The young official, who was named Rinche Dorche, but was called Rindor, a contraction of the two names, wrote a long letter to the Governor of Saka, saying that I was the same Hedin Sahib who had been here the year before, that we had come to a friendly agreement to proceed to Semoku, that I did not wish to travel to Ladak but straight to India, and that Lien Darin alone was to decide on the route. The letter was sealed, and despatched by a mounted courier over the Kinchen-la.
Then we talked and jested again, and before sunset we were as intimate as though we had been friends from childhood. We might have made an appointment to meet in this barren valley and been glad to have found one another. It was easy to understand that the Tibetans were pleased. They little thought when the sun rose that they would make such a good catch before evening. The successful issue of their mission would be of great advantage; they would be commended by the Governor and gain promotion. For my part I had a feeling of unmixed satisfaction. Our freedom was at an end, but for me it had been nothing but an exceedingly enervating captivity. Now, for the first time, I felt perfectly free, and was no longer a prisoner in my own tent; I should have no need of that wretched hiding-hole in Abdul Kerim’s tent. The Tibetans laughed loudly at my ragged, smutty, greasy dress of coarse grey sackcloth, in which I looked like a convict, or, at best, like a begging monk of the Grey Friars’ confraternity. Then they understood how I had succeeded in crossing Bongba unseen and unknown. How delightful it would be to throw my rags into the fire and clothe myself in a clean neat Tibetan costume, to be no longer obliged to hide my papers and instruments in rice sacks, and not to have to paint my face black as a Moor’s instead of washing myself. As soon as we had parted from our new friends in the evening, Gulam took a hand-basin of warm water into my tent, and then I had a good scrubbing from top to toe, and the water showed that I wanted it. He had to change the water four times before I was tolerably clean. Then I clipped my Mohammedan beard to the skin, and sadly missed the razors I had thrown away. But I was glad that we had not burned the things we had condemned some hours earlier.
Rindor begged the loan of one of our tents, as their own transport train was not expected till the morning. Besides Pemba Tsering, there were two other men I had known the year before. They were all very friendly, and said that we had tipped them very generously. There was also a wrinkled old man in the party, who was always smoking a Chinese pipe. His name was Kamba Tsenam, and it was his tent near which we had so nearly been detained two days before.
Thus ended April 24, 1908. Strange, melancholy thoughts took possession of me when I went to bed. The Tibetans had again thwarted my plans—I know not how many times they had done so. Our future was dark as ever, but it had arrived at a new stage, and on the 25th we should wake up to begin a new chapter. The deep silence in the valley was only disturbed occasionally by Takkar, when the faithful dog barked at the Tibetans. His bark was re-echoed from both flanks as though three dogs kept guard over us. And the everlasting stars glittered as before over our lonely tents.
CHAPTER LXVIII
HIS EXCELLENCY THE GOVERNOR OF SAKA
On April 25 we rode in a compact body to the mouth of a valley east of Chomo-uchong, called Radak. Six Tibetans guarded me on both sides, and our journey had some resemblance to a convict train. Now I was not obliged to dismount before we passed a tent. On the left hand was a large open plain where Raga-tasam is situated. A shot was heard in the deserted country, and Rindor sent two men to see what it was. An antelope hunter! He was arrested and beaten; for the Government, at ecclesiastical instigation, had forbidden the extinction of life for three years, except in the case of sheep and yaks. I was reminded of the agreement to forbid Europeans to travel in Tibet for three years.
Now I drew my map of the route, took compass bearings, and sketched a panorama quite at my ease. The Tibetans wondered at me and questioned me, but did not trouble themselves much about my work. And I had plenty of time to think of the line of policy I should adopt during the following negotiations. I knew that they would urge me to return by the way I had come, through Bongba, or by the road I had taken to Ladak the year before. For my part, I had now had enough of Tibet and I longed to get home, and wished to avoid routes that involved loss of time and that I knew already. Now I only wished to travel to India viâ Shigatse and Gyangtse, and I would try to obtain permission to travel to these towns by roads where no one had been before. After the excitement in which we had lived so long came a reaction. I was worn-out, weary, and indifferent to everything except the nearest way home. Therefore I sat down and wrote a letter of fifteen pages to Lien Darin, referred to his friendly letter sent to Gartok, gave an account of our last journey, pointed out to him that no Great Power could take it amiss if I travelled out of the country through Gyangtse, promised that in return I would give him information about the occurrences of gold and salt I had seen, and about the measures which should be taken for the promotion of sheep-breeding,—all natural resources, which would contribute to the advancement of China’s newest province, Tibet. And I concluded my letter with wishes for the happiness and prosperity of Lien Darin himself and peace to his forefathers’ graves.