CHAPTER XXIII

DOWN THE TSANGPO BY BOAT--ENTRY INTO SHIGATSE

The 9th of February dawned, the great day on which our caravan of yearning pilgrims would reach the goal of their dreams. The day before had been stormy, and in the evening a strange reddish-yellow light spread over the valley in consequence of the dust that floated about in the air; the mountains were indistinct, and the horizon to the east was quite invisible. But the morning was beautiful and the day was calm. Early in the morning Sonam Tsering and some Ladakis went on board two boats with part of the baggage, while Muhamed Isa and Tsering kept along the road with the caravan. That was a stratagem we had devised. If any one appeared at the last moment ordering us to halt, the prohibition would only affect Muhamed Isa and the caravan, while I should slip into Shigatse by water unnoticed.

All the others were on the way when Robert, Rabsang, and I made our way from the terrace down a steep gully, and stepped on board the excellent boat that was to bear us down the holy stream. These Tsangpo boats are both simple and practical. A skeleton, or rather framework, of thin tough boughs and laths is tied fast together, and is covered with four yak hides sewed together, which are attached to a rim of wood forming the gunwale--and the boat is ready. It is very dumpy, of a long rectangular shape, but somewhat smaller in front than behind. It is not heavy, being only an ordinary load for a man. All the boats now descending the river with pilgrims going to the New Year festival, and the boats which convey country produce or fuel to Shigatse and Tashi-lunpo, will be carried back by the owners along the river-bank. A large proportion of the inhabitants of Hlindug-ling, the part of Tanak where we had encamped, gain their living by such transport. These boats are very buoyant; there were four men in mine, and it could have borne a much heavier load.

The rower sits on a thin board and rows continuously, but faces forwards, for he must be able to see the waterway downstream. The blades of the oars are divided like a fork, and a piece of leather is sewed between the prongs like the web of a duck's foot. Our boatman is a self-confident fellow, and receives my advice with a smile of superiority when I venture to air my experience in river navigation. The current does most of the work, but the oars are in constant use to keep the boat under control.

At first we glided along slowly till we came to the village Segre, with white, clean, and neat houses standing picturesquely on the left bank, and a short distance beyond, to where the river washes the foot of a steep mountain spur. But then the velocity of the boat increased, amounting on an average to 4 feet a second. I was able to look down the river, note the intervals of time, take my bearings, measure the velocity, and draw a map of the river's course, just as I had before done on the Tarim. We passed no cataracts, but the water formed small rapids in narrow contracted reaches, and seethed round the bends. It was a splendid voyage, the most delightful that I have experienced. The last day's journey could not have passed more pleasantly. In Tibet, where hitherto Nature had only placed obstacles in our way, we were now borne along by one of Nature's forces. During half a year we had worked our way through Chang-tang with constant losses, and now the gates stood wide open and I glided as smoothly as on oil to my destination. One of the greatest erosion valleys of the world displayed its wonderful panorama, the air was so still that not the slightest ripple ruffled the surface of the Tsangpo. Undisturbed by the winds of heaven, the emerald-green water gives itself up to the sport of silent eddies, which, coming into existence at cliffs and projecting points, dance rapidly downstream in ever wider circles, and finally vanish altogether. They are born and die, come and go, and the same tongue of land calls forth new ones to life, but every new vortex whirls its spirals in other water of the holy river, which has for thousands of years pursued its course to the mysterious narrows of the Dihong.

What an intoxicating pleasure to be borne along eastwards by the Tsangpo! Is the river one of the forbidden paths of Tibet? If they come now and stop me I shall return: "I am not in Tibet; I am on the holy river of the Hindus; let me alone." The view changes with quite perplexing frequency: we have a dark wall of rock in front of us; at the next turn it has disappeared, and another comes into sight on the opposite side of the stream. We often wonder what above and below mean here; we seem to remain motionless while the panorama revolves round us. Robert is plunged in thought, looks over the gunwale, and, misled by the water and ice-blocks about us, exclaims with astonishment: "Why, Master, surely we are not moving." "Look at the sandbank yonder on the left," I reply, and he is puzzled at seeing it move upstream. And where the river is shallow and the bottom can be seen, it seems as though the gravel, rounded stones, and sandbanks were all passing upwards underneath the boat.

We fall into reverie on this fairy-like voyage. A thought occurs to me: shall we travel on to the mouth of the Ki-chu and thence go up to Lhasa on foot? We can travel by night, and hide ourselves during the day; and Tibetan is Rabsang's mother-tongue. But it passes away as quickly as the eddies beside the boat. In Lhasa I could add nothing to the knowledge acquired by Younghusband's expedition two years before; my hopes were fixed on the friendship of the Tashi Lama. On the Sela-la I had conceived a great fancy for the Trans-Himalaya, and no geographical problem on earth had greater attractions for me. All my future enterprises should have the object of making as thorough a scientific investigation of the Trans-Himalaya as could possibly be accomplished by one man in a single journey. Yes, this task was so tremendous that my former longing for Lhasa died away like the red of even in the Tsangpo valley, this gigantic colonnade of granite, this royal highway of Buddha, which, breaking through the mountains and becoming hazy in the far east, leads direct to the mouth of the Lhasa valley, while we now glide along on its floor of liquid emerald to the holiest town of Lamaism. Fascinating and attractive as fairy dances the current carried my thoughts eastwards, but it also prompted new plans of campaign in districts which had hitherto lain outside my sphere of interest. In the valleys which pour their water to the My-chu, I had heard more than once of Nain Sing's Raga-tsangpo, which some Tibetans had described as quite as important as the Tsangpo itself. Was, perhaps, the Raga-tsangpo the main stream? Had it, perchance, tributaries deriving their water from the heart of the mysterious country to the north? Not an evening had passed during the whole winter when I had not studied attentively Ryder's and Nain Sing's maps. Was it certain where the source of the Brahmaputra lay? Had I not here a task before me much more profitable than following in the steps of Tommy Atkins to Lhasa? The sun-lighted waters bearing our boat brought me intelligible messages from distant ravines, from the melting margins of perpetual fields of firn, from bluish glaciers and green ice grottoes in the heaven-kissing crest of the Himalayas, nay, a sonorous echo from the valley where the source of the Brahmaputra bursts out from the rock.

But we must not forget the demands of the present amid dreams of the future. The golden gods of Tashi-lunpo expect us at their festival. Sometimes the river contracts and deepens, and the bottom ceases to be visible, sometimes it spreads out and the velocity decreases. Below the village Pani, where a valley opens out, the river makes a bend to the south-east, but quickly turns eastwards again, where it traverses the great bed which in summer lays almost the whole breadth of the valley bottom under water. We seldom pass a high, clearly defined bank covered with grass, which is not flooded at high-water. From time to time the river sends out a side channel, which, however, soon rejoins the main bed. Wild-geese stand on the bank and scream as we pass by; black and white ducks, herons and other waterfowl, are fearless and trustful, as though they well knew that it is strictly forbidden in Tashi-lunpo to quench the light of life in any living thing.

Just as we were leaving Tanak a dozen boats passed the village; some were tied together in couples so that they could not capsize. The passengers were pilgrims from farther up the river on their way to the New Year festival. There women sat in their most elegant holiday attire, with necklets of coloured glass beads from which little silver boxes containing images and relics or silver coins were suspended, and with high arched frames at the back of the neck covered with red woollen material and adorned with turquoise and coral. There sat greybeards, men, and boys, and a couple of lamas in their red togas had joined the party of laymen. Most of the boats carried small prayer streamers on rods tied to the gunwale, and small reliquaries hung over it to bring a blessing on the boat journey. In some boats sand was laid on the bottom and slabs of stone, where a fire could be kindled and tea infused. They took little notice of us, but talked and gossiped continually and seemed very merry. Evidently the passengers of some boats were well known to one another, and were travelling together from the same village. All the boats on the river were engaged on a day like this, and a continuous succession of pilgrims streamed down the water highway to the holy monastery. Where the banks were low these small black points could be seen both up and down stream (Illustrations 106, 107).

We float past a sandbank, where some blocks of ice are stranded, warning us of danger. The boat only twice grazes the bottom, for our boatman is watchful and steers well. He knows the way, too, and here it is not so easy as it looks to find the course; for the river splits into arms, and only a boatman acquainted with them all can choose the best and shortest. Sometimes he guides us into a narrow channel where the water rushes swiftly.

Now the river turns towards the right, southern side of the valley, where a mountain falls sheer to the water, leaving only sufficient room on the bank for a road buttressed up with stone blocks. There a dozen boatmen are carrying their skin boats on their backs, and, seen from behind, resemble a row of gigantic beetles. And in the other direction caravans of mules laden with firewood are being driven to Shigatse. Here begins a succession of views of inconceivable grandeur, picturesqueness, and wildness. One cliff after another falls steeply to the river, and is washed by the water murmuring at its foot. Often a block of ice is tilted up in a whirlpool, rises above the surface, brightly glistening in the sun, and then falls back again.

We waited for an opportunity of landing, but the current was too strong. At length the boatman succeeded in getting us into a backwater, and I got out on to a promontory just as a party of pilgrims were passing by, and was in time to take them with my camera. They could not make out what I was doing, and they ceased talking; they seemed relieved, and breathed freely again, when they found that they had got off with a whole skin, and that my camera was not a firearm. Wherever I turned my eyes new subjects presented themselves and invited me to stay sketching all day long. But there was no time; it was my last day, and I had ventured on too great a game to let everything depend on a single card. "It is still far," the skipper said, pointing at starting to a point behind which lay the Shigatse valley, a considerable distance off (Illustration 103).

When we come again into the middle of the valley the river becomes as broad as a lake, is smooth as a mirror, grand and majestic, flows slowly as oil, and reflects the forms of the mountains and the boat. The spurs and cliffs of the mountains on the northern bank have a rosy hue, the water, usually green, shines blue from the reflexion of the sky, and all is solemnly quiet and peaceful. Robert and Rabsang sleep in a corner, but I grudge to lose a minute of this pilgrim voyage. Here and there stands a cairn with a streamer-decked rod--these are the places where routes cross the river. At one ferry a large caravan of yaks were halting, and their loads of sheep's wool were piled up in a wall on the bank. The black men stood out sharply against a background of yellow sand dunes. Farther down Tsering was engaged in getting his detachment into a boat, while his horses were being driven on to another by coaxing and scolding. Here the great road from Tanak crosses the river, and Tsering shouted to us as we shot rapidly past that Muhamed Isa was far ahead. Fishermen in two boats were at work with their net in a bay of the river, trying to drive the fish into the net by throwing stones; they had a poor catch, but promised to bring us fish for sale in the morning to Shigatse. We again make a bend to the south-east and approach the mountains of the southern side, at the foot of which we pass the villages Chang-dang, Tashi-gang, and Tang-gang, prettily situated among gardens. The river now flows slowly in a single channel, as though it must be careful in passing the mouth of a valley leading to a monastery.

There is much life and movement at the foot of the next promontory; many boats laden with barley, straw, firewood, and dung are on the point of putting in, and from others the cargo is being cleared amid shouts and singing. Rows of boats are drawn ashore, and lie turned upside down like large hairy toads. The boatman who has conveyed us to the mouth of the Nyang valley receives four times the usual pay, and can scarcely believe his eyes. He will be able to give himself a day's rest to-morrow.

At this singular landing-stage Guffaru is waiting with our horses. I mount my small white Ladak horse and Robert his Tibetan bay, and while the sun is setting we ride up the Nyang valley with Rabsang as outrider. We soon plunge into a labyrinth of hollow ways and fissures in yellow loam. But we do not need a guide, for several travellers and mule-drivers are on their way, and give us instructions, and none is uncivil. A little to the left of our road flows the Nyang-chu, the river of Gyangtse, one of the largest southern tributaries of the Tsangpo, with several villages on its banks. Twilight falls; I feel my heart beating; shall we succeed? It becomes dark; a large white _chhorten_ stands like a ghost close on the right of our way. Rabsang asks a belated wanderer how far it is, and receives the answer: "Follow the road and you will come soon to a lane." On the right rises a hill, and on its summit the outlines of the Shigatse-dzong, the Council House, are faintly seen against the sky. Now we are between white houses and follow a narrow lane, in which it is still darker. In an open place some Chinese stand and stare at us. Snappy dogs come out of the houses and bark at us. Otherwise the town is asleep, and no popular assembly witnesses our entry. But where are our men? We do not know where they are quartered. Ah! there stands Namgyal, waiting to show us the way, and he leads us to a gate in the wall behind which Kung Gushuk's garden lies.

Here Muhamed Isa and all the other men meet and greet us, as though they would offer me their congratulations on a great triumph. We dismount, and cross the court to the house which Kung Gushuk has placed at my disposal. But it is cold and cheerless, and I prefer my tent set up under the poplars of the garden. While we are waiting for Tsering we sit by a large fire of brushwood, whither also several Tibetans gradually gather. I pay no heed to them; I am too much engaged with my own thoughts. I had been fortunate, and after a six months' journey through Tibet had reached my first goal. It was late at night when my dinner was ready; it was very welcome, for we had had no provisions on the boat. Then I had two hours' good work at the notes I had made during the day. But I was disturbed by a gentleman who belonged to the secular staff of the Tashi Lama. He said that he was not acting upon orders, but that he had been told that an unusual visitor had arrived, and he begged me to furnish him with particulars. Then he wrote down the names and nationality of us all, and the size of the caravan, and inquired by which way we had come, whither we intended to travel, and what was the object of my visit to Shigatse. He was exceedingly polite, and hoped that we had not suffered too severely in the cold of Chang-tang. He was, he said, an official of too low a rank to venture to address the Tashi Lama, but he would communicate the information he had obtained to his superiors. I never heard anything more of him. Seldom have I slept so well as on this night--yes, perhaps, when I had fortunately completed my college course.

When the next day passed without any one, lay or spiritual, giving himself the least trouble about us, I sent Muhamed Isa up to Tashi-lunpo. Its golden roofs shone fierily in the rays of the evening sun on a slope in the west close to our garden, which was situated in the southern suburb of Shigatse. My excellent caravan leader sought out a lama of high position, who answered that he would send some one next day to inquire particularly about my intentions and he would then communicate with me further. At the same moment a Chinaman of high rank named Ma paid me a visit. He introduced himself as the commander of the _lansa_, or detachment of 140 Chinese soldiers, which, it seems, garrisons Shigatse. Ma, who was a Dungan and a follower of Islam, became my particular friend from the first moment, and smirked with good temper and cheerfulness. He had arrived from Lhasa five days previously, and was to stay until the Amban, the Governor-General, Lien Darin, recalled him.

"It is inconceivable," said Ma, "how you have contrived to get through to Shigatse without being stopped."

"Yes, to speak frankly, I had expected all kinds of annoyances, if not sooner, at any rate a couple of days' journey from here."

"I did not hear a word of your coming; if I had known that you were approaching the town, it would have been my duty to stop you."

"Then it is fortunate for me that you are strange here."

"Yes, but the worst is, that I shall come off badly as soon as the Amban hears that you are living here, in Shigatse. But now it is too late; I cannot help it now."

"Tell me, Ma Daloi, do you think that the Tashi Lama will receive me?"

"I doubt it. Immediately on my arrival I begged for an audience with the Grand Lama, but he has not even condescended to give me an answer. And yet I am a Chinese officer."

This was little encouraging to me, a stranger, who had come from the north without permission, and of whom no one knew what spirit he was. And then next day was the New Year festival, which I could not attend without some understanding, especially as the Tashi Lama himself would be present. But he must know something about me, or how could Ngurbu Tundup's arrival at Ngangtse-tso with the letters be explained?

Meanwhile we awaited the course of events, and went out with a paper lantern to inspect one of the horses which had died in his stall and must be removed. Why could he not remain alive now, when the mangers were so full of barley, straw, and chaff, and the animals stood against a wall which sheltered them from cold and wind, and had an idle time before them? Five of the veterans and the last mule from Poonch were still living, the last six of the splendid caravan which had set out from Leh six months before. All the rest lay in Chang-tang and the storms roared above them. These six should be cherished as the apple of my eye and be well cared for. Their sore backs should be washed and rubbed, their flanks groomed, at night they should sleep in cloths, and of barley and chaff they should have abundance. The ground beneath them should be strewn with straw, and they should be led to water at regular times. I stroked my small grey, but he bit and kicked as usual. He, of all the veterans, was in the best condition, and Guffaru declared that he could cross the Chang-tang again if necessary.

We were very comfortable in the garden. To right and left of my tent stood Robert's and Muhamed Isa's, and that of the Ladakis a little farther off, and huge fires burned as usual before the latter two. A man and woman of Kung Gushuk's household lived in a wretched hut in the entrance gate, and procured for us anything we wanted. The woman was old and infirm, and her face was bedaubed with black, but she was exceedingly friendly. She was always coming to my tent, bowing, giggling and grinning out of pure goodwill.

On February 11 I was awaked at half-past six with the news that two men wished to speak to me at once. The brazier and warm water were brought, I dressed in great haste, the tent was swept and put in order, and then I sent to invite my guests to enter. The one was a tall lama of high rank, named Lobsang Tsering, and he was a secretary of the Tashi Lama; the other, Duan Suen, was a Chinaman, with handsome and refined features. Both were extremely polite and had polished manners. We talked for two hours on all kinds of subjects. Singularly enough, my arrival in Shigatse seemed to be a complete surprise to both gentlemen. They inquired my name, the route by which I had come, and my intentions, and, of course, had never heard of poor little Sweden; but they wrote down the Swedish, English, and Chinese names of my country.

"I intend to be present to-day at the New Year festival," I said. "I cannot leave Shigatse without witnessing one of the greatest church feasts."

"A European has never attended our festivals, which are intended only for Tibetans and pilgrims of our faith, and permission will never be granted to witness them."

"The Panchen Rinpoche (the Holy Teacher, the Tashi Lama) must have been informed of my coming some months ago. His Holiness also knew from which direction I should come, or he could not have sent my mails to the Dangra-yum-tso."

"The Panchen Rinpoche never meddles with worldly matters; these are looked after by his brother, the Duke (Kung Gushuk)."

"Still, I must see His Holiness, for I know that he expects me."

"It is vouchsafed only to a small number of mortals to appear before the face of the Holy One."

Now the letter of the Raja of Stok and the Chinese passport came into my mind. The letter made no impression on them; but the young Chinaman, when the passport with its blue border and red stamp was unfolded before him, became very interested, and opened his eyes wider the farther he read. He read it once through, and then translated it slowly to Lobsang Tsering.

"Why," they then both asked, "did you not show us this paper at once? It would have saved us all discussion."

"Because the passport is made out for Eastern Turkestan and not for Tibet," I answered truthfully.

"That does not matter, now that you are here. You have an excellent Chinese passport, and therefore are under Chinese protection."

The young Chinaman took the passport and went off with it, while Mr. Lobsang Tsering put further questions to me and examined our weapons and other articles. At last I asked him whether he would like to see our garden, and I hurriedly ate my breakfast during his absence. Then the Chinaman came back and declared shortly that I might attend the festival, that especial seats were reserved for myself and a couple of my people, and that a chamberlain of the Tashi Lama's court would call for us at the proper time. Now I blessed the Chinese passport which had caused me so much vexation at the time, and I blessed the Indian Government which had forced me to procure it; I blessed Count Wrangel, who had obtained it so quickly, and I blessed the Chinese ambassador in London, who had written out the passport with permission of his Government. But I had never dreamed that it would be of the slightest use to me, being issued for another country than Tibet.

This was our entry into Shigatse, and these were our first experiences there. Not a finger had been raised to stop us, no inquisitive people had jostled us in the streets to gaze at us. But now, when we had already set up house in the town, our presence in the place excited as general astonishment as if we had dropped down straight from heaven. That this stroke had succeeded, and through no action of mine, was due to certain peculiar circumstances. Hlaje Tsering had himself for some unexplained reason reopened the bag in which he had caught us, and the chieftains dwelling south of the Ngangtse-tso probably thought: "If the Governor of Naktsang lets them pass, we cannot stop them." It was also lucky for us that some of these chiefs had betaken themselves to the New Year festival at Tashi-lunpo, and that we ourselves were lost in the crowd of other pilgrims when we came to the great highway; for during the days of the New Year the Tibetans are like capercailzies at breeding time: they neither see nor hear. And, lastly, I, the only European of the caravan, had ridden into the town when night had already spread a veil of darkness over the earth.