Where the river emerges into the Saka plain, we passed on its left side over a last small spur of the mountain on which the pass is situated, and here I rested for an hour with Robert, to draw a panorama of the interesting country. Tsering marched on with his men, and disappeared as a speck on the great plain. To the east-north-east the white houses of Saka-dzong could be seen in the distance, and with the glass we could make out the camp, two black tents and a white, the latter Muhamed Isa’s.
Then we too passed across the plain. On the left stood four tents, where the sheep were being driven into the fold for the night. At one place the road divides; travellers who have nothing to do in Saka-dzong take the southern road. We cross the Sa-chu river and the overflow of a spring; there is a strong wind from the west, and we long for the tents and the warmth of the camp-fires. At last we are there. Guffaru comes to greet us, and all the others call out to us “Salaam!” and “Ju!” I look in vain for Muhamed Isa’s stalwart figure, and inquire for him. “He is lying in bed and has been ill all day,” they answer. I suppose that he has his usual headache again, go to the brazier in my tent, and let Robert, as usual, unpack the things I require for my evening work. We were tired and chilled through and longed for our supper.
CHAPTER XXXIX
MUHAMED ISA’S DEATH
We had not been sitting long when Rabsang came to say that Muhamed Isa had lost consciousness, and did not answer when he was spoken to. I now perceived that he had had an apoplectic fit, and hurried off with Robert to his tent, which stood close beside mine. An oil-lamp was burning beside the head of his bed, where his brother Tsering sat weeping. The sick man lay on his back, tall, strong, and straight. The mouth was a little drawn on the left side, and the pupil of the left eye seemed very small, while that of the right eye was normal. The pulse was regular and strong, beating 72. I at once ordered hot bottles to be laid at his feet, and a bag of ice on his head. His clothes were loosened; he breathed deeply and regularly. The eyes were half open, but were lustreless. I called his name loudly, but he gave little sign; he tried to turn his head and move his right arm, uttered a low groan, and then remained still again. Robert was shocked when I told him that Muhamed Isa would not see the sun rise again.
While we were sitting beside his bed I inquired the circumstances from Rehim Ali and Guffaru, who had been with him all day long. During the four days they had waited for us here, he had been quite well, and had never complained of headache. He had tried, in accordance with the last instructions I had given him at the camp in the Basang valley, to win the friendship and confidence of the authorities. The day before he had been still in excellent spirits, had drunk tea with his most intimate friends in the caravan, and had sung to the accompaniment of the guitar.
On this day, June 1, he had got up with the sun, drunk tea, and had had a stormy interview with two Tibetans from the dzong. They had refused to supply the caravan with provisions, and then insisted that the caravan should leave the place at once. He had answered that the Sahib would soon be back, and that it would go badly with them if they did not obey him. They had gone away in anger, and then Muhamed Isa had breakfasted about ten o’clock, and had slept an hour. When he rose, he had complained of headache.
When the sun had reached its noonday height he had gone to look out for us, and had then had a violent attack of sickness, fallen on his left side and lain senseless. The other men hurried up, carried him to his tent, and massaged his body. He was restored thereby to consciousness, and spoke much but indistinctly, and chiefly with the god of Islam: