CHAPTER XX

ONWARDS THROUGH THE FORBIDDEN LAND

January 13. Again this ominous number, which is regarded by so many people as unlucky, and is surrounded by a cloud of superstition! Would the 13th be unfortunate for us also?

The sun had scarcely risen when Hlaje Tsering sent to announce a visit. Accompanied by his private secretary, the lama Lobsang Shunten, and all the rest of his retinue, His Excellence the Governor of Naktsang came to my tent on foot. They took their seats on the cushions, and Hlaje Tsering opened the conversation with the following remarkable declaration:

"Hedin Sahib, we have, neither of us, time to stay here for weeks and months, waiting for an answer from Gyangtse. I cannot help you in your correspondence with Gyangtse. I have thoroughly considered the situation, and have discussed it with my secretaries, who, like myself, are responsible to the Devashung. We are of the opinion that all you can do is to pass southwards into the territory of the Labrang (Tashi-lunpo). I beg you to set out the day after to-morrow."

What did this most unexpected change of front mean? Yesterday I was not to be allowed to take a single step southwards, and to-day I was requested to start as soon as possible to the forbidden land. Had Hlaje Tsering received secret orders from Lhasa? Had he been informed that the Tashi Lama was really expecting me? He said nothing on the subject, and I cautiously refrained from asking him. Or were we the victims of a ruse, and when we had been induced to travel with all speed to Gyangtse, should we be compelled to return thence to India through Darjiling? For there the Devashung could appeal to the terms of the treaty, in which it is emphatically stipulated that only those who are in possession of a passport from Lhasa have a right to travel about the country, and so my journey would be speedily ended.

Might it not be better to make for the unknown country west of the Dangra-yum-tso, which after all was the main object of my journey? Hlaje Tsering's change of front was so absolutely at variance with my former experiences in Tibet, that I had some misgivings, and wondered whether I was about to fall into the jaws of the English, Chinese, and Tibetan authorities, and should shortly be delivered unconditionally into their hands.

But this opportunity must on no account be lost. Between the Ngangtse-tso and Shigatse stretches the eastern part of the great white patch north of the Tsangpo, which no European, no pundit, has trod, the land of which not even hazy and uncertain reports at second-hand have ever found their way into geographical text-books. Even if I had an opportunity of making only a single traverse over it, my labour would not be in vain. Nain Sing has two rivers on his map, which flow east and north-east to the Kyaring-tso, and their upper courses he places in the country south of the Ngangtse-tso. At present I knew nothing of them, but I should learn everything if I accepted Hlaje Tsering's proposal. But I had already perceived that the mountains on the south side of the lake were quite fanciful and arbitrary as inserted in Nain Sing's map. At any rate, I must not now betray my satisfaction, so I answered very calmly and thoughtfully:

"Well, I will march southwards the day after to-morrow if you will provide me with horses by then."

"I have sent men into all the valleys in the neighbourhood with orders that all the available horses are to be brought here. Two roads lead from here to Shigatse. If you travel by the west side of the lake you will be in four days in the territory of the Labrang, but by the east side you will reach it in two days. You may choose yourself which way you will take, but I shall be better pleased if you decide on the eastern, for with me the main thing is that you should clear out of my province as quickly as possible."

"No, I will fix on the western road, that I may be able to make an excursion to the Dangra-yum-tso; for I wish to see the lake, and also I must go there because I have given it as my postal address, and the messenger of the Tashi Lama is awaiting me there."

This was a very undiplomatic utterance. I ought to have avoided disclosing my plans. Hlaje Tsering bristled up at once and exclaimed: "To the Dangra-yum-tso? Never! The lake is holy; the mountain Targo-gangri on its southern shore is holy, and there lies the great monastery Sershik-gompa, in which influential intriguing monks dwell. Your visit to the lake would lead to complications. No, if such is your intention, I will leave only one road open to you, namely, that along the eastern side of the Ngangtse-tso. I cannot and will not compel you, but I implore you to give me your word of honour that you will not go to the Dangra-yum-tso."

Thus I lost the holy lake a second time; but I gave my word of honour, that I might not lose the important route still open to me. My premature candour vexed me at the time, but I was soon to have reason to be thankful for it. Had I gained an opportunity of visiting the holy lake at this time, I should certainly have been arrested on its shore; but that is another story which will be related in a later chapter.

"Tell me, Hlaje Tsering, do you think that I shall be stopped in the territory of the Labrang?"

"As you have not been arrested here, in Naktsang, probably you will not be there. I do not know how I shall get on, but I have been Governor for seven years, and my term of office expires in five months, so it is of no consequence if I lose my post. The Devashung has plundered me so thoroughly that I have few cattle and little other property left. Now, for instance, I am travelling in my province at the expense of the people; the nomads have to provide me with baggage animals and provisions for the whole time."

"The Devashung must be a nice institution. How glad you must be that your time of service will soon expire."

"Yes, but I must settle down in some place where I can live cheaply."

"Does the Devashung know that I am here?"

"I have not heard anything from it up to the present, but I despatched another report on your affairs yesterday by express messenger. How they will treat you I do not know; I have gone as far as I could for old friendship's sake."

After that we again paid him a return visit. Some of Hlaje Tsering's men had seen us engaged in rearranging our baggage, and this caused him to ask me if he could have an empty chest. Four of the best were given him, and also all kinds of other superfluous articles.

January 13 was a memorable day in our chronicles, and the 14th was to bring with it still more wonderful incidents. Our life during the past months had passed rather monotonously, but now the facts of our daily experience were stranger than fiction. The alt-azimuth had been placed on its tripod near my tent, and I had the chronometer, an aneroid, and a thermometer close at hand. There I stood for fully three hours, observing the phases of the eclipse of the sun. About nine-tenths of the sun's disc were obscured. Shortly before the maximum the temperature of the air was 16.7°, and soon after the maximum 11.5°. The violet line of the thermograph fell sharply, and a slight breeze swept along the earth's surface. Some Tibetans had betaken themselves to Muhamed Isa's tent to sell us horses, but when the singular darkness fell, they shook their heads and returned to their tents. The Ladakis are outside, sitting at their fire and murmuring prayers. The ravens are quiet and do not move. An eagle circles with heavy pinions close above the ground. Our sheep come in of their own accord from the pastures, just as they are wont to do in the evening, and yet the vanishing sun stands at its mid-day altitude. The puppies break off their play, creep timidly into the tent, and lie down on my bed. Only the horses graze on and display no surprise that the day is so short. All is strangely still and quiet.

But then the small sickle of the sun, which has not been extinguished in interstellar space, increases again. It becomes lighter, and the shadows that have just before shown a double outline, become sharp again. The sheep stand a moment irresolute and then go slowly back to the pasture. The dogs return to their play, and the Tibetans, one after another, peep out of their tent doors. The ravens shake themselves and fly off croaking to a hill. The prayers of the Ladakis are heard no more, and the eagle is borne aloft by swishing beats of his wings to the sun, which again shines out in all its splendour.

Then old Karpun came to visit us, and was given some tea, tobacco, and a piece of cloth.

"Does the Bombo Chimbo remember that I tried to detain him five and a half years ago with a large levy?"

"Yes, on the north shore of the Selling-tso (Zilling-tso). I gave you a great deal of trouble then, and you could not induce me to stay."

"The trouble is all forgotten, and I am very glad to see you again in good health and brisk."

"We did not expect then that we should meet again. You, too, are looking well. But tell me why you are come just now."

"I have brought a message to the Governor from Shansa-dzong. The officials remaining there have ordered me to call out the people. Now all the militia must stand under arms to----"

"You surely do not intend to detain me again?"

"By no means. But news is come from the black tents on the middle course of the Bogtsang-tsangpo that a large band of robbers has pillaged ten tents and driven off all the owners' cattle and all the flocks of sheep."

"When?"

"A few days ago."

"Then we may thank our stars that we did not fall into their hands, for we passed along the middle course of the Bogtsang-tsangpo for five days, and we have a large quantity of silver money in our boxes."

"The Bombo Chimbo is a friend of the gods. No harm can befall you."

"In which direction have the robbers retired with their booty?"

"They are still in the territory of Naktsang. We shall pursue them, catch them, and cut off their heads."

Then I visited Hlaje Tsering with the corner pillars of my caravan. He sat at his lacquered table drinking tea, and had his long Chinese pipe in his mouth.

"Why is it that it has just been so dark?" I asked him. "The gods of the Dangra-yum-tso are angry because you will not allow me to visit their lake."

"No, certainly not. A big dog roams about the sky and often conceals the sun. But I and the lama Lobsang have prayed all the time before the altar, and have burned joss-sticks before the images of the gods. You have nothing to fear; the dog has passed on."

"Very fine," I cried, and made a desperate attempt to explain the phenomenon. Robert held up his saucer to represent the sun, and I took two rupees to represent the earth and moon crossing each other's orbit. Hlaje Tsering listened attentively to Muhamed Isa's translation of my demonstration, nodded approvingly, and finally expressed his opinion that all this might do very well for us, but that it did not suit Tibet.

At this moment the flap of the tent was thrown back, and Rabsang entered panting and calling out to me:

"The post is here!"

Muhamed Isa and Robert jumped up as though there were fire under their feet, and exclaimed, "We must be off." I sat quite still, and thrust my feet against the ground so as not to show that I was trembling with excitement. Was it possible? Letters from home, from India, from Gyangtse, and perhaps from the Tashi Lama!

"Who has brought the mail?" I asked, as if nothing had happened.

"A man from Shigatse, accompanied by two others," answered Rabsang.

"Where is he? Let him bring the mail-bag."

"We have already told him to come, but he replies that he has strict orders to hand over the letters to the Sahib himself in his own tent. He refuses to do so in the tent of the Governor."

"What is the matter?" asked Hlaje Tsering, astonished at the general commotion.

"I have news from the Tashi Lama," I returned very coolly. It was now Hlaje Tsering's turn to look disconcerted. The news made a very deep impression on him. He quickly gave an order, two men hurried out and returned with a confirmation of my statement. Then he gave me a friendly clap on the shoulder and said, smiling:

"Hedin Sahib, this news is of much greater importance to me than to you. It is of no consequence what kind of tidings you receive, but the arrival of the post from the Tashi Lama is, in itself, a proof that His Holiness is actually expecting you, that Labrang is open to you, and that I acted rightly when I told you that you might continue your journey. If I had not already granted you permission yesterday, I should do so now."

"I have always said that I should receive my letters from the Tashi Lama."

"That is true; but now I have for the first time tangible proof, now I am perfectly satisfied, and do not intend even to wait for your departure. I shall travel back to Shansa-dzong the day after to-morrow."

Now I could no longer curb my impatience. I took leave and hurried to my tent, whither the post-messenger was summoned. He was a young powerful Tibetan, a servant of Kung Gushuk, one of the highest officials in Shigatse, and younger brother of the Tashi Lama. Lieutenant Bailey, who had taken the place of Major O'Connor, absent on furlough, had, according to orders from India, sent the carefully packed post-box to the Tashi Lama with a request that he would forward it to me. The forbidden Dangra-yum-tso appeared in the Tibetan address also. By command of the Tashi Lama the man was furnished with an open passport from the Labrang, the Vatican of Tashi-lunpo, which empowered him to demand horses and provisions along the route. The men with him were the nomads who had last supplied him with horses at the Dangra-yum-tso, and now that they were sure of tips would not leave him. He had taken eighteen days to travel to the holy lake, and had looked for us there for three days, when he heard by chance that we were encamped on the Ngangtse-tso. Then he had hastened to us in order to execute his commission. But why was he so late? I had arranged for November 25. Yes, but Kung Gushuk had let the box lie for forty days, and Kung Gushuk is a blockhead. But this was a piece of good luck. Had Kung Gushuk done his duty, the post would have arrived at the right time, while I only reached the place agreed upon at the end of December. A higher providence had overruled the whole affair, and everything turned out well (Illustration 98).

Now the box was broken open. What excitement! It contained packets of letters from my home, from the Government House in Calcutta, from Colonel Dunlop Smith, and many other friends. I first ascertained from the last letter that all were well at home, and then read all the letters in chronological order with the most eager interest. The letters were the more welcome that they contained nothing but good news. I received a quantity of Swedish newspapers; they were old as the hills, but I should now have no lack of reading on my way to Shigatse.

The caravan did not see much of me that evening. I lay on my bed engaged in reading, and made my men heat the tent well. The Ladakis, too, were merry, kindled a large fire, danced and sang. I was invited to go and look on at their merry-making for a moment, and availed myself of the opportunity to make a short speech, in which I told them that they had all served me well and faithfully, and that hitherto we had met with good fortune. Now the road to Tashi-lunpo was open to us, and they would attain their wish of making a pilgrimage to the holy town. There they would rest after their exertions. Then I returned to my letters, and read on till the day dawned in the east, till long after the brazier had grown cold, and there were 45 degrees of frost in my tent. But I was well wrapped up in furs and did not feel the cold. Near my tent a troop of wolves made such a noise that Tsering had to go out and silence them with a few shots.

On the 15th I still lay down and read. On the 16th Hlaje Tsering paid me his farewell visit. We talked very pleasantly together, joked, and wondered whether fate would ever bring us together again. Then I attended him to his horse, which was snowy white, had a crimson saddle-cloth, and was bedecked with ornaments of shining brass and a chest-cloth with jingling bells. He mounted into the saddle, gave me both his hands at parting, and disappeared with his small retinue behind the hills. Then I again went back to my letters, but I felt a dull void now that the amiable Governor of Naktsang was gone (Illustration 97).

January 17. What did it matter if the day were gloomy, if freshly fallen snow veiled the surrounding mountains, and heavy greyish-blue clouds rolled over the lake as though to hide it from our sight at the moment of our departure? To us everything seemed bright, cheerful, and smiling. A powerful governor had come to prevent us from travelling further, and yet the route to the south was as free to us as the uninhabited Chang-tang had lately been. But now we were much better off. We should pass black tents daily, be able to buy all we wanted, and have no cause for alarm because we had provisions for only five days longer. We enjoyed unlimited freedom, and had not a single man with us as escort or watchman. Before us lay a country which might be said to be the most interesting in the world from a geographical point of view, and in which every day's journey might lead to discoveries of the highest importance. What did we care if the air was raw and cold? Spring must come sometime. We could count on warmer weather for three reasons: we were advancing to more southern climes, we should soon reach districts at a lower level, and the spring was daily approaching. And for three reasons the Ngangtse-tso would ever be memorable in the diary of my reminiscences: there freedom of movement had been unexpectedly accorded to us, there connection with the outer world had been again established, and there I had an opportunity of determining the depth of the lake by a complete series of soundings, and of drawing its contours in a map.

We had obtained three new horses fairly cheaply, on which Robert, Muhamed Isa, and Tsering rode, while I kept to my small Ladak white. Accompanied by the post-messenger and his two comrades, we rode in a south-easterly direction down to the lake, and along the eastern shore to the southern part, where we bivouacked near two black tents. Kiangs and wolves were frequently seen. A kiang had been torn in pieces by the wolves, and the white puppy and the Pobrang dog remained by the body to enjoy a good feast. We were terribly starved during the long march of 13.2 miles, and in the night the thermometer marked 61.9 degrees of frost, the worst cold of the whole winter.

The next day's march took us up a transverse valley of the mountains which rise on the south shore of the Ngangtse-tso. It was rather narrow, and a small source murmured under its covering of ice. We followed a plainly marked path, leaving a couple of tents behind us, and passed sheepfolds, grassy plots, and dark spots where tame yaks had lain and worn off the grass; everything was black, the tents, the Tibetans, the half-naked children, and the dogs. At length the gully turned westwards; just at the bend was a waterfall congealed into milky white ice. Far up the valley we encamped on a plateau, where we had a very interesting view to the north-east. We could see almost the whole of the lake which Nain Sing left at some distance to the south of his route, and which he called Daru-tso. I cannot dispute its correctness, but none of the Tibetans whom I questioned had ever heard this name for the lake; they called it Marchar-tso, and it now figures in my map under this name. It often happens that a lake has different names among different nomad tribes. In camp No. 109 it lay just below us as on a map; its form is not so simple as on Nain Sing's map, but abounds in peninsulas and bays, and it is extremely narrow in the middle. The isthmus between the Ngangtse-tso and the Marchar-tso is only a few miles broad; at the highest point the old shore terraces of the two lakes touch one another. At the time when the water stood higher the two lakes were therefore connected. The Marchar-tso is said to be as salt as its neighbour, but its ice was smooth and blue, and we saw no fields of free salt on its surface.

We had seen nothing of the white puppy and the Pobrang dog after we had left them behind, so I sent the Hajji back to the lake. But he came back without having found any sign of them. We never saw them again, and I sorely missed the white puppy, who had been a faithful friend in the tent and on the march. Either they had had a fight with wolves and got the worst of it, or they had lost our track and had been adopted by nomads. The former was the more probable, for the Hajji when he came to the lake saw a troop of wolves careering over the ice.

On the 19th we surmounted the neighbouring pass, the Chapka-la (17,474 feet), on which a stone pyramid is erected in honour of the gods. As a watershed it is only of secondary importance, for the water from both sides flows to the Ngangtse-tso. The valley leading down makes a curve to the south; in the Lamblung valley we had eleven tents as neighbours, and were able to provide ourselves with all we needed for several days. The country was still in the Naktsang territory, but the nomads were subjects of the Labrang, and paid their taxes to Tashi-lunpo.

We remained here two days, which we ought not to have done, and we would not if I had properly considered the matter. It was not the furious snowstorm which caused us to waste forty-eight hours, but Ngurbu Tundup, the postman. I had intended to keep him with us as long as possible, for it would evidently be an advantage to us, and would increase our dignity, to have with us a servant of one of the highest officials of Shigatse. He was our living passport; if he were not with us, we might perhaps again be regarded as freebooters, and be ordered to stop by some despotic chief. But Ngurbu Tundup was deaf to our entreaties, and declared that he had strict orders to return immediately his task was accomplished, and give in his report. He had already disobeyed his orders and had lost several days, but he consented to remain with us if we would rest in the Lamblung valley. I had great need of the time to get all my huge correspondence ready. On January 20 I wrote for sixteen hours, and by noon of the 21st the mail was ready and packed up. Ngurbu received a present of 82 rupees for his excellent service, and if he handed over the packet of letters to the British commercial agent in Gyangtse he was to receive further especial reward, when we met again at Shigatse. But he was to make all speed, changing his horse several times a day. If he loitered and covered only 18 miles a day, that is, reaching Gyangtse in ten days, he was to expect only 10 rupees. If he completed the journey in nine days, he was to receive 20, and if he accomplished his task in eight days, I would give him 30 rupees, and so on, at the rate of 10 rupees for every day saved. He actually arrived in eight days. I really committed a blunder in making this arrangement, for I gave notice of our approach to the south, and it might have happened that the Tibetans might have conceived evil designs against us. Nay, had the Chinese received news of our march, we should most certainly have been very soon stopped.

When Ngurbu had ridden off over the hills, we were again cut off from contact with the outer world, and were left to ourselves.

The following morning we ascended eastwards along the valley in which we had encamped, and where some _mani_ cists stand, the longest of which measures 33 feet, and is covered with slabs of sandstone bearing the holy formula in incised letters. Continual snowstorms and huge masses of cloud with or without snow--that was the characteristic weather in January.

The Pongchen-la (17,621 feet) is a low threshold, like the preceding of secondary importance. On its summit stands a votive stone heap, with a bundle of rods, on which pennants, cloth rags, and ribands flutter. Smaller cairns radiate out from it. Here we had a last glimpse of our dear old Ngangtse-tso, and to the north-east a valley ran down to the Marchar-tso. To the south-east rose a dark range with several snowy peaks, which is called Pabla. The valley we traversed is broad and open, and is enclosed in low mountains. We saw no tents all the day, but numerous traces of summer encampments. Namgyal, however, who is a quick intelligent man, spied out two tents in the neighbourhood of our camp No. 111, which was pitched in a district called Namachang, and there bought some sheep, parched meal, barley, milk, and sour milk. He also brought a young Tibetan with him, who was good-looking, honest, and gentle, and did all we asked him willingly and pleasantly. His accent was so soft and refined that it was a pleasure to hear him speak. He gave me a quantity of credible information and promised to accompany us a day's journey.

It snowed so thickly all night and the following day that I frequently could not see Rabsang, who marched with the Tibetan guide just in front of my horse. The snow enveloped us, whirled about us, and piled itself into small drifts on the sheltered side of every stone, grassy hillock, and hollow. The valley slopes gently to the south-east, and its frozen river is called Buser-tsangpo, and is a tributary of the Tagrak-tsangpo, which debouches into the south-western corner of the Ngangtse-tso. We are therefore still in the basin, of which the lake occupies the lowest part, and of which the border on the north-west and east lies close to the lake, but on the south is removed many days' journey from it. The camping-ground this day is called Kapchor; eastwards extends an open longitudinal valley, through which runs the road to Shansa-dzong; on the north side also of the Ngangtse-tso and Marchar-tso a road runs thither, and by this Hlaje Tsering had reached our camp in twelve days. This road is known from Nain Sing's journey in 1873-74.

On the morning of the 24th we were nearly blinded on going out of our tents, so brilliant was the reflexion from the thousands of small facets of the snow crystals which had spread their white cloak over hill and valley in a thick continuous sheet. The sky was clear, and blue as the purest turquoise from Nishapur, but the wind swept bitterly cold over the snowfields a night old. Our route ran south-eastwards to the exit of the narrow valley where the Tagrak-tsangpo, now frozen to the bottom, rested mute and motionless in the arms of winter. We followed the river, the largest watercourse that we had seen since the Chang-chenmo, upwards. At some places small nomad communities had their winter pastures, and there large herds of yaks and flocks of sheep roamed over the slopes. The name of the valley is Kayi-rung, of the spot where camp 113 was pitched Kayi-pangbuk, and of the district Tova-tova. Nain Sing's Dobo Dobá Cho, from which he brings the river Para-tsangpo to the Kyaring-tso, was not known to the inhabitants. The Pundit makes the water drain eastwards, but as a matter of fact it runs westwards and north-westwards to the Ngangtse-tso. This is due to his not having been here himself, for the statements of the natives are usually very unreliable.

Immediately beyond the camp we crossed on the 25th a small saddle, where we obtained an instructive insight into the lie of the land. The eyes swept unhindered over all the wide plain, with the three streams forming the Tagrak-tsangpo meandering over the level ground in capricious curves and bends like silver ribands in the brown and grey country. Close to us on the south-east is the Kesar-tsangpo, which receives the Naong-tsangpo at the foot of our gap, and then cutting through our mountain begins its course in the Kayi-rung valley. Farther off to the north-east the Naong-tsangpo has already absorbed the waters of the Kung-tsangpo, and with them makes its way to the Kayi-rung valley and the Ngangtse-tso. The great plain is enclosed by moderately high, rounded mountains and hills.

After crossing the Kesar-tsangpo we follow the right bank, upwards as far as Toa-nadsum, where we bivouac. A quadrangular wall of earth marks the spot where the _bombo_, or chief of the district, usually erects his tent; now he is in Tashi-lunpo to pay his tax. In the adjoining valleys there are at the present time twenty-two tents, but only four near our camp, and in these beggars are wintering in great poverty. The country is said to be noted for its cold, raw climate even in summer. It rains in June and July, but the fall varies very much from year to year. If it rains hard for a long time, all the rivers swell, draining water from a thousand valleys, and the Tagrak-tsangpo is then sometimes unfordable.

When we started on the following day in a twilight caused by heavy clouds, the poor natives came up holding out their hands for _tsamba_ or money, and each received a coin. Our way ran to the east-south-east, to the Naong-rung valley, traversed by the Naong-tsangpo, now frozen to the bottom. We now ascended gradually, and at camp No. 115 found ourselves at a height of 16,844 feet.

Two large black nomad dogs fell in love with the brown puppy, and followed us as though they belonged to the family. One limped, having at some time hurt his leg; he was old and shaggy, and was received with stones and abuse. Yet he clung to us faithfully, and put up with hard words from the men and the offal from slaughtered sheep. He was at last admitted a member of our travelling company, and hobbled, with drooping head and tongue hanging out, over lofty passes and through deep valleys, and answered to the name of "Cripple." As he was old he often lagged behind, but in spite of his slow pace he always turned up and took his place before Muhamed Isa's tent. He was the grand dog of our tent court, and was much concerned about us when danger threatened. Naturally he became a friend of us all, was allowed to eat as much as he liked, and acquired a position in the caravan. Then we would gladly have forgotten we had had the heart to beat him, and to greet him with stones and whips--he, our Cripple, who had come to us of his own accord to defend us and guard our tents, only asking free board in exchange; for free lodging of course he had under the everlasting stars in great desolate winterly cold Tibet.