind more than any other, had not been able to instil into the Tibetans a higher, nobler form of religion than this narrow, limited, dogmatic Lamaism. I grant that it was imported from India more than a thousand years ago and was first modified into the so-called northern Buddhism, but after all it flourishes vigorously in Tibet. One would think that the ancient Bon religion with its copious demonology, its widespread superstition, and its spirits haunting all the mountains and lakes, would be more suitable here. But we have indeed, discovered that Lamaism has absorbed many of its elements. At any rate the Linga monks have a splendid view of an artistically sculptured corner of the world. From their loopholes of windows and their flat roofs they can see winter spreading its white carpet over the mountains and putting the rivers in fetters, and then the spring shedding its gold over the valleys, the summer conjuring out new fresh grass, and lastly the rain torrents of early autumn washing the slopes and swelling the rivers.

We now ascended, as if the mountain itself were not high enough, two steep pitch-dark flights of steps, where it is easy to break one’s neck, into the entrance hall of the Pesu temple. In a smaller room the flame of a butter-lamp struggled vainly with the darkness, casting its dull light on some idols. Pesu is the hall of the gods par excellence, with innumerable statuettes of metal, very old, artistically worked and certainly very valuable. Some figures were of medium size. I stood in front of the altar rank and inspected the gods. Tankas and long narrow scarves in many colours hung from the ceiling. On the right was the small, dark room, and on the left was a shutter creaking as it banged to and open in the wind. Before the gods stood a row of bowls with barley, wheat, maize cobs, and water. I asked a monk who had come up with me how long it took the gods to eat it all. He smiled, and answered evasively that the bowls must always be full; but on entering I had caught sight of some mice which quickly scuttled away in the darkness. What cruel irony, what a picture of self-satisfied vanity and religious humbug! The serving brother has been in the Pesu, has filled the bowls and said his daily prayers, has descended the steps and locked the door behind him. When all is quiet the mice come out of their holes. They climb upon the altar table, stand on their hind-legs, curl their tails round the votive bowls, and consume the nectar and ambrosia of the gods.

Could I not buy some of these charming figures? No, it could not be. The monk showed me a label which is attached with wire to each image. Every object belonging to the furniture of the convent has its number, and this number is entered in the general inventory. The prior is usually elected for a fixed term of years, and when he resigns his office he hands the list to his successor to be checked. If any object is missing, he is responsible and must pay the value.

A monk came up to bring tea for Rabsang and Tundup, who had seated themselves in the outer hall. I remained alone and gazed at the gods, mesmerized by their smiling gilded faces, their portly double chins, and their arched eyebrows. Then something wonderful happened. Their features changed and all turned their heads and looked at me. A curious feeling of awe took possession of me; had I insulted them through some want of delicacy? No, next moment they turned their heads away again and stared straight at the opposite wall. It was only a banner which in the draught from the window had moved so as to alter the shadow on the faces and give them an appearance of motion.

Linga is a ghostly castle, but Pesu was the most ghostly part of it all. There large drums and grinning masks shimmered like ghosts in the gloom, and the wind whistled mournfully through all the loopholes and openings. A man of strong nerves would get the horrors if he were compelled to spend a stormy autumn night alone in this hall of the gods, with the light of the moon falling through the loopholes on the images. He would listen with bated breath for every sound and crack. If the door below banged against its frame, he would hear some one entering the ante-chamber, and when the streamers on the roof fluttered in the wind, he would imagine the unknown person was approaching the hall with light steps and would in a second be bending over him; and the mice running over the floor, and the shutters swinging in the wind on creaking hinges, and the wind moaning in the window recesses and among the rafters, all would strain his imagination to the utmost and make him count the minutes till the dawn. After the gods had turned their heads towards me I felt that I should not like to be in such a position, but would rather go down again to my tent in the valley and sleep.

END OF VOL. I

1. The Latest Map of Tibet.
From the Geographical Journal, 1906. Note the blank space north of the Upper Brahmaputra with the word “Unexplored.”
2. Carte Générale du Thibet ou Bout-tan.
(Avril 1733.) D’Anville, Nouvel Atlas de la Chine, etc. Paris 1737.
3. Map of Southern Tibet.
From Selections from the Records of The Government of Bengal. No. XXVII. Papers relative to the Colonization, Commerce, Physical Geography, etc. etc. of the Himalaya Mountains and Nepal. By Brian Houghton Hodgson, Esq., M.R.A.S. Calcutta, John Gray, Calcutta Gazette Office, 1857. Hodgson’s “The Nyenchhen Thangla Chain, separating southern from northern Tibet” is only hypothetical, and does not represent the actual configuration.