But time slips away and we must hasten on. We walk, slide, and scramble down steep slopes where it would be easy to tumble down head over heels. The old man is sure-footed, and these slopes are old acquaintances. But woe betide him if he turned round and went in the reverse direction. At length we reach the main valley, called in its upper part Tselung, and in its lower Lam-chyker. Through the large valley, which enters the main valley on the right side, and is called Kando-sanglam, we now look eastwards upon the highest pinnacle of the summit of Kailas, which has a sharp edge towards the north-east, and still looks like a crystal. At two manis erected side by side we pass the border of the granite and the conglomerate, which now appears again. The further we proceed the more numerous are the boulders of this kind of rock, while those of granite at length occur no more. We march south-west and bivouac on the roof of the monastery Tsumtul-pu. All day long, at all the cairns and all the resting-places, I have heard nothing but an endless murmur of the words “Om mani padme hum,” and now, as long as I am awake, “Om mani padme hum” sounds in my ears from all nooks and corners.
The temple had no other curiosity but a statue of Duk Ngavang Gyamtso, 5 feet high, sitting as at a writing-desk, two not very large elephant’s tusks, and a five-branched chandelier from Lhasa. Our visit, therefore, did not last long, and we rode down the valley in which the river gradually increased in size. Here, too, manis and chhortens are erected, and at the end of the valley, where again numbers of granite boulders are accumulated, we see once more Langak-tso and the grand Gurla group.
| 273. Tibetan Tent. |
| 274. Monastery of Gar-gunsa. |
| 275. Images at Chushut. |
At Tarchen-labrang we reached the termination of the pilgrimage. Here twenty-three tents were pitched, and we received the greatest attention, were refreshed with milk and chang, and rested two hours. Then we left the pilgrim road to the right, and came into sight of the fourth monastery, perched high up on a terrace in the valley below the holy peak. A curious local wind at the north-west corner of Langak-tso raised up clouds of dust like the smoke of a burning town. A short while after, we lay peacefully among our men in the camp on the Khaleb moor.
By this pilgrimage round the holy mountain, which I had been able to accomplish by an unexpected lucky chance, I had gained an insight into the religious life of the Tibetans. It had also been, as it were, a revisal of all the experiences I had already collected in this connection.
Our knowledge of Tibet is still defective, and some future traveller will find sufficient material to show on a map of the whole Lamaistic world all the great pilgrim routes to innumerable sanctuaries. On such a map numerous roads would converge, like the spokes of a wheel, to Da Kuren, the temple of Maidari in Urga. Still closer would the rays from every inhabited spot of the immense territory of Lamaism run together to their chief focus, Lhasa. Somewhat less thickly they would unite at Tashi-lunpo. Innumerable winding roads and paths would start from the farthest border countries of Tibet, all tending towards the holy Kailas. We know that they exist, and no great imagination is required to conceive how they would look on a map. But it is with the routes of pilgrims just as with the flight of the wild-geese: we know nothing of their precise course. Besides, among the principal foci are scattered a number of smaller centres whence radii diverge to a sanctuary, a lake, or a spring, and from the heart of all these wind-roses peals out a cry to the faithful, similar to the exhortation of Isaiah: “Look upon Zion, the city of our solemnities: thine eyes shall see Jerusalem” (Isa. xxxiii. 20).
In the ears of the Tibetan another saying rings, the mystical formula “Om mani padme hum,” not only on his wanderings to the goal of his pilgrimage, but throughout his life. Concerning this Waddell makes, among others, the following remarks: “Om-ma-ṇi pad-me Hūṃ, which literally means ‘Om! The Jewel in the lotus!’ Hūṃ!—is addressed to the Bodhisat Padmapāṇi, who is represented like Buddha as seated or standing within a lotus-flower. He is the patron-god of Tibet and the controller of metempsychosis. And no wonder this formula is so popular and constantly repeated by both Lāmas and laity, for its mere utterance is believed to stop the cycle of re-births and to convey the reciter directly to paradise. Thus it is stated in the Māṇi-kah-bum with extravagant rhapsody that this formula ‘is the essence of all happiness, prosperity, and knowledge, and the great means of deliverance,’ for the Om closes re-birth amongst the gods, ma among the Titans, ṇi as a man, pad as a beast, me as a Tantalus, and Hūṃ as an inhabitant of hell. And in keeping with this view each of these six syllables is given the distinctive colour of these six states of re-birth, namely: Om, the godly white; ma, the Titanic blue; ṇi, the human yellow; pad, the animal green; me, the ‘Tantalic’ red; and Hūṃ, the hellish black” (The Buddhism of Tibet, 148-9).
Köppen and Grünwedel translate the four words: “O, Jewel in the lotus-flower, Amen.”
Wherever one turns in Tibet, he sees the six sacred characters engraved or chiselled out, and hears them repeated everywhere. They are found in every temple in hundreds of thousands of copies, nay, in millions, for in the great prayer mills they are stamped in fine letters on thin paper. On the monastery roofs, on the roofs of private houses, and on the black tents, they are inscribed on the fluttering streamers. On all the roads we ride daily past wall-like stone cists covered with slabs, on which the formula “Om mani padme hum” is carved. Seldom does the most lonely path lead up to a pass where no cairn is erected to remind the wanderer of his dependence all his life long on the influence of good and bad spirits. And on the top of every such lhato or lhadse is fixed a pole or a stick with streamers, every one proclaiming in black letters the eternal truth. At projecting rocks cubical chhortens or lhatos stand beside the road in red and white. On the sides of granite rocks polished smooth by wind and weather figures of Buddha are frequently cut, and below them, as well as on fallen boulders, can be read in gigantic characters “Om mani padme hum.” On the piers between which chain bridges are stretched over the Tsangpo or other rivers, heaps of stones are piled up, and on all these innumerable votive cairns lie yak skulls and crania of wild sheep and antelopes. Into the horns and the bleached frontal bones of the yak the sacred formula is cut, and the incised characters are filled in with red or some other holy colour. We find them again in innumerable copies and in many forms, especially on the high-roads which lead to temples and pilgrims’ resorts, as well as at all places where there is danger, as on mountain passes and river fords. And even the ferry boats of hide are decorated with blessed streamers.
In every caravan one man at least, and usually several, has a prayer-mill in his hand. This is rotated by means of a weight round the axle of the handle, and is stuffed full of paper strips bearing the holy formula in many thousands of impressions. All day long, whatever the duration of the journey, the believer turns his prayer-mill and babbles in chanting tones “Om mani padme hum.” The militia who are called out to catch a robber band have on their ride more confidence in their prayer-mills than in their guns and sabres, and, sad to say, there are some even among the robbers who rattle off their Om and Hum in order to make their escape. Among the escorts which accompanied me on various occasions there were always one or two horsemen armed with a mani machine. One always sees this convenient praying instrument in the hands of the people one meets. The herdsman murmurs the six syllables beside his herd, his wife when milking the sheep, the merchant as he goes to market, the hunter as he stalks the wild yak on untrodden paths, the nomad when he sets out to move his tent to another pasture, the artisan as he bends over his work. With these words the Tibetan begins his day, and with them on his tongue he lies down to rest. The Om and Hum are not only the Alpha and Omega of the day, but of his whole life.