May 5, the last day we enjoyed Dorche Tsuen’s society, had to be celebrated in some way. I invited the whole party to a festival in the camp. The two Governors and Oang Gye took their places in my tent, in the middle of which our tea-cups were filled on an improvised table. The day had been cold and muggy and snow fell, but we warmed our hands over the fire, and sat wrapped in skin coats like four Tibetans of rank, while the populace formed a circle outside. A fire was lighted in the middle and was maintained by dung from four sacks. It was pitch dark outside, but yellow flames threw a bright gleam over the dark Tibetans, servants, herdsmen, nomads and soldiers, women and children, youths and old men. They stood in wondering groups in their skin coats blackened by the smoke of fires, bare-headed, with long black tresses hanging over their shoulders. The light from the fire made a vain attempt to gild them. They stood out in sharp effective relief against the deep shadows (Illust. 336).
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| 353. Nima Tashi,Commandor of the Government- Escorton the way to the Teri-nam-tso. | 354. Nuns of Mendong. |
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| 355. A high Lama of Chokchu. | 356. The Prior of Selipuk. |
| Water-colour Sketches by the Author. | |
I charged Abdul Kerim to do his very best, and he informed me that the programme would contain fifteen items, song and dance following alternately without a pause. The first item was a dance with sticks to represent swords; the second, a hunting episode: a wild animal, composed of two crouching men with a piece of felt over them and two sticks for horns, went prancing round the fire; a hunter with his gun crept about, took aim at the monster, killed him with a single shot, and performed with his friends a triumphal dance around the carcase. Then followed a Ladaki dance, little Gulam leading the troop, and after that Suen executed his remarkable dance before a lady, represented by a stick he held before him. All the others kept time by clapping their hands, and invited the Tibetans to join in, and my guests in the tent were convulsed with laughter.
The Mohammedans executed a Yarkand dance with Kutus as leader. They danced round the fire, swinging their arms and skirts, and between the fire and the tent they appeared only as black profiles, while on the other side they were lighted up by the reddish-yellow flames, and their perspiring faces shone like bronze. A song followed, waking a sonorous echo in the mountains, and the Tibetans recognizing the air joined in, and all the while the men clapped their hands. The smoke from the fire took part in the dances and sometimes flew right in the faces of the spectators, the singing became louder, the merriment more uncontrolled, and the nomads laughed till they had to support themselves with their hands on their knees, as Suen revolved in grotesque pirouettes over the arena and the nomads tried to imitate him. The clumsy Abdullah performed an indescribable dance with his back bent back, and when he bent himself so much that he fell backwards to the edge of the fire, the delight of the spectators was unbounded: they laughed till they were breathless, hopped about and uttered wild yells, while the performer shook the sparks from his coat and retired to his corner (Illusts. 337, 338, 339, 340). The Tibetans evidently enjoyed themselves; perhaps they had never had such an amusing evening in their lives. Dorche Tsuen said something of the sort. Ngavang gave way to his kindly laugh, and Oang Gye enjoyed the unwonted spectacle like a child. For my part, I dreamed awhile and thought of the unexpected and singular manner in which fate had allowed me to choose my course. Through the clouds of smoke I seemed to see all old Asia before me, and the adventures of past years behind me. A carnival of old camp-scenes danced before my mind’s eye, expiring like shooting-stars in the night—merry songs which came to an end among other mountains and the dying sound of strings and flutes. And I was surprised that I had not had enough of these things and that I was not tired of the light of camp-fires.
The wind rises, the snow falls thickly and hisses in the fire, and the flakes are lighted up from below. With white hair and shoulders the Tibetans look like mist figures, and behind them hang the dark curtains of night, from which is heard from time to time a pony’s neigh or a dog’s bark. The last sack of fuel is emptied over the leaping flames, burns up and sinks, and only embers are left, glowing in the ceaselessly falling snow. Then my grateful guests rise at midnight, distribute gifts to the performers, say farewell, and vanish like ghosts in the darkness to seek their own tents. Now night reigns alone over the valley, the surroundings lie silent and still, and only the pelting snow makes a swishing sound against the tent.
On the morning of May 6 the country was again white as in the depth of winter. Quietly and lightly as cotton-wool the flakes fell, and all, the Tibetans included, were more wrapped up than usual. The Governors and their retinue came to pay a farewell visit, and then I went out with them to their horses, took a last farewell, and thanked them for all the kindness they had shown me in spite of the trouble I had given them. Dorche Tsuen expressed a hope that we should meet again. It is much easier to get on with men and lead them where you wish if you treat them kindly and gently; you gain nothing by violence, harshness, and threats. The Governor was a fine upright figure on his horse; his face was entirely covered with dark spectacles and a red hood to protect it from the blast (Illust. 342). His troop of mounted men was considerably diminished after his escort had been told off to follow me. They struck their heels into their horses and soon disappeared up the hill on the way to the Gara-la.
| 357. Two Lamas of Mendong. |
| 358. My Sheep crossing the River Soma-tsangpo. |
My caravan was now to be divided into two parties. Only five men were to follow me, namely, Gulam, Lobsang, Kutus, Tubges, and Kunchuk. We had eight goats to supply milk; our old sheep had been sold for a mere trifle. A hundred rupees for the first five days were paid in advance to the escort under Nima Tashi. No agreement was made with Panchor, but he was to be paid well if he took me where I wished. The other seven Ladakis were ordered to proceed under the command of Abdul Kerim over the Samye-la to the Buptsang-tsangpo, follow the stream slowly downwards, and wait for us near its mouth in the Tarok-tso. Whatever they did, they were not to leave the Buptsang-tsangpo, or we might lose one another. Rindor and Pemba Tsering were deputed to follow them over the Samye-la to Buptö, to bring the Kebyang people to reason if they refused transport animals. My baggage was reduced to a minimum, and I took with me only a thousand rupees. Abdul Kerim was responsible for the remainder of the cash. He was an honest man, but a noodle. Some nomads accompanied us with six yaks for the baggage (Illusts. 344, 345, 348).
Though, according to our plans, we were to be separated only a few weeks, the parting was touching, and many childish tears trickled down weather-beaten cheeks. We had bought more horses, and all my five Ladakis could ride. We rode up the valley in close order; the bottom was full of loose rotten ice, lumpy tufts of grass with mice-holes among them, frozen springs, and detritus of hard green schist. We marched north-eastwards, and then due west, over the small double pass Shalung-la, and down to the Gyegong valley, where we encamped at Kamba Tsenam’s sheepfolds to buy some sheep for food. The escort had got there first, and sat in their black tent drinking tea.
We sat talking with Kamba Tsenam and Panchor when a tall and strongly built young fellow came and sat down at the opening of my tent.