CHAPTER LXXI

ANOTHER JOURNEY ACROSS THE WHITE PATCH

We left on May 26 the heavenly lake, the shore of which had never before been trodden by European or pundit, and saw its blue surface diminish to a sabre blade between the mountains, and finally disappear in the east, while we rode westwards over a wide plain, which was formerly under water. Kutus, Lobsang, and Panchor accompanied me. We must hasten to descend on the monastery before the monks got wind of us, and the caravan and escort could come after and encamp near Mendong-gompa. Panchor disappeared at the first tent we passed, and was not seen again all day. He was a coward, and did not wish to be suspected of showing us the way to the sanctuary. We had therefore to shift for ourselves and find our way thither.

Two men and a woman came out of a nomad encampment to the track we followed, and asked if we had seen the European who was said to be travelling about Bongba. In order to preserve my incognito till I came to Mendong, I answered that he was coming behind with his caravan, and if they kept on the look-out they would see an amusing figure. Probably they had long given up all hope of seeing the stranger. My involuntary disguise therefore did me good service, for the nomads took me to be, like the other two men, servants of the expected European.

Hour after hour we rode on westwards and looked in vain for a monastery. But at last it cropped up all of a sudden. We were on the top of a bank terrace 30 feet high, skirting on the east the channel of the Soma-tsangpo, and saw at the foot of the opposite terrace the quadrangular stone house of the monastery with its white walls and red frieze, _chhortens_, _mani_ heaps, and streamers, and on the east and west of it two tent villages, the upper inhabited by sixty monks, the lower by forty nuns (Illust. 360). The Soma-tsangpo, also called Nyagga, or Soma-Nyagga-tsangpo, now carried down 350 to 420 cubic feet of water, which, divided into four channels, glided over a treacherously deepening bottom. We managed, however, to ford it, and rode up to the gate of the monastery, where ten monks, good-natured but reserved, met us. I have no space to describe the religious organization of Mendong-gompa. It is enough to say that hitherto it was quite unknown even by name, like so many of the convents we visited the year before. The peculiarity of this monastery is that the brothers and sisters live in black tents, and every tent is a cell. The tents had a very comfortable and attractive appearance, but the sisters, of whom I took some portraits, were hideous to behold--old unwashed harpies, barbarous and demoralized. That there is anything idyllic and fascinating in life in a nunnery in the wilds is a pure illusion, which vanishes at once at the sight of these old apes. They have also a puzzling resemblance to their male colleagues, and it is often difficult to decide whether one of them is a man or a woman (Illust. 354).

When we left the solitary monastery on May 28 we decided to make for the rendezvous on the Buptsang-tsangpo, where Abdul Kerim would no doubt be uneasy at our prolonged absence. It had been arranged that we should be separated only two weeks, but before we reached the river a whole month would have passed away.

So we set out early, followed the right bank of the Soma-tsangpo southwards, and crossed the range, from the top of which, at the Teta-la, we had first seen the Teri-nam-tso. The valley is quite 2½ miles broad, the strand terraces are well developed, the fall is slight, and the rush of water is seldom heard; here and there stands a tent with grazing flocks. One more sunrise and we ride through the river (Illust. 358), which, with the Sachu-tsangpo, Buptsang-tsangpo, and Bogtsang-tsangpo, shares the honour of being one of the largest in the interior of Tibet. Through the valley Goa-lung we rode up on May 30 to the pass Goa-la (17,382 feet), flat and easy, lying amidst pink and grey granite, and affording an instructive view over the Trans-Himalaya to the south. To the south-west we see, close below the pass, the small lake Karong-tso--a new discovery, like everything else in this country. Our route ran to the west, when we, on June 1, rode, with the Karong-tso on our left hand, and a crest of medium height on our right, through the district Bongba-kemar, following the great route of the salt caravans between Raga-tasam and Tabie-tsaka, which crosses the already mentioned pass Tsalam-nakta-la. A high-road from Naktsang joins this. At camp 417 we had the Chunit-tso near us on the north-west.

Although we were at the beginning of June, the minimum sank below freezing-point; in the night of the 1st the thermometer fell to 16.3°. But the day was warm, nay hot, when the sun shone and the air was still. The dreary barren valleys lay waiting for the rainy season. The grass was more than scanty, for last summer the rains failed. Our direction turned more to the south-west. From camp 418 we saw, to the south, 60° E., the opening of a valley through which a highway runs through Bongba-kyangrang over the Dicha-la to Lapchung.

Our Tibetans know excellently well how to look after themselves on the journey. On the march they twist string, talk, sing and whistle, and shout at their yaks. In pitching their camp they set up their black tent in a moment, first stretching out the ropes and fastening them into the ground with wooden pegs, and then throwing the cloth over the poles. The animals are unloaded and sent off to feed, and the men gather fuel and make a fire in the tent, where all assemble to drink tea and sleep. After a couple of hours they come out again, wrestle, play and laugh. In the dusk one may be heard singing a monotonous ballad, which must, however, be amusing, for the others laugh heartily at every verse. Morning and evening they gabble their prayers, all together, murmuring like bees in a hive. An old man, whom I knew the year before, has a riding yak of his own, and brandishes the escort's prayer-mill. He is never seen without this ingenious instrument. The men are always good-natured and polite, help us to collect fuel, set up the tents and load the animals, and frequently pay us a visit. We know them all by name and are the best of friends.

The temperature sank in the night only a few degrees below freezing-point, and yet a snowstorm raged almost all day long on June 3. We rode past a large marsh in the valley and up to the flat saddle Merke-sang, with a view over the plain we crossed exactly two months before on the way to the Buptsang-tsangpo. Camp 419 lay therefore in the Bongba-kebyang district again. To the south-east is the pass Chiptu-la, with the pilgrim route from Nakchu to Kang-rinpoche. To the south, 27° W., rises a snowy summit, at the foot of which a road leads over the Dsalung-la to Tradum. As a watershed this pass is of the first rank, and it sends off a voluminous tributary to the Buptsang-tsangpo. The escort sent off a messenger in advance to this river to look out for Abdul Kerim's party.

June 4. It had snowed all night long, and we set out in the wildest snowstorm. It was half dark, with heavy leaden clouds; not a glimpse could be seen of the surrounding mountains; all was wet, muddy, and evil-smelling; pools of melting snow lay on the ground, and seven pilgrims from Kang-rinpoche were close upon us before they emerged from the mist. We splashed through the soaked soil, but when we encamped on the shore of the Buptsang-tsangpo the weather was much clearer.

Before I proceed further I will mention that the great province of Bongba is divided into twelve _tso_ or districts, namely: Parryang, Laktsang, Buptö, Tsaruk, Yeke, Tarok, Kebyang, Kemar, Parma, Changma, Kyangrang, and Chushar. To each of these district names is usually prefixed the name of the province, as, for instance, Bongba-parryang, Bongba-laktsang, etc. We were now in Bongba-kebyang.

Some tents stood on the river bank. The nomads reported that Abdul Kerim had gone a week before by a cross-cut over the mountain on the right, down towards the Tarok-tso. There was no Gova here, but two natives were ready to let us on hire the five yaks we required. They were shy and timorous, but Panchor, the rogue, spoke well of us, and it was agreed that they should accompany us to the boundary of Tarok-tso. On the morning of June 5 we took farewell of Nima Tashi and his soldiers and of Panchor, and rode between the hills on the left side of the valley down the course of the Buptsang-tsangpo. Soon the valley contracted to a ditch, but before long expanded again. On our left hand we had the main range of the Trans-Himalaya, which, however, did not present an imposing appearance, for we were always close to its foot. At times we were enveloped in a snowstorm, and at Mabie-tangsam-angmo, where we camped, we made haste to get a cover over our heads. When Little Puppy heard the thunder rumble for the first time in his life, he was very disturbed and barked with all his might, but he could not make out whence the noise came, and he found it safest to fly into the tent and hide himself behind my bed-head.

June 6. Hail and snow! The whole country is hidden under newly-fallen snow, as far as we can see. Is June to be reckoned among the winter months? We have already had nine of them. It seems as though summer were missed out this year and we were approaching another winter. But the precipitation is welcome to the nomads, for it promotes the growth of fresh grass. We march sometimes on the top, sometimes at the foot of a lofty erosion terrace 80 to 100 feet high, which is a characteristic feature in this large valley. Geese, wild asses, Goa antelopes, and foxes are everywhere. A sharp bend in the river forces us to the north-north-east for a time, and the valley is again narrow and picturesque. At Tuta, which belongs to Bongba-tsaruk, we encamp close by the Buptsang-tsangpo, where the wild-geese swim with their yellow chicks in the clear water.

Eighteen degrees of frost on the night of June 7. Yet the day was fine, and flies, gnats, and other insects were more numerous than before. As on the two preceding days we crossed several small affluents from the Trans-Himalaya. The Buptsang valley expanded more and more, and at length became 13 miles broad. We encamped in sight of the Tarok-tso, on a level plain about 16 feet above the surface of the lake, and with two nomad tents as our nearest neighbours. The height here was 15,197 feet.

Our guides were the pleasantest and most complacent we had ever had, our movements were not controlled by chiefs and soldiers, and Karma Puntso's camp was far away--we might have travelled wherever we liked. But the Buptsang-tsangpo and the Tarok-tso were the most interesting geographical features in Bongba, and now we saw the lake close in front of us.

Our plan was to make on June 8 for Lunkar-gompa, which was seen perched on its hill with a view over the lake. But it was not to be, for at six o'clock Gova Pensa arrived on horseback accompanied by two servants. He was dressed in a handsome blue cloak, looked about fifty-five years old, and greeted us in a kind and friendly manner. After a while came half a dozen more horsemen--evidently we were held up again. Gova Pensa asked us to remain where we were for the day, for Gova Parvang, the district chief of Tarok-shung, would come in the afternoon. He said it was impossible to see Lunkar-gompa, for both the head lamas, with most of the other twenty monks, were gone two days before to Kang-rinpoche, and had left the temple gates locked. Only four nuns and two monks had been left behind. Of Abdul Kerim's party he only knew that they had met Gova Parvang, but did not know where they were now.

Gova Parvang did not put in an appearance, but sent instead his lieutenant, old Yamba, and seventeen other unarmed men to my tent. Yamba had orders not to let us go to Tabie-tsaka if he valued his head. But he added that if we went there of our own accord and with our own horses he could not stop us, but yaks and provisions would not be supplied, and the nomads had orders to avoid us like the plague. Would we, on the other hand, go up a valley which opened out to the south-south-west by which we could reach Tuksum in seven days over the Lungnak-la, he would let us hire yaks, would sell us provisions, and provide us with guides. Or if we would go over the Lunkar-la north-westwards to Selipuk, he would also do his best to serve us. He advised us to take the latter route, for he had been present when Gova Parvang forced Abdul Kerim to take the direct road to Selipuk between the Tarok-tso and Tabie-tsaka. We had, then, three different routes to choose from, which led over the blank space on the map of Tibet, where there are no other black lines but the meridians and parallels and the word "Unexplored." I did not take a minute to choose; the middle road over the Lunkar-la was naturally the most desirable, for I knew that it would yield me most details to complete my knowledge of the intricate orography of the Trans-Himalaya. On the morning of June 9 we hastily concluded our business, obtained yaks and guides, bought barley, rice, and _tsamba_, took farewell of the chiefs of Bongba-tarok, and steered our course direct to the temple. We passed several tent villages, for the country is densely peopled. At the foot of the mountain, on the left, a warm spring rises out of the ground. Below the monastery hill stand twenty small white stone cabins, each with a red frieze under the eaves and a small quadrangular yard. In front of the village are two _chhortens_ (Illusts. 359, 366). behind which two women with their children were hiding. While the caravan continued up the Lunkar valley, I, with Lobsang and Kutus, ascended the porphyry hill to the temple, which is surrounded by a quadrangular wall. Some savage dogs rushed upon us and snapped at Little Puppy, but there was no other sign of life. We went into the court and found the temple door closed, and fastened with a great iron lock. As I was sketching a panorama of the great beautiful lake and its wreath of mountains, six men came up and told us in an angry voice to go away. I rose up, went straight to the nearest of them, and, pointing to the path down to the village, told them that if they did not immediately make off they must put up with the consequences. They turned round meekly without saying a word.

The lake stretches from north, 26° W., to north, 57° E., but extends further eastwards hidden behind a mountain. To the north-north-east two rocky islets are seen near the northern shore. To the north-east the Buptsang-tsangpo enters a bay, and in the far distance in the same direction our old Sha-kangsham appears. The water of the Tarok-tso is said to be sweet, but I had no opportunity of confirming this statement. If it is correct, the lake must have a subterranean outlet to the Tabie-tsaka lying to the north, though a small mountain offshoot lies between the two lakes.

We left the small inhospitable monastery and a couple of small white and red houses, where the nuns have their cells, and soon rejoined our men in the Lunkar valley.

In the night the temperature was above freezing-point for the first time. Our path ascended steeply to the south-west and south, and in three hours we were at the streamer-decked cairn on the Lunkar-la, where the height was 18,274 feet. From a height to the north-east of the pass the Tarok-tso lies below the spectator as on a map, and in the north from 20° to 26° E. is seen the white and yellow saline depression of Tabie-tsaka, renowned throughout Tibet. At Goang-shung we got three new guides with four yaks, who took us to the bank of the Gyenor- or Goang-tsangpo--a small river which, coming from the mountain Kapta in the south-east, falls into the Poru-tso. To the west rises a chain of mighty snowy peaks. On the morning of June 12, after 8.8 degrees of frost, the stream was covered with a third of an inch of ice, and I missed the pleasant rippling sound of the evening. But the ice broke up in the sunshine and rattled down in large flakes. We were conducted still to the south-west; on the next day when we encamped on the lake shore the direction was nearer west. From camp 428 (17,067 feet) we had a fine view over the small lake Poru-tso, also called Yeke-tso because it is situated in the district Bongba-yeke, the westernmost in the large province of Bongba, which is under the control of Karma Puntso. To the west of it follows Rigi-hloma or Rigi-changmo, which is subject to Ngari-karpun, as the Garpun of Gartok is called here. Puru-tso is drying up; the highest shore-line lies 354 feet above the present level of the lake. The water is not fit for drinking, but, curiously enough, it still contains fish. An extremely disagreeable odour rises from the beach. The lake stretches from north-east to south-west.

On June 14 we rode westwards and crossed the broad valley watered by the Nyapchu-tsangpo, which, descending from the Men-la due south, falls into the Poru-tso. The Men-la, a day's journey off, is a pass in a longitudinal valley between two of the ranges of the Trans-Himalaya. Over its threshold a road runs to Shamsang on the upper Tsangpo. A day was spent on the bank of the Surle-tsangpo, which also flows to the Poru-tso, and in the evening carried quite 210 cubic feet of water per second.

Here I was waited on by Gova Pundar of Rigi-hloma, an elderly man, who gave me a _kadakh_, butter, meal, and milk, and sold us all the provisions we required for several days, and his goodwill knew no bounds. The people in this part of Tibet were always very friendly disposed. In the Lob country the natives called me Padishahim or "Your Majesty," a title that more than satisfied my ambition; but in Bongba and Rigi I was often called Rinpoche or "Your Holiness," which I thought a little too strong. But they meant well, and I accepted their civilities as the most natural thing in the world. Gova Pundar knew every inch of his country, and I pumped him thoroughly. Among other interesting details, he informed me that thirteen days' journey to the north, near the Lakkor-tso, was a monastery Marmik-gompa, a dependency of Sera, with twenty-five monks and four nuns. In the year 1901 I had been at the Lakkor-tso, and had heard the blast of the shell-horn at the other side of a ridge, but I did not enjoy the same freedom as now, and could not visit the monastery.

We rode on the 16th in a snowstorm, with fresh men and yaks, through the picturesque Surle valley, and on the 17th over stony moss-grown slopes to the pass Sur-la or Sur-la-Kemi-la, 19,134 feet high, which, like the Lunkar-la, is of the second order, for it is a divide between the Poru-tso and the Shovo-tso. Before reaching the actual pass we had a striking view west-south-west over a world of firn-fields, peaks clothed with eternal snow, and glaciers, one of which, of large dimensions and bluish green in front, with numerous moraines and rivulets, descends to the Surle river. Here grey granite predominates; wild yaks are everywhere; the country is barren and of a high alpine character. On the other side of the Sur-la the ground descends rapidly among quantities of medium-sized granite boulders.

At camp 431 we were, then, in the district Rigi-changma. When we went on farther down the valley from the pass on June 18, we suddenly heard wild yells from a whole choir of four large and six small wolves, which were strolling along a slope immediately to the left of the path. They were greyish yellow, and seemed hungry and in a very vicious humour. Takkar rushed heedlessly at them, but they faced him, and he thought it better to turn back. They showed no signs of fear, but held their ground even when we threw stones at them. At that moment two horsemen with weapons and red hats came down from the Sur-la. They were pursuivants sent out in advance to Selipuk to make preparations for the arrival of the _serpuns_, or gold commissioners. These gentlemen are sent annually from Lhasa to Tok-jalung, and their journey is burdensome to the nomads, for they exact pack animals and food without payment. They take the road north of the Teri-nam-tso and Tabie-tsaka, which is one of Tibet's great arteries. It is called the Ser-lam, or the "gold road."

Over a small saddle we came to the Pedang-tsangpo's valley, 6½ miles broad, which starts from the Trans-Himalayan pass Pedang-la, and runs almost due north. Camp 432 was pitched on the river bank in a place quite devoid of life. Our guides wished to turn back with their yaks, but were persuaded to accompany us to the nearest tent village. What could the Tibetans be thinking of? They left us without the slightest supervision, and we enjoyed more freedom than ever before. We could now have travelled anywhere we liked, eastwards to Tabie-tsaka or southwards over the Trans-Himalaya; but the lakes in the north had most attraction for me, and we should have to cross the lofty mountains in the south at some time.