CHAPTER LXIX

KAMBA TSENAM, FATHER OF THE ROBBERS

At the Namchen camp we bought a large supply of rice, meal, barley and _tsamba_, sugar, stearin candles, soap, and five hundred cigarettes,--all procured from Tsongka. A rich merchant, Ngutu, who owned fifty horses and mules and two hundred yaks, sold us two mules and a horse, besides cloth for new garments, boots, and caps. Abdul Kerim hastened to make me a Tibetan costume of fine Lhasa cloth; on my head I wore a Chinese silk cap swathed with a red turban; I stalked about in silk Chinese boots, and had an elegant sword in my girdle. In my Ladaki saddle with its variegated fittings, and riding a milk-white stallion, I looked in this makeshift outfit quite like a Tibetan of rank (Illust. 343).

Here a large meeting was held in Dorche Tsuen's tent, where the question of my return route was discussed. Dorche Tsuen insisted on the necessity of my crossing the Samye-la again, and I answered, as before, that I intended to take no other way than over a pass east of the Samye-la. Then he appealed to the nomads at hand, who no doubt had received their instructions beforehand, and they all affirmed that the Chang-tang could be reached by no other pass than the Samye-la. However, we had heard from the horse-driver on the Gebuk-la that a way led over the mountains directly north of Kamba Tsenam's tent. But then the nomads, who would have to let us yaks on hire, replied that the road was so bad that we could not reach the Tarok-tso in three months, and that, for their part, they would not let their yaks go, and come to grief on the detritus of the pass. Then we offered to buy yaks, but found no one who would sell his animals. After Dorche Tsuen had informed me that those who travelled from Saka into Bongba with hired yaks had to change both men and pack animals at Buptö on the upper Buptsang-tsangpo, I proposed to divide my caravan into two sections, one of which, under Abdul Kerim, would cross the Samye-la, while I with the other half marched over the eastern pass; we would meet on the lower course of the Buptsang-tsangpo. Ngutu, a genial old man of Mongolian origin, supported me, giving it as his opinion that it was of no consequence which pass I crossed myself, provided that the main part of the caravan went over the Samye-la; but Dorche Tsuen was still obstinate, and tried to frighten me with a tale of ten well-armed robbers whose haunts were in the country north of the mountain I wished to pass over.

"If the country is unsafe," I returned, "it is your duty to provide me with an escort of ten soldiers."

"The soldiers belong to the garrison of Saka-dzong, and cannot be employed elsewhere."

"Listen to me, Dorche Tsuen, and do not be so short-sighted. If you give me ten soldiers, you will be able to control my movements. I will pay them 2 rupees a man per day for their services, that is, 20 rupees a day altogether. You can well believe that I cannot afford such a great expense for a long time, and therefore you will have a guarantee that I shall not take a long roundabout way. When I have rejoined Abdul Kerim's party I shall be beyond the limits of your province, and the escort can return."

"That is true," exclaimed two voices in the crowd; "if he pays 20 rupees a day, he cannot go far."

Dorche Tsuen rose and called some of the other men to a consultation outside the tent, and when he came back again he said that I might have my wish, if I would sign a written declaration that I took upon myself all responsibility for the consequences, for he wished to be free from blame if any misfortune befell me. Of course I promised to sign such a document with pleasure.

Thus the matter was arranged. Nima Tashi (Illust. 353), a powerful man of pleasant aspect, and dressed in a loose sheepskin, was to be chief of the bodyguard, and as he said he did not know the road to the north, Panchor (Illust. 332), a man fifty-five years of age, was ordered to act as guide. He was called into the tent. I had not seen him before, but Abdul Kerim said that he was the same man who on April 23 had shown us the way to the foot of the Kinchen-la, and that he had seen me and Muhamed Isa last year in Saka-dzong. He was a little, thin, wiry man who had killed eighty yaks with the gun he always carried. To everything that was said to him he agreed submissively with "La lasso, la lasso." We could see that he was sly and knavish--just the stuff we wanted.

With him and all the other company we rode on May 4 over the pass Gara-la, and from its rather flat threshold saw Kamba Tsenam's tent still in the same place. Here we crossed, then, our route of April 22, and had made a loop round the snowy massive Chomo-uchong.

Panchor was the elder brother of Kamba Tsenam, and it struck me as curious that when the Governor of Saka pitched his tent beside that of the wealthy nomad, the latter did not come out to welcome him. Now a collection of tents had sprung up in the valley larger than at any of the foregoing camps. Couriers and messengers came and went, small yak caravans came up to the tents with provisions for the officials, and nomads had come in from the neighbourhood to have a look at the eccentric European who had come down like a bomb into the country and had been caught at last.

Late in the evening Kamba Tsenam came sneaking into my tent. He was very mysterious, and said that the Governor and his people had no notion that he was paying me a visit in the darkness. He wished only to say that Panchor could very well contrive that I should go almost anywhere I liked. The escort had strict orders from the authorities, but only Panchor knew the way, and could easily throw dust into the eyes of the other men. I had only to make my wishes known to Panchor and he would manage the rest. If also a band of fifty robbers swept down on us like a whirlwind, they would disperse like sheep as soon as they knew that Panchor with his never-failing gun was with us. Kamba Tsenam thus revealed himself as a cunning rogue, who had not the slightest respect for the authorities of Saka. The old fool promised that I should travel by the roads I wished if, in return, I would contrive that he should be governor of Saka. What he said was only idle talk, and he himself was a fellow to be on our guard against. There was not a man in Bongba who had ever heard of him, and his great power existed only in his own imagination. In his own village he was known and flattered on account of his great wealth, and he boasted that no robber dared to touch his flocks, for he was their trusted friend. "I am the father of all the robbers," he said modestly.

I willingly accepted his invitation to visit his tent next morning. When I had passed it the first time it was in a snowstorm, and I had looked upon it as a serious menace to my plans and my freedom. Almost like a thief in the night, expecting to be discovered every moment, I had stolen past the black nomad dwelling. Now I approached it as an honoured guest, only barked at by dogs.

The huge tent, made of a number of pieces of material, is supported by three veritable masts, firmly fixed in the ground. A stone wall runs along the inner side, and in front of it are heaps of _tsamba_, rice, and corn sacks. Baskets and boxes stand full of clothing. The altar, a wooden shelf and a table are laden with _gaos_, images, votive bowls, praying mills, and holy books. In one corner stand perhaps a dozen guns with streamers on their rests, and in another as many swords. On the hearth, built on the left of the entrance, always stands a large tea-kettle boiling, ready for any guests that may come in. A battery of wooden cups stands on a stone slab ready for use. The bluish grey smoke rises up towards the chimney opening. Far away from the entrance, at the right corner, the master of the house has his seat of honour, a small divan with a stool table before it, and before this again a fireplace, like a hollow cracked cannon-ball, filled with reeking dung embers. Some of Kamba Tsenam's shepherds are sitting in a group drinking tea, in another part some small black children are playing, and in a third the women of the tent are tittering. With pure white short hair, wrinkled like crushed parchment, stone-blind, and dressed like Monna Vanna only in a cloak, Kamba Tsenam's eighty-three-year-old mother sits on her bed and swings her prayer-mill with the right hand, while her left hand keeps the beads of her rosary in constant motion. She prattles and murmurs prayers, sometimes drops her rosary to catch a troublesome insect, and sometimes lets the prayer-mill stop when she is plunged in vague dreamy thought. Twice she asked if the European were still there and if he had been offered tea and food.

May 5, the last day we enjoyed Dorche Tsuen's society, had to be celebrated in some way. I invited the whole party to a festival in the camp. The two Governors and Oang Gye took their places in my tent, in the middle of which our tea-cups were filled on an improvised table. The day had been cold and muggy and snow fell, but we warmed our hands over the fire, and sat wrapped in skin coats like four Tibetans of rank, while the populace formed a circle outside. A fire was lighted in the middle and was maintained by dung from four sacks. It was pitch dark outside, but yellow flames threw a bright gleam over the dark Tibetans, servants, herdsmen, nomads and soldiers, women and children, youths and old men. They stood in wondering groups in their skin coats blackened by the smoke of fires, bare-headed, with long black tresses hanging over their shoulders. The light from the fire made a vain attempt to gild them. They stood out in sharp effective relief against the deep shadows (Illust. 336).

I charged Abdul Kerim to do his very best, and he informed me that the programme would contain fifteen items, song and dance following alternately without a pause. The first item was a dance with sticks to represent swords; the second, a hunting episode: a wild animal, composed of two crouching men with a piece of felt over them and two sticks for horns, went prancing round the fire; a hunter with his gun crept about, took aim at the monster, killed him with a single shot, and performed with his friends a triumphal dance around the carcase. Then followed a Ladaki dance, little Gulam leading the troop, and after that Suen executed his remarkable dance before a lady, represented by a stick he held before him. All the others kept time by clapping their hands, and invited the Tibetans to join in, and my guests in the tent were convulsed with laughter.

The Mohammedans executed a Yarkand dance with Kutus as leader. They danced round the fire, swinging their arms and skirts, and between the fire and the tent they appeared only as black profiles, while on the other side they were lighted up by the reddish-yellow flames, and their perspiring faces shone like bronze. A song followed, waking a sonorous echo in the mountains, and the Tibetans recognizing the air joined in, and all the while the men clapped their hands. The smoke from the fire took part in the dances and sometimes flew right in the faces of the spectators, the singing became louder, the merriment more uncontrolled, and the nomads laughed till they had to support themselves with their hands on their knees, as Suen revolved in grotesque pirouettes over the arena and the nomads tried to imitate him. The clumsy Abdullah performed an indescribable dance with his back bent back, and when he bent himself so much that he fell backwards to the edge of the fire, the delight of the spectators was unbounded: they laughed till they were breathless, hopped about and uttered wild yells, while the performer shook the sparks from his coat and retired to his corner (Illusts. 337, 338, 339, 340). The Tibetans evidently enjoyed themselves; perhaps they had never had such an amusing evening in their lives. Dorche Tsuen said something of the sort. Ngavang gave way to his kindly laugh, and Oang Gye enjoyed the unwonted spectacle like a child. For my part, I dreamed awhile and thought of the unexpected and singular manner in which fate had allowed me to choose my course. Through the clouds of smoke I seemed to see all old Asia before me, and the adventures of past years behind me. A carnival of old camp-scenes danced before my mind's eye, expiring like shooting-stars in the night--merry songs which came to an end among other mountains and the dying sound of strings and flutes. And I was surprised that I had not had enough of these things and that I was not tired of the light of camp-fires.

The wind rises, the snow falls thickly and hisses in the fire, and the flakes are lighted up from below. With white hair and shoulders the Tibetans look like mist figures, and behind them hang the dark curtains of night, from which is heard from time to time a pony's neigh or a dog's bark. The last sack of fuel is emptied over the leaping flames, burns up and sinks, and only embers are left, glowing in the ceaselessly falling snow. Then my grateful guests rise at midnight, distribute gifts to the performers, say farewell, and vanish like ghosts in the darkness to seek their own tents. Now night reigns alone over the valley, the surroundings lie silent and still, and only the pelting snow makes a swishing sound against the tent.

On the morning of May 6 the country was again white as in the depth of winter. Quietly and lightly as cotton-wool the flakes fell, and all, the Tibetans included, were more wrapped up than usual. The Governors and their retinue came to pay a farewell visit, and then I went out with them to their horses, took a last farewell, and thanked them for all the kindness they had shown me in spite of the trouble I had given them. Dorche Tsuen expressed a hope that we should meet again. It is much easier to get on with men and lead them where you wish if you treat them kindly and gently; you gain nothing by violence, harshness, and threats. The Governor was a fine upright figure on his horse; his face was entirely covered with dark spectacles and a red hood to protect it from the blast (Illust. 342). His troop of mounted men was considerably diminished after his escort had been told off to follow me. They struck their heels into their horses and soon disappeared up the hill on the way to the Gara-la.

My caravan was now to be divided into two parties. Only five men were to follow me, namely, Gulam, Lobsang, Kutus, Tubges, and Kunchuk. We had eight goats to supply milk; our old sheep had been sold for a mere trifle. A hundred rupees for the first five days were paid in advance to the escort under Nima Tashi. No agreement was made with Panchor, but he was to be paid well if he took me where I wished. The other seven Ladakis were ordered to proceed under the command of Abdul Kerim over the Samye-la to the Buptsang-tsangpo, follow the stream slowly downwards, and wait for us near its mouth in the Tarok-tso. Whatever they did, they were not to leave the Buptsang-tsangpo, or we might lose one another. Rindor and Pemba Tsering were deputed to follow them over the Samye-la to Buptö, to bring the Kebyang people to reason if they refused transport animals. My baggage was reduced to a minimum, and I took with me only a thousand rupees. Abdul Kerim was responsible for the remainder of the cash. He was an honest man, but a noodle. Some nomads accompanied us with six yaks for the baggage (Illusts. 344, 345, 348).

Though, according to our plans, we were to be separated only a few weeks, the parting was touching, and many childish tears trickled down weather-beaten cheeks. We had bought more horses, and all my five Ladakis could ride. We rode up the valley in close order; the bottom was full of loose rotten ice, lumpy tufts of grass with mice-holes among them, frozen springs, and detritus of hard green schist. We marched north-eastwards, and then due west, over the small double pass Shalung-la, and down to the Gyegong valley, where we encamped at Kamba Tsenam's sheepfolds to buy some sheep for food. The escort had got there first, and sat in their black tent drinking tea.

We sat talking with Kamba Tsenam and Panchor when a tall and strongly built young fellow came and sat down at the opening of my tent.

"I have seen the Bombo before," he said, "in the neighbourhood of Nakchu. You had a Buryat and a lama with you. That is seven years ago."

"Quite right. Have you brought me a message?"

"No; I only wish to ask if you are disposed to buy two good yaks from me. You can have them for half their value."

"Thanks; we do not want any yaks now. What is your occupation?"

"Robber!" he answered, without blinking.

After he had gone, Kamba Tsenam informed me that some time ago the man had killed a nomad in Rukyok, and now was come to treat about the compensation for the murder. The authorities were looking eagerly for the band to which he belonged, and Kamba Tsenam and Panchor knew exactly where they were hiding, but would not betray them lest they should be robbed of their property in revenge. Kamba Tsenam and his brother were evidently on very confidential terms with the robbers of the country, and I very much suspected that they were in league with some of them. In Panchor we had certainly an actual robber chief as guide. He himself told us that the Devashung had tried to engage him in their service as a spy and guide, when they wished to track up an evaded robber band, but he would not consent. He knew that we had a large quantity of money with us, and we were not too safe in his company. He could very well arrange a night attack and in the end play the innocent. He pretended not to know the country beyond a couple of days' journey to the north, but when he inspected our six horses he said: "This one you bought from an old nomad to the west of Sha-kangsham, and this one from Tsongpun Tashi." If he knew every horse in the country, he must also know the country very well. I asked him to go over the names of our camping-places to the north, but he gave only the first two, and added: "The rest you will know as you go on, and if I cannot find them myself, there will always be some robbers I can ask."

On May 7 we took leave of the old robber chief Kamba Tsenam, and rode in close order up to the pass Gyegong-la, which has a height of 18,012 feet. The pass stands on a distinctly marked chain, which is called Kanchung-gangri, and it was very interesting to find that all the water on the northern side of the pass flowed to the upper Chaktak-tsangpo. Kanchung-gangri is therefore not part of the main range of the Trans-Himalaya, and the Gyegong-la is only a secondary pass. The great watershed lay some days' journey farther to the north.

On the northern side we passed a warm spring, Memo-chutsen, which at the orifice had a temperature of 93.6°, while in another the water boiled and steamed. The springs are surrounded by sinter, terraces, and basins in which sick people bathe.

Panchor had an old field-glass and diligently looked out for robbers and wild yaks. He said that we ought always to keep together in case we were attacked by robbers he did not know, and he bade us help with our weapons in the defence.

The camp this day was No. 400.