CHAPTER XLI

A PEEP INTO NEPAL

It was on June 22 that I stood on the platform of the Kore-la pass and gave a stolen glance into Nepal, and tried to get a glimpse of Dhaulagiri peak, 26,670 feet high. But the morning was dull, heavy clouds lay like pillows on the earth, and nothing could be seen of the surrounding mountains. "We must wait till it clears," was the only order I could give. But just then a milk-girl came from a camp of 20 tents which was near at hand. The people were Nepalese subjects, but were camping on the Tibetan side. The girl said that it was only a short day's journey to the nearest permanent dwellings and gardens, and two days' journey to Lo Gapu's summer residence.

Then we thought: "We may as well ride down the southern side of the pass as stay up here in the wind." No sooner said than done! The tents are folded up, the animals laden, we mount and ride along the eastern side of the valley up to the Kore-la, which from the Tibetan side little resembles a pass, for to the eye the grass-grown on unfruitful loose ground seems quite level. Of the snowy mountains on the western side of the valley only the dark base is visible; layers of clouds lie close above the earth; one feels as though one could push one's head against the roof. A ruined house, where perhaps a frontier guard once dwelt, a couple of long _manis_, and loose blocks of conglomerate stand on the top. A caravan comes up from Nebuk in the bottom of the valley.

We look round in vain for the actual watershed, and find it only by noticing rivulets running together and flowing southwards. Here we light a fire and take observations. The view is marvellous, at any rate a relief such as we have not seen for a long time. The mighty snowy mountains to the south, which yesterday broke through the clouds, are, indeed, obscured, but our valleys fall steeply and unite into a large valley, in the depths of which grassy plots and fields shine in deep spring verdure amid the everlasting grey, yellow, and red landscape. Down below the sun is shining, and behind us the sky is clear above the Brahmaputra valley, while here and round all the snowy mountains float opaque clouds. From the saddle lying west of our point of vantage innumerable valleys radiate out; the surface of the ridges between them is nearly level, or dips gently to the south-east, while the valleys are deeply cut in like cañons, and the promontories at the meeting of the valleys are broken short off. Perhaps some of the nearest peaks of the Himalayas rise like islands above the sea of clouds, for here and there a reflexion from sun-lighted firn-fields seems to be trying to break through the veil of clouds (Illust. 233).

We stand on the frontier between Tibet and Nepal. Behind us to the north we have the flat, level land on the southern bank of the Tsangpo. We have mounted only 315 feet from the river to the Kore-la, where the height is 15,292 feet. And from the pass there is a headlong descent to the Kali Gandak, an affluent of the Ganges. By means of a canal cut through the Kore-la the Brahmaputra might be turned into the Ganges. Northern India needs water for irrigation, but the gain would perhaps be small, for the Brahmaputra in Assam would be as much diminished as the Ganges was increased. Tibet would lose by the change, and a number of villages on the Kali Gandak would be swept away. A new road would be opened for the invasion of India from the north, and therefore on the whole it is perhaps best for all parties concerned to leave things as they are. But the changes here indicated will some time come to pass without artificial aid, for the tentacles of the Kali Gandak are eating back northwards into the mountains much more quickly than the Tsangpo is eroding its valley. Some time or other, perhaps in a hundred thousand years, the Ganges system will have extended its tentacles to the bank of the Tsangpo, and then will be formed a bifurcation which, in the course of time, will bring about a total revolution in the proportions of the two rivers and their drainage areas.

Now we are in Nepal and go on foot down the declivities. Here little has been done to improve the road. Occasionally an awkward block of granite has been rolled away, leaving a gap in the breastwork; in other respects the caravan traffic has done most for the road, wearing it down. It is easy and pleasant to go down southwards towards denser air; it becomes warmer, and we breathe more easily; the verdure increases, and flowers of different colours make the grass gay. We try to forget that we must toil up all these slopes again; let us go down, down, to enjoy a summer life, if only for twenty-four hours, and forget dreary Tibet. An hour ago the wind blew icy cold on the pass, and now we feel the soft zephyrs gently caressing the heights. Robert takes in deep draughts of the tepid air and fancies he hears a whispered welcome to India; Tsering and Rabsang become lively and contented, and I muse over a visit to the King of the Southland.

Three horsemen rode slowly up the ascent. Two of them were turning their prayer-mills. They looked astonished. We asked whence they came and whither they were going. They were going to the tent village on the plateau. When they were told who we were, in answer to their question, they dismounted and begged pardon for not greeting us at first. I readily forgave them, for I looked like a ragged tramp. They advised us to pass the night in one of the houses of Lo Gapu, and invited us to visit them in their tent village on our way back.

The gradient becomes less steep, and we come to an expansion where three valleys meet, the Kungchuk-kong, which we have followed, in the middle, the Pama on the east, and the Damm on the west. From the Damm valley only comes a small gushing brook. We pass along the right side of the united valley. On the same side a very large valley opens, the Yamchuk-pu, with an irrigation channel running down from its brook to the villages and fields below. In the village Yamchuk we come to the first houses and trees. On the left side of the valley lies a large monastery with avenues of trees and long rows of _manis_; it is called Gubuk-gompa. Fields, grassy patches, and bushes become more numerous. Then comes a succession of villages on the left side of the valley, which is barely 2½ furlongs broad.

Below the side valley Gurkang-pu, on the left, pebble beds stand in perpendicular walls with numerous caves and grottos. These are apparently used as dwellings, for they are connected with the houses and walls in front of them. Lower down we come to the village Nebuk, among gardens. The architecture is of the usual Tibetan style, white and red masonry, flat roofs, and decorations of streamer poles. The vegetation becomes more luxuriant and the fields larger. We frequently pass ruined walls and towers, perhaps relics of the time when Nepal was at feud with Tibet. Now the densely peopled and well-tilled valley has a peaceful aspect, and no frontier guards hinder our advance.

The usual _manis_ lie along the road, and a large red _chhorten_ or _stupa_ has a touch of the Indian style. Below three villages lying close together the valley contracts slightly. Near a lonely house we encamped in a lovely garden, with fine green trees, among waving cornfields. A woman told us that this place, called Nama-shu, belonged to Lo Gapu, and that no one might stay in the garden without his permission. However, we established ourselves there, and inhaled with delight the mild dense air, and heard the wind rustling through the tree-tops.

Soon two men appeared, who were in the service of Lo Gapu, asking for information about us. They said that we were in the district Tso, and that the river was called Tso-kharki-tsangpo. A village we can see just below our camp was named Nyanyo, and from there Mentang, the residence of Lo Gapu, could be reached by crossing only two spurs of the mountains, He, they said, was a frontier chief, who paid no tribute to the Maharaja of Nepal, but was obliged to pay a visit to His Highness every fifth year. He had 500 subjects. The people for three days farther south were Lamaists and spoke a Tibetan dialect, in which, however, many Indian and Persian words were incorporated.

When one of the men had obtained all the information he desired, he rode down the valley to make his report to the frontier chief. Meanwhile we held a consultation. I had only Robert, Tsering, Rabsang, and two Tibetans with me, and our funds consisted of only 24 rupees. The temptation was great to wander a few days more southwards through the wild deep valleys of the Himalayas. Here, in the Nama-shu camp, we were at a height of 12,487 feet, and therefore 2805 feet lower than the Kore-la. Every day's journey southwards would bring us into a denser atmosphere, and even now we were not far from shady coniferous woods. But would it be prudent to advance further into Nepal? We were much puzzled, and considered the matter from all sides. Our money would not last more than two days. Our horses belonged to the Gova of Tradum, and we had agreed with him that we would only take a look into Nepal from the Kore-la, and now we had crossed the boundary and descended into a land where our position was less secure than in Tibet. We might fall into a trap before we were aware of it. Lo Gapu might arrest us and ask for orders from Khatmandu. The greatest danger, however, was that the Tibetans might close the frontier and render our return impossible, and then say that now we had left their country we might not enter again. And then we should be cut off from the main caravan, and all the results of my journey would be endangered. I therefore decided to turn back early next morning before Lo Gapu's men had time to come up and arrest us.

The evening was fine and long, and we enjoyed it thoroughly under the rustling of the thickly foliaged trees. I felt perfectly comfortable and breathed freely: the heart had not to labour so heavily as on the Chang-tang; it worked for hours together without an effort; our feet were warm, and we slept as we had seldom done. For in the Chang-tang if one sleeps even eight hours one does not feel rested and refreshed on rising; one does not derive the proper benefit from sleep. Here we experienced a thoroughly comfortable feeling after our night's rest, and our only disappointment came from the clouds, which concealed the summits of the Himalayas to the south and south-south-west. Only now and then the peaks looked forth for a minute.

On June 23 we mounted our horses again. We had heard no word of Lo Gapu. When the messenger had left us he was convinced that we should continue our way down the valley, and the little potentate was perhaps now expecting our arrival. He might wait! We rode slowly up to the Kore-la, left our old road to the right, and camped at Kung-muga.

I was sitting at my drawing when a horseman came clanking up. He held in his hand a green flag, a messenger's badge among the Chinese and Tibetans. I felt sure that he had some connection with strict measures against us, but found that he was only the bearer of a proclamation from Lhasa to all the stations as far as Gartok, that horses and baggage animals should be supplied to two Chinamen who had been despatched to find me out and talk with me, and convey to me a letter from His Excellency, Lien Darin. They might be expected any moment.

Midsummer Day was as dull as possible. The whole country was buried in impenetrable fog, and even the adjoining tents were invisible. And when it had cleared a little, the mountains were still concealed. We rode north-westwards on an excellent road, and were astonished at the numerous _manis_ with their close, fine, raised inscriptions on purple and dark-green schist; other prayer stones had characters 1.2 or 1.6 inches high, while the largest characters were nearly 8 inches high, so that there was only room for one character on each slab. Then six slabs were placed in a row to spell out the sacred formula, "Om mani padme hum." On some votive stones the characters were red, cut out in round pieces of granite with a white underlayer. The largest _mani_ was 262 feet long.

We passed encampments with large herds; wild asses grazed along with tame yaks. All the men we met halted and saluted us. The Gova of Tradum came to meet us; he pulled a very solemn face, and wondered whether Lo Gapu would be angry at our visit to Nepal. We reached Bando, near the small lake Tsotot-karpo, over the small saddle Tasang-la, and found Guffaru waiting for us with the caravan.

On the 25th we made a short march up to Chikum, whence the Tsotot-karpo is still visible. We had only provisions for one day, but the Gova of Tradum offered to procure more if we would pay well for the horses we had to hire. He had no fear, he said, of the Chinese who were coming; if they scolded him for allowing us to travel on the south bank of the Tsangpo, he would reply that it was easier to supply us with provisions there than on the north side. He had formerly been a lama in Tashi-gembe, but had lost his heart to a lady. To hush up the affair he had started on a pilgrimage to Kang-rinpoche, but was caught and forbidden to return. Then he had gradually worked his way up, and was now chief of Tradum, and was just as great a rascal in secular life as he had been in the religious life. However, he rendered us good service.

The view from our elevated camp was magnificent. When the full moon had risen up in the sky the small lake shone like a silver blade. The sun had left only an afterglow on the western horizon, but the whole plain of the Brahmaputra and the mountains of Chang-tang in the north were clearly defined in dull clear shades, which left all the finer details indistinguishable. A cloud with bright, silvery, white margins floated before the moon. A little to the right another cloud caught a reflexion of the sun, and showed golden margins. They were the angels of night and day fighting for supremacy. Soon night had won the victory, and now the moon cast a bright path over the lake, while all around was involved in a general mist.

When day had resumed its sway we rode in the morning air through swarms of flies, stinging gnats, and horseflies up over the Tagu-la and down the Tambak valley. To the west the most northerly chain of the Himalayas made a magnificent display, and to the north-west lay the broad open valley of the Brahmaputra, the river winding along the middle like a blue riband. This evening, too, the return of night called forth a brilliant play of colours and tone-effects. Light, restless, motionless to the eye, but riven by the upper winds like old prayer-streamers on a pass, the clouds sailed at sunset in the vault of heaven. The moon, the friend of all nocturnal wanderers and sleepers in the open air, illumines the surroundings of our tents, among which the blue smoke of the camp-fires lies like a veil over the ground. The yaks stand still as shadows, and now and then their teeth are heard grinding against the cartilaginous process of the upper jaw. The Tradum Gova and his servants hum their evening prayer and rattle their prayer-mills.

In the morning comes a quickly passing shower and another before noon. We notice all the signs of the sky, and wish for rain as much as the Tibetans, not on our own account, but for the light-footed antelopes, the wild asses, and the mountain sheep. The clouds are blue-black over the mountains to the south, and from them hang down elegantly curved fringes and draperies heavy with rain. One can hear in imagination the drops splashing on the stones, and new-born torrents rushing down the valleys. The trifling rain that has fallen in our neighbourhood can only moisten the ground for a short time. The drops made a pleasant sound as they pelted on the Tradum Gova's umbrella and on my Curzon hat. Thunder rolled heavily and solemnly round about in the mountains, like an echo of the trumpet of the last judgment.

Then we cross the Nerung-tsangpo, come out into the great valley plain of the Brahmaputra, and encamp in a country inhabited by numbers of nomads. The Gova of Nagor was a tall, agreeable man, who procured us _tsamba_, _chang_, and goose eggs--a pleasant change from our perpetual diet of mutton. Robert and Shukkur Ali caught fish. The Gova told me that his parents, who belonged to Kham, had made a pilgrimage to the Kang-rinpoche and had left their little son behind, either by mistake or on purpose. The youngster had grown up in the tents of the wild nomads, and now, though a stranger, had become the chief of the district.

On the morning of the 28th we rode up to Namla-gompa, on a rocky prominence, where the view was extensive and instructive. At the eastern foot of the projecting mountain lies the village Namla, a few poor stone cabins, and here the river Pung-chu, flowing out of the lake Ujam-tso, enters the plain. The monastery contains some images of gilded bronze, and seven monks, of whom one, a man of sixty-six, has lived fifty years within its walls. They are poor and have to beg, but they receive freewill offerings from the nomads living in the neighbourhood.

Across a plain of cracked loamy soil, which is flooded at high water, we gain our camp on the bank of the Tsangpo; the river looks like a lake, and that this is also the case in late autumn is shown in Ryder's remarkably conscientiously drawn and accurate map. The breadth here is 973 yards broad, and the maximum depth only 2.4 feet. It may, therefore, be easily waded, and the yak caravan marches quietly through the water. How different it is farther east, where the river, hemmed in between steep mountains, is deep and tumultuous! In late summer it cannot be waded here, and even a boat dare not venture over because of the treacherous, shifting sand-banks. During our measurements the Ladakis went across the river, measuring the breadth with poles and ropes, and held the boat still while I investigated the velocity of the current. When the work was finished, Rehim Ali began to carry Robert to the bank, but he slipped on the smooth, clayey bottom, and both took an involuntary bath, causing all the rest of us to laugh heartily.

Next day the fragile baggage was conveyed across in a boat, and the rest on hired yaks, which tramped through the turbid dirty-grey water. On the northern bank we ride through peculiar country. Here are lakes and swamps, caused by arms of the river, and lying amid a collection of sandhills as much as 26 feet high. We try all directions to avoid sandhills and deep creeks, and frequently ride straight through basins with yielding ground; in some there is a slight current, while others are stagnant. Here and there islets of sand rise out of the water, some barren, others with grass and stalks. It is a thoroughly disintegrated country, but full of pleasing variety. Gnats pursue us in regular clouds. Some men go in front to pilot us. We often get into deep water and have to turn back. The high water washes away the greater part of the driftsand, and deposits it on the banks of the Brahmaputra lower down. But when the river falls, fresh sand accumulates and forms new dunes. The driftsand therefore finds a resting-place here on its way to the east. We encamped by the last lagoon, and heard the fishes splashing in the water. The whole country reminds me of Lob, the swampy region in Eastern Turkestan, and the continual struggle there between driftsand and flowing water. The district is named Dongbo, and here the Gova of Tuksum and other chiefs awaited us. The first-named had heard that the Chinamen, of whose coming we had been informed, had left Saka-dzong and were on their way hither. He expected that they would arrive before evening.

On June 30 we made most of our march along the _tasam_, on which Nain Sing and the English expedition had travelled; for I durst not pass round Tuksum, which was mentioned on my passport. The greater part of the way runs among fine, regular, crescent-shaped dunes, which move eastwards over the plain before the prevailing wind. They are ephemeral phenomena: they live and die, but are always replaced by others. The horns of the crescent protrude far in the direction of the wind, and the slope is very steep on the windward side, as much as 17 degrees, while on the sheltered side it is as steep as the falling sand will allow.

Ganju-gompa stands on an isolated hill to the west of the Ganju-la. It is subordinate to the Brebung monastery, and has a _lhakang_ with twelve pillars and four rows of divans, as well as four large drums. The statues of the gods look down with gentle smiles on the homage paid to them by nomads and travellers. Only five monks and as many dogs live in Ganju.

The whole population of Tuksum came out to meet us before their village. It was agreed with the Gova that Guffaru and the main caravan should proceed to Shamsang, while I with a couple of attendants travelled by forbidden roads on the south side of the river. In the evening a deputation of Ladakis came to wait on me with the request that they should be allowed to give a feast in honour of Muhamed Isa, to be paid for out of his outstanding pay. But I thought this a little too cool, seeing that the money belonged to the widow of the deceased. They might have a feast, however, at my own expense, but there would be nothing but mutton, _chang_, and tea.

On the morning of July 1 I had another application, this time from five young beggar girls, ragged and black, with bundles in frames of wood on their backs, and large pilgrims' staves in their hands. They had been, like so many others, at the Kang-rinpoche, and reckoned it a year's journey to their home in Kham. They beg their way from tent to tent. It must be a serious burden to the nomads to maintain the numerous pilgrims that pass along this road.

We said good-bye to Guffaru and his followers on July 2, and riding in a south-westerly direction over the plain, set up our camp 191 on the left bank of the Brahmaputra, which here carried down 1978 cubic feet of water. Next morning the baggage was taken over, and we had also the honour of helping over the river a high lama, whose acquaintance I had made in Tashi-lunpo. He wore a yellow robe with a red mantle, and had a small yellow wooden hat as bright as metal. His servants were armed with guns and swords, and took all their baggage over the river on yaks. But, unfortunately, the yaks got into deep water and began to swim, so that, of course, all their baggage was thoroughly soaked. We also helped a shepherd with some lambs over to the other side, and if we had waited longer we might have done a ferryman's work all day with our boat (Illusts. 240, 241).

Then we crossed over two other arms, and the total discharge of the Brahmaputra at this place proved to be 3249 cubic feet. The figures, however, obtained on gauging the river so near its source, are of inferior value, especially when the melting of the snow has quite set in, partly because the source streams rise towards evening, carrying the water from the day's thaw down to the main valley, partly because the volume of water depends to a great extent on the weather. At the first downpour of rain the rivers are little affected, for the water is absorbed by the dry soil; but when this is soaked through, the water runs off, and the rivers swell enormously after a single rainy day. When the sky is overcast without rain they fall, but in quite clear weather the sun thaws the snow and causes the rivers to rise again.

It was a long day's journey, for in many of the tents the people refused to give us the help we wanted, and therefore we passed on to the great tributary Gyang-chu, which comes from the south and receives many streams from the northernmost range of the Himalayas.

I have no time to give an account of the geography of this region on the south side of the Brahmaputra. I will only say that during the following days we were cut off from the main river by low mountains, and that we did not encamp again on its bank till July 6, when we came to the Cherok district. We had left several tributaries behind us, and the main stream carried only 1554 cubic feet of water.

After another short day's march we rejoined Guffaru's party in Shamsang (15,410 feet) on the great high-road, where twenty-one tents were now standing. The chiefs of the neighbourhood were very attentive, and did not say a word against my proposal to go up to Kubi-gangri, which shows its snowy peaks to the south-west, and in which the sources of the Brahmaputra were said to lie. They procured us provisions for twelve days, and we had not had so free a hand for some time. Here nothing had been heard of Chinese or Tibetan pursuers from Lhasa.