CHAPTER XXX

OUR LIFE IN SHIGATSE

The time that was not taken up by visits to Tashi-lunpo I occupied in many ways. We had friends to visit us, and I frequently spent many hours in transferring types of the people to my sketch-book, and I found good material among the citizens and vagrants of the town and the monks of the convent.

On one of the first days the Consul of Nepal paid me a visit. He was a lieutenant, twenty-four years old, was named Nara Bahadur Chetteri, and bore between his eyes the yellow marks of his caste. He was dressed in a black close-fitting uniform with bright metal buttons, and a round forage cap on his head without a shade, but with a gold tassel, and in front the sun of Nepal surrounded by a halo of rays. He had been four months in Lhasa and two here. He and his young wife had taken two months to travel from Khatmandu; they had ridden the first week, but had then sent their horses back, and had tramped through very dangerous, pathless, mountainous regions for fifteen days; the rest of the journey they had accomplished on hired Tibetan horses. Here he had to protect the interests of the 150 Nepalese merchants and assist the pilgrims of his country when they were in difficulties. The merchants have their own _serai_, called Pere-pala, for which they pay an annual rent of 500 _tengas_; they buy wool from the nomads in the north, and pay for it with corn and flour, which therefore is scarce and dear in Shigatse, especially during the festival time when so many pilgrims flock in. The Consul received 200 _tengas_ a month, or rather less than £60 a year, and considered that the Maharaja paid him very badly. Bhotan has no consul in Shigatse, though many pilgrims come from that country.

On February 14 I received a very unexpected visit, a lama and an official from Lhasa. When the Devashung, the Government, had received the letter of Hlaje Tsering announcing my arrival at the Ngangtse-tso, the Chinese Ambassador and the Government, after consulting together, had despatched these two gentlemen in forced marches to the lake, where, however, they arrived several days after my departure. Singularly enough they had been given quite erroneous information about the route we had taken, perhaps because our wanderings over the ice across the lake in all directions had confused the nomads. Therefore they had sought for us for twenty-two days on the shores of the Ngangtse-tso and the Dangra-yum-tso, until they had at length discovered that we had gone off southwards a long time before. Then they had followed our track and had made further inquiries among the nomads, all of whom said that they had been kindly treated, and well paid for all they sold us. The gentlemen rode on, and heard in Yeshung that we had passed through a couple of days before; our camp-fires were scarcely cold. They changed horses, and spurred them on at a faster pace, for they had been ordered to force us at any cost to return northwards by the same way we had come. But I had got the better of them, for they did not reach Shigatse till thirty-six hours after us, and another party sent from Lhasa to intercept us by a more direct road had quite lost our trail in the labyrinth of valleys and mountains into which we had plunged.

"We have carried out our mission as well as we have been able," they said, "and it only remains for us to ask for your name and all particulars of your journey and companions."

"I have already communicated everything to Ma Daloi and Duan Suen, who have seen my passport, but if you want a second edition, you are welcome to it."

"Yes, it is our duty to send a report to the Devashung. In virtue of the treaty of Lhasa only the market-towns of Yatung, Gyangtse, and Gartok are free to the Sahibs under certain conditions, but no other routes. You have come by forbidden roads and must turn back again."

"Why did you not close the way to me? It is your own fault. You can inform the Devashung that I shall never be content till I have seen the whole of Tibet. Besides, the Devashung will not find it worth their while to place obstacles in my way, for I am on good terms with your gods, and you have seen yourself how friendly the Tashi Lama has been to me."

"We know it, and it seems as though you bore the sign of the favour of the gods on your forehead like caste-markings."

"How is Hlaje Tsering getting on?"

"He is suspected of receiving a bribe from you; he has been dismissed, and has lost his rank and all his property."

"It is very mean of the Devashung to persecute him. But the Government is composed of the most despicable rogues in all Tibet. You ought to be glad that you are at length properly under Chinese protection."

At first they exchanged meaning looks, but gradually they came round to my opinion and admitted that their Government was a disagreeable association. The reason they had not shown themselves immediately after their arrival was that they wished first to spy out our occupations and our associates; for, if they found out that we had friends, these would of course be denounced. Otherwise they were decent men, and readily partook of tea and cigarettes. Unfortunately Tsaktserkan was just then with me, and he must have thought the affair serious, for he made himself scarce as soon as they entered my tent, but afterwards asked me to tell him what they had said.

It impressed them most of all that, in spite of all the ambushes and traps in the form of scouting patrols, who were on the look-out for us, we had after all succeeded in advancing to Shigatse. Now they would wait for orders from Lhasa. No heed was paid to the Dalai Lama, who was as good as dead and buried.

They came frequently during the following days to greet us, and then expressed their opinions of their superiors more and more frankly. Their remaining on the scene proved, however, that both the Chinese and the Government had their eyes on me. I wondered how the affair would terminate.

When I returned from the equestrian performance on the 15th, I found a large packet of letters from Major O'Connor, and greedily seized letters from home and from friends in India, Lady Minto, Colonel Dunlop Smith, Younghusband, and O'Connor himself, who welcomed me most heartily, and expressed a hope that we should soon meet. He had also kindly given me a great surprise with two boxes containing preserved meats, cakes, biscuits, whisky, and four bottles of champagne. Fancy my drinking champagne alone in my tent in Tibet! I drank a glass at dinner every day to the health of Major O'Connor as long as the supply lasted.

In the chapter on Leh I mentioned the Hajji Nazer Shah and his son Gulam Razul. The old Hajji had another son in Shigatse, named Gulam Kadir, who had been ten years in Tibet and now managed the branch in Shigatse. He sold chiefly gold-embroidered stuffs from China and Benares, which the lamas bought for state robes, and he told me that he made a yearly profit of 6000 rupees. A bale of such material as he showed me was worth 10,000 rupees. Gulam Kadir rendered me many services at this time, and supplied us with anything we wanted.

There is a fine view from the roof of his house of the Dzong, or fort, the stately front of which seems to grow out of the rock. The windows, balconies, roof decorations and streamers have a harmonious and picturesque effect. In the middle of the structure is a red building; all the rest is white, or rather an undecided greyish-yellow colour, which the plaster has assumed in the course of time.

At the southern foot of the Dzong hill lies the open market-place, where trade was carried on two hours a day. There are no tables and stands, but the dealer sits on the dusty ground and spreads out his wares on cloths or keeps them beside him in baskets. In one row sit the dealers in implements and utensils, in others boards and planks are sold, ironware, woven goods, coral, glass beads, shells, sewing thread, needles, dyes, cheap oleographs, spices and sugar from India, porcelain, pipes, figs and tea from China, mandarins from Sikkim, dried fruits and turquoise from Ladak, yak hides and tails from the Chang-tang, pots, metal dishes, covers and saucers manufactured in the town, religious books and other articles for the use of pilgrims, etc. Straw and chaff, rice, grain, _tsamba_ and salt are sold by many traders. Walnuts, raisins, sweets, and radishes are other wares in which there is a large trade. Horses, cows, asses, pigs, and sheep are also on sale; for the last, 7 rupees a head are asked. In Chang-tang we had paid at most 4 rupees, and a sheep can be got for 2 rupees. Every kind of ware has its particular place, but the traders, so far as I could see, were all Tibetans; for the merchants of Ladak, China, and Nepal have shops in their own houses.

Most of the traders are women, and they sell even hay, firewood, and meat. They wear huge coils of hair with inferior turquoise, glass beads, and all kinds of pendants, which contrast strongly with their faces smeared with black salve. If they would dispense with this finery and give themselves a good washing instead, some of them would perhaps look quite human. What was the original colour of their clothes is hard to guess, for they are now caked with dust, soot, and dirt. But these hucksters are always polite and obliging; they sit in rows parallel to the north wall of the Chinese town, which is little more than a ruin. Now and then a mule caravan passes along the pathway between the rows, bringing new goods to market. Frequently gentlemen partly dressed in Chinese fashion ride past from the Dzong; and among the swarms of customers are seen all kinds of people--clergy and pilgrims, children of the country and strangers, white turbans from Ladak and Kashmir, and black skull-caps from China. In the market all the gossip of Shigatse is hatched; all sorts of reports more or less probable reach us from there. As soon as any one comes from Lhasa he is driven almost frantic with questions, for all take a deep interest in the new Chinese régime. It was current in the bazaar that lamas in Lhasa were organizing a bloody insurrection against the Chinese, because the latter had demanded that half the lamas should serve in the army. It was further reported that I and my companions would soon be compelled to leave the country, and that before very long the English commercial agency in Gyangtse would be closed. Every one who has heard anything fresh carries it at once to the market, where the visitors who come to hear news are as numerous as those who make purchases. In a word the market is Shigatse's only newspaper.

Gulam Kadir told me that the two gentlemen from Lhasa employed spies, who reported daily all that they could find out about us. These men used to come as hawkers into our tents and sit there by the hour. Ma also encompassed us with spies. With the help of Gulam Kadir I set two Ladakis as spies to spy upon the spies of the Lhasa spies. We could now be on our guard, for we knew what was going on around us.

My own Ladakis enjoyed in Shigatse a very necessary period of rest. I gave them money for new clothes, which they made up themselves; in a few days they appeared in all the glory of a new outfit from head to foot. Nor could I refuse them a jug of _chang_ daily; they very seldom drank too much, after one of them one day under the influence of beer painted his face black, and in this guise made ridiculous pirouettes about the court. Muhamed Isa happened to come home from the market just at the moment, and, catching hold of the dancer, gave him such a thorough drubbing that he never thought of painting himself again. Both Chinamen and Tibetans said that the conduct of my men was exemplary and gave no cause for quarrels. But to hear Tsering's singing in the evening! It was like the creaking of a badly oiled wicket-gate to a shed in my own country, and therefore I listened with pleasure to his rude song. When he had sung for three hours on end, it became a little too much, but I put up with it--it is so pleasant to have cheerful, contented men about one.

Under February 19 the following entry stands in my diary: "In spite of the windy, dusty weather I have all day long been sketching various types, chiefly women, who sat for me as models in front of my tent." The first were from Nam-tso (Tengri-nor) (Illustration 155), wore head-dresses decorated with shells, china beads, and silver spangles, and in their sheepskins trimmed with red and blue ribands looked like girls from Dalecarlia. They had large bones, were strongly built, looked fresh and healthy, and their broad faces were remarkably clean. The women of Shigatse, on the other hand, had smeared their faces with a brown salve mixed with soot which looked like tar. This mask makes them hideous, and it is impossible to tell whether they are pretty or not; the black colour interferes with the lights and shadows, and confuses the portrait painter. One had painted only her nose and rubbed it bright as metal. This singular custom is said to date from a time when the morality of the Lhasa monks was at a low level, and a Dalai Lama issued orders that no female should show herself out of doors unless painted black, so that the charms of the women might be less seductive to the men. Since then the black paint has remained in fashion, but seems now to be going out.

The clothes are always black with age, dirt, and soot. The women pay most attention to their head decoration, and the higher they are in the social scale the more profusely they deck their coiffures with bows, pendants, and jewelry. The hair is frequently so closely entwined with all this finery that it can scarcely be let down every night, but only when it becomes so entangled that it must be put straight. Those who are rich wear large heavy ear-rings of solid gold and a few turquoises, but others simpler and smaller rings. On the neck are worn chains of various coloured beads and _gaos_, small silver cases studded with coral and turquoise and containing amulets. Poor women have to be contented with copper _gaos_ of the clumsy kind so common among the Tsaidam Mongols.

A woman of forty belonging to Shigatse was named Tashi-Buti; she looked sixty, for women age very soon here. Above her ordinary clothing she wore a coarse shawl over the shoulders, fastened in front with brass clasps, plates, and rings.

A nomad woman from Kamba had the right arm and shoulder bare, and was as powerfully and muscularly built as a man, but was so horribly dirty that it was impossible to perceive her complexion. She had no head-dress; but the dark hair was plaited into innumerable thin rat's tails hanging over the shoulders, and tied together on the forehead into a mane of cords. She would have been good-looking if her features had not been so masculine; she sat still and solemn as a statue of Buddha. A fifteen-year-old girl had a parting in the middle, and her hair frizzed in two pads down to the ears, which were combed, oiled, and shiny like those of a Japanese, and she wore a diadem studded with coral. She was dainty and clean and had rosy cheeks (Illustrations 157, 158, 159).

Burtso was a little Shigatse lady of seventeen summers, and bore the dirt of those seventeen summers on her face. Like most of the others her features had the sharply marked characteristics of the Mongolian race--oblique narrow eyes contracting to a point at the sides, and the lower part of the eyelid telescoped into the upper so that a slightly curved line is formed and the short lashes are almost covered; the iris is dark chestnut brown, and appears black within the frame of the eyelids; the eyebrows are usually only slightly marked, are thin and irregular, and never form the finely curved Persian and Caucasian arch like a crescent. The cheek-bones are rather prominent, but not so high as with the Mongolians; the lips are rather large and thick, but the nose is not so flat as among the Mongols. Faces with handsome features are seen among the male Tibetans. But the differences between individual Tibetans are often as great as between Tibetans on the one hand and Mongols, Chinamen, and Gurkhas on the other. The nomads of the Chang-tang are apparently a tribe of themselves, and seldom, if ever, intermarry with the others. Otherwise the Tibetan people is undoubtedly much mixed with neighbouring elements. Chinamen living in Lhasa and Shigatse marry Tibetan women. In the Himalayas, south of the Tibetan frontier, live the Bothias, a mixed people, sprung partly from Indian, partly from Tibetan elements. The people of Ladak have mingled to a large extent with their Aryan and Turkish neighbours, because they have been in closer and more active contact with them. The Tibetan people present remarkable and peculiar problems in anthropological, ethnographical, and linguistic science, which must be solved by future investigation.

I drew on and on, and one type after another found its way into my sketch-book. The expression of my models is listless and devoid of animation; they seem absent-minded and passionless. They take little interest in the proceedings; all they care about is to pocket the rupees after the sitting. They sit motionless, without laughing or complaining. They are rather too solemn, and not a smile plays round the corners of their mouths when their eyes meet mine. I passed the greater part of the day in this silent, apathetic female society.

Now and then comes a party of inquisitive people to watch me, Tibetans, Chinamen, or pilgrims who want to have something to tell when they get home again to their black tents. They stand round me, wondering whether it is dangerous to be drawn by a European and what is the object of it. Of course there are many spies among them. There is an endless variety of types and costumes, and as I ride through the streets and see the inhabitants at their various occupations, I feel oppressed by the thought that I have not time to draw them all. Here stands a man splitting wood, there come two young fellows driving before them asses laden with twigs and branches. There go a couple of women with large water-jugs on their backs, while small girls collect cattle dung from the street. Here a group of officials approaches in yellow garments on fine horses, while some lamas stroll slowly towards the monastery. All is so picturesque, so charming for the pencil; one is constantly delighted with attractive subjects, genre pictures of unusual character, strikingly grouped parties of salesmen and customers; one could spend months here, drawing again and again. I am grieved at the prospect of an early departure.

In the afternoon a company of dancers, male and female, frequently appears in the court and gives no despicable performances, reminding me strongly of the dances in Leh. They are always introduced by our little old mother Mamu, who has the management of the garden, and hops about smiling and friendly as a sparrow. She speaks Urdu, so Robert employs her as interpreter. Then come caravans, bringing hay, firewood, chaff, and barley for our remaining animals, or provisions for ourselves, and people are constantly coming to sell all kinds of goods--chickens, eggs, butter, or fish from the Tsangpo; milkmen run with their clattering metal cans, and stringed instruments and flutes make music in our groves. A beggar comes up like a troubadour to my tent with a lute, and sings a melodious air. When I look at him he stops singing and puts out his tongue. Barefooted boys, who could be no blacker if they were drawn twice up a chimney, run about laughing loudly, and peep out from among the trees. Three of them perform on a tight rope, dance like professional rope-dancers, and beat drums, while they turn summersaults all mixed up together (Illustration 164).

Pious visitors also frequent my courtyard: two nuns, for instance, with a large _tanka_ representing a series of complicated episodes from the holy scriptures. While one chants the explanation, the other points with a stick to the corresponding picture (Illustration 165). She sings so sweetly and with so much feeling that it is a pleasure to listen to her. Or a mendicant lama comes with his praying mill in his hand and two hand-grooves hung by a strap round his neck. In these he pushes his hands as in a curry-comb, when he prostrates himself on the ground in making a circuit of the temple. They are much worn, and this moves the hearts of the people to generosity, so that his alms bowl is filled daily.

These pious men are the parasites of Tibet, living at the expense of the working population. And yet they are endured and treated by every one with the greatest consideration and respect. To give them a mite brings a blessing on the giver. The people are kept by the lamas in spiritual slavery, and the lamas themselves are docile slaves to those tomes of narrow-minded dogmas which have been stereotyped for centuries, which may not be interfered with or criticised, for they are canonical, proclaim the absolute truth, and stand in the way of all free and independent thought. The clergy form a very considerable percentage of the scanty population of this poor country. Without the Peter's pence Tibet could not make both ends meet. Tashi-lunpo is, then, a huge savings-box, in which the rich man places his pile of gold, the poor man his mite. And with what object? To propitiate the monks, for they are the mediators between the gods and the people. Scarcely any other land is so completely under the thumb of the priests as Tibet. And while the people toil, the monks gather round their tea-pots and bowls of _tsamba_ at the summons of the conch.

On three evenings in succession large numbers of wild-geese have flown low over our garden from north-west to south-east. The ravens are as bold as usual; of other birds only sparrows roost in our trees. Our camp within the wall is quiet, but we have posted a night-watch outside, for in a town like Shigatse, full of all sorts of vagabonds, there are many scoundrels. Two monks, who were with me one evening to answer my inquiries, durst not return to Tashi-lunpo in the dark, unless I sent some of my men armed with guns to take them home. Recently a lama was attacked at night between the town and the monastery and stripped to the skin.

On February 20, after only 17.6 degrees of frost, it snowed all day long, the wind howled dismally through the poplars, and the snow fell on my tent. Nothing was to be seen of the golden temple roofs, and the ground and the mountains were white; there was no one in the bazaar, and no inquisitive visitors pestered us. It was just as in the Chang-tang.

On March 4 Gulam Kadir paid me a farewell visit, for he was going next day to Lhasa, which, according to his reckoning, was nine days' journey distant. As he would pass through Gyangtse, he took a large letter-bag to Major O'Connor. On the day before, he had sent off a caravan of 201 yaks laden with brick tea to Ladak. A yak carries 24 bricks, and a brick costs in Shigatse 6 rupees, but in Ladak 9 to 11. It is only the refuse of the tea, which is despised in China, but is good enough for Tibetans and Ladakis. Gulam Kadir hires the yaks at a cost of 5 rupees a head to Gartok--uncommonly cheap, but they follow the mountain paths and their keep costs nothing. They are five months on the way, for the caravan makes short marches and stays at places where grass grows luxuriantly. From Gartok, where the Hajji Nazer Shah has a large warehouse, managed by Gulam Razul, the tea is transported on other yaks. By a single caravan of this kind the commercial house of the Hajji makes a very large profit. Musk, coral, Chinese textiles, and other valuable goods are forwarded on mules along the great highway which runs along the Tsangpo and the upper Indus.

I had on several occasions met Kung Gushuk, the Duke, in the monastery, and had thanked him for his kindness in sending my letters to the lakes, but it was not till March 7 that I paid him a visit in his house. The walls in the entrance hall are painted with tigers and leopards. In the court, round which the stables and servants' quarters are situated, a large black watch-dog, with red eyes and a red swollen ring round his neck, is chained up, and is so savage that he has to be held while we pass. After mounting two ladder-like staircases we come to the reception-room, which is very elegant, and has square red pillars with carved capitals in green and blue. Along the walls stands a row of shrines of gilded wood with burning butter-lamps in front of them, and over them hang photographs of the Tashi Lama which were taken in Calcutta. The rest of the walls are draped with holy banners (Illustration 167).

The trellised window pasted over with paper, which occupies nearly the whole length of the wall towards the courtyard, and is draped with white curtains on the outside, is placed rather high above the floor. Immediately below the window runs a long divan mattress, on which a square cushion covered with panther skin marks the seat of honour. Before this cushion stand two small stool-like lacquered tables on golden feet. Seated here one has on the left hand, against the shorter wall, a cubical throne with steps leading up to it, and here the Tashi Lama takes his seat when he visits his younger brother, now twenty-one years of age.

Kung Gushuk is, then, quite young. He is very shy, and is evidently relieved when his guest talks and he is not obliged to strain his own small, poorly furnished brain. His recollections of India, whither he had accompanied his illustrious brother, were very hazy: he did know that Calcutta is a large town, and that the weather was excessively hot there, but for the rest the journey seemed to be to him only an unintelligible dream. He did not venture to give an opinion on the journey before me, but said openly that the lamas did not like to see me so often in Tashi-lunpo. His wife had sent to ask me if I would take her portrait, and I now begged to be told what time would suit her. "Any time." When I went away, Her Highness was standing with her black court ladies at the other end of the open gallery surrounding a court (Illust. 168). I saluted her politely, and certainly fascinated the lady as I passed; there was no danger, as she was quite _passée_, for she had belonged in common to Kung Gushuk and an elder brother, who died in Sikkim on the return from India. It is said that she rules the house and keeps the finances in order, and with good reason, for Kung Gushuk leads a fast life, is over head and ears in debt, and plays hazard. This is bad form in a brother of the Tashi Lama.

On March 22 the portrait-drawing came off; it was executed in the large saloon and in pencil. The Duchess is big and bloated, and asserted that she was thirty-three years old--I should put her down at forty-five. Her complexion is fair and muddy, the white of her eyes is dull. She had put on for this occasion all the finery she could find room for; a pearl pendant which hung on the left side of her façade had cost 1200 rupees. In her hair were thick strings of pearls, bunches of coral and turquoises. She was friendly and amiable, and said that she did not mind how long she sat, if only the result were good. Her small carpet-knight of a husband sat by and looked on, and round us stood the other inmates of the house, including a small brother of Kung Gushuk and the Tashi Lama. They drank butter tea, but did not offer me any, which made the visit all the pleasanter (Illustration 170).

Then we were shown the other apartments, which even on sunny days are dark as dungeons, for the windows are small, the paper thick, and the white curtains outside help to increase the gloom. A small oratory with red pillars was so dark that the images of the gods could scarcely be distinguished. In the study of the Duke a low divan stood at the window, with paper, inkstand, pens, and a religious book on a table in front of it. The bedroom was adorned with _tankas_, statues, and cups. Here and there butter-lamps struggled with the darkness, while braziers of brass on stands of dark carved wood were used to counteract the chilliness of the air. The whole house is like a temple, which is quite as it should be when the owner is brother of the Grand Lama.

Two passages connecting parts of the upper storey are not covered in, so are exposed to all the winds of heaven. A third staircase leads to the top of the roof, which is surrounded by a parapet a yard high, and is white-washed. A thicket of roof decorations and bundles of rods with streamers frightens away evil spirits. There was a violent wind, and dust and bits from the streets of Shigatse flew up in the air, so that our eyes received their share. With the portrait-drawing the visit lasted four good hours, and at the end I had become as intimate with the family as if I had known them from childhood.