Some 200 paces farther in this maze of granite boulders, among which we wandered as in lanes between low houses and walls, stands a test-stone of another kind. It consists of three blocks leaning on one another, with two hollows between them. The task is to creep through the left passage and return by the right, that is, in the orthodox direction. Here Ishe made up for his previous discomfiture by crawling through both holes. I told him frankly that there was no skill required here, for the holes were so large that even small yaks could go through. However, the sinner had in this second stone an opportunity of preserving at least a show of righteousness.
Our wanderings round Kang-rinpoche, the “holy ice mountain” or the “ice jewel,” is one of my most memorable recollections of Tibet, and I quite understand how the Tibetans can regard as a divine sanctuary this wonderful mountain which has so striking a resemblance to a chhorten, the monument which is erected in memory of a deceased saint within or without the temples. How often during our roamings had I heard of this mountain of salvation! And now I myself walked in pilgrim garb along the path between the monasteries, which are set, like precious stones in a bangle, in the track of pilgrims round Kang-rinpoche, the finger which points up to the mighty gods throned like stars in unfathomable space.
From the highlands of Kham in the remotest east, from Naktsang and Amdo, from the unknown Bongba, which we have heard of only in vague reports, from the black tents which stand like the spots of a leopard scattered among the dreary valleys of Tibet, from Ladak in the mountains of the far west, and from the Himalayan lands in the south, thousands of pilgrims come hither annually, to pace slowly and in deep meditation the 28 miles round the navel of the earth, the mountain of salvation. I saw the silent procession, the faithful bands, among which all ages and both sexes are represented, youths and maidens, strong men with wife and child, grey old men who would before their death follow in the footsteps of countless pilgrims to win a happier existence, ragged fellows who lived like parasites on the charity of the other pilgrims, scoundrels who had to do penance for a crime, robbers who had plundered peaceful travellers, chiefs, officials, herdsmen, and nomads, a varied train of shady humanity on the thorny road, which after interminable ages ends in the deep peace of Nirvana. August and serene Siva looks down from her paradise, and Hlabsen from his jewelled palace, on the innumerable human beings below who circle, like asteroids round the sun, in ever fresh troops, round the foot of the mountain, going up through the western valley, crossing the Dolma pass, and descending the eastern valley.
We soon discover that most of these simple pilgrims have no clear idea of the benefits their journey is supposed to confer on them. When they are questioned, they usually answer that after death they will be allowed to sit near the god of Gangri. But what they all believe most firmly and obstinately is that the pilgrimage will bring them a blessing in this world. It will ward off all evil from their tents and huts, will keep away sickness from their children and herds, protect them from robbers, thieves, and losses, will send them rain, good pasturage, and increase among their yaks and sheep, will act like a talisman, and guard themselves and their property as the four spirit kings protect the images of the temple halls from demons. They march with light elastic step, they feel neither the icy-cold cutting wind nor the scorching sun; every step is a link in a chain which cannot be broken by the powers of evil which persecute and torment the children of men. They start on their way from Tarchen-labrang, and every new turn in the road brings them a step nearer to the point where the ring closes. And during the whole peregrination they pray “Om mani padme hum,” and every time this prayer is uttered they let a bead of the rosary pass through the fingers. The stranger also approaches Kang-rinpoche with a feeling of awe. It is incomparably the most famous mountain in the world. Mount Everest and Mont Blanc cannot vie with it. Yet there are millions of Europeans who have never heard of Kang-rinpoche, while the Hindus and Lamaists, all know Kailas, though they have no notion where Mont Blanc lifts up its head. Therefore one approaches the mountain with the same feeling of respect as one experiences in Lhasa, Tashi-lunpo, Buddh Gaya, Benares, Mecca, Jerusalem, and Rome—those holy places which have attracted to their altars countless bands of sin-burdened souls and seekers after truth.
Our volunteer guide said that he was on his ninth circuit of the mountain. He took two days to each, and intended to go round thirteen times. He called the track Kang-kora, the Gangri circle. Many years before, he had performed the meritorious feat called gyangchag-tsallgen, which consists in measuring the length of the way by the length of the pilgrim’s body. One such pilgrimage is worth thirteen ordinary circuits on foot. My pilgrimage was of no value at all, because I was riding, the old man said; I must go on foot if I wished to derive any benefit from it.
| 272. Gulam Razul beside Bales of Chinese Brick-Tea. |
When we came a second time to Diri-pu some days later, we saw two young lamas engaged in the prostration pilgrimage round the mountain. They were from Kham, and from that part of the country “where the last men dwell,” and had been a year on the way to Kailas. They were poor and ragged, and had nothing to carry, for they lived on the alms of the faithful. They had come in nine days from Tarchen to Diri-pu, and reckoned that they had still eleven days to finish their round. I accompanied them for half an hour on foot to observe their procedure. This consisted of six movements. Suppose the young lama standing on the path with his forehead held slightly down and his arms hanging loosely at his sides, (1) He places the palms of his hands together and raises them to the top of his head, at the same time bending his head a little down; (2) he lays his hands under his chin, lifting up his head again; (3) he kneels upon the ground, bends forwards and lays himself full length on the ground with outstretched arms; (4) he passes his hands laid together over his head; (5) he stretches his right hand forwards as far as it will reach, and scratches a mark in the soil with a piece of bone, which shows the line which must be touched by his toes at the next advance; and (6) he raises himself up with his hands, makes two or three strides up to the mark, and repeats the same actions. And thus he goes round the whole mountain.
It is slow work and they do not hurry; they perform the whole business with composure, but they lose their breath, especially on the way up to the pass. And on the way down from the Dolma-la there are places so steep that it must be a gymnastic feat to lie down head foremost. One of the young monks had already accomplished one round, and was now on the second. When he had finished, in twelve days, he intended to betake himself to a monastery on the Tsangpo and be there immured for the rest of his life. And he was only twenty years old! We, who in our superior wisdom smile at these exhibitions of fanaticism and self-mortification, ought to compare our own faith and convictions with theirs. The life beyond the grave is hidden from all peoples, but religious conceptions have clothed it in different forms among different peoples. “If thou lookest closely, thou wilt see that hope, the child of heaven, points every mortal with trembling hand to the obscure heights.” Whatever may be our own convictions, we must admire those who, however erroneous their views may be in our opinion, yet possess faith enough to remove mountains.
