CHAPTER LXXII

THE LAST DAYS IN UNKNOWN COUNTRY

On June 19 we proceeded north-north-east down the Pedang-tsangpo's gently declining valley, sometimes near, sometimes at a distance from, the fairly large river. On the right was the ridge of the Sur-la with its snowy summits and small glacier tongues, and far in the north was seen a huge crest called Ganglung-gangri, a prolongation of the Sur-la. We found that this colossal range, like its eastern and western neighbours, runs from north-north-west to south-south-east, and that the orographical configuration is totally unlike the scheme set forth by Hodgson, Atkinson, Saunders, and Burrard, for these gentlemen, quite hypothetically, inserted a single chain parallel to the upper Brahmaputra. In reality one wanders here in a labyrinth of mountain ranges, one and all only parts of the gigantic system of the Trans-Himalaya.

The road was excellent, and after a long ride we set up our two tents on the bank of a glacier stream while snow squalls and showers of pelting rain came down alternately. Here we had to stay a day, that the genial nomads of the neighbourhood might send for the district chief; for we had nothing to eat, but had to buy whatever we could get. He came, and we bought provisions for 50 rupees, and gave him 20 for his kindness. Our treasury was almost empty, and I looked forward with trembling to the time when we should be obliged, like wandering Jews, to sell watches, revolvers, and horses to gain a livelihood. For here, in Rigi-changma, no one had heard of Abdul Kerim and his men. We could not tell what had happened. Had he gone quite off his head? He had 2500 rupees with him; had he decamped, or had he been robbed? A letter was despatched to Gova Parvang saying that if he did not get news of them in a week he would have all the Devashung and the Mandarins about his ears. At any rate we had made a splendid journey through unknown country, and now we must make our way to the Shovo-tso we had long heard spoken of. Properly we ought to have gone over the Pedang range on the west direct to Selipuk, but it was not difficult to talk over the Gova, and on June 21 he had fresh yaks and guides ready. The latter were a young man and a boy ten years old in a blue sheepskin. With these we could have gone off anywhere, but I was tired and longed to get home. The valley of the Pedang-tsangpo took us further to the north. It is unusual to find in Tibet such a great longitudinal valley running north and south, for they lie almost always east and west, and produce the peculiar parallelism so characteristic of the country. We passed sixteen tents, and near the last we crossed the Pedang-tsangpo, which runs to the Shovo-tso by a more easterly course. Lobsang caused great amusement when he was attacked by a furious dog, and, having no stones, threw his bright sheath-knife at him; he missed, but the dog took the knife in his teeth and ran off to his master's tent.

Then we rode up to the Abuk-la pass, with a view both magnificent and instructive. The bluish-green Shovo-tso is, like Poru-tso, longest from north-east to south-west, and is surrounded by huge mountains, some of them with eternal snow. To the north, 30° E., we see the pass Ka-la, over which the "gold road" runs. The name Ka-la occurs on a map of one of Montgomerie's pundits by a single isolated mountain summit. In reality the Ka-la is the very opposite of a mountain summit, namely, a depression or saddle in a mountain range. We encamped on the southern shore of the Shovo-tso, which lies at an absolute height of 15,696 feet. The water is salt, and round the shore are seen old shore-lines of about the same height as at Poru-tso.

June 22. When we left the western extremity of the Shovo-tso we saw a large caravan of yaks and sheep which seemed to have the same destination as ourselves. Lobsang found out that the people were _nekoras_ or pilgrims on the way to Kang-rinpoche, and that the owner of the caravan was the Governor of Chokchu, Sonam Ngurbu (Illust. 372). We left them behind and rode up to the pass Tela-mata-la. A horseman approached us at a gallop, and made signs to us to halt. We waited for him, all on the tiptoe of expectation, for we made sure that he brought us a message from Abdul Kerim. Bah! it was only one of Sonam Ngurbu's soldiers who wanted to ask our guides if a spring on the way to Selipuk had any water in it this year. Sonam Ngurbu's caravan had come from Tabie-tsaka and had not heard a word of our men. It seemed as though the earth had swallowed them up. My orders had been that, whatever else they did, they should wait for us on the Buptsang-tsangpo. Doubtless they had been plundered by robbers; and we had only 80 rupees left. I blessed the hour when I decided to keep myself all the maps, notes, sketches, and rock specimens when we parted at Kamba Tsenam's tent. We could obtain money by selling some valuables, and from Selipuk I could send a courier to Thakur Jai Chand in Gartok.

From Tela-mata-la we have again a striking view over almost all the Sur-la range and over the mountainous region of Lavar-gangri to the south of Selipuk. With every day's march the orographical configuration becomes clearer, and soon the leading features of the blank space will be nearly all ascertained.

The temperature again sank at the midsummer season below freezing-point, the reading on June 23 being 25.9°. We rode through a small steep valley up to the Tayep-parva-la (17,887 feet). The ground was so honeycombed with mouse-holes that the horses trod on two or three at once. Little Puppy caught a couple of field-mice by the neck, and we did not pity them. A marmot which had ventured too far from its hole almost fell into Takkar's clutches, but just saved himself in time. At the pass we made the usual halt for observations, and I drew a panorama of the surroundings. Between north and north-west the horizon is far distant and the country level; only to the north, 5° W., appears a small snow-capped dome, but not another _gangri_. The view over Nganglaring-tso, just below, is grand, all the mountains in shades of pink, and the water of a deep ultramarine. A large part of its eastern half is occupied by a large island, a mountain mass rising out of the water with a contour as irregular as that of the lake itself, all promontories, bays, and capes. To the north-west lie three small islands. No European had ever seen Nganglaring-tso before, nor any pundit. But the pundit sent by Montgomerie in 1867 to Tok-jalung obtained some hazy information about the district "Shellifuk" and the great lake "Ghalaring-tso," which was afterwards inserted in maps of Tibet. The form given by the pundit to the lake, namely, an egg-shape with the longer axis from north to south, does not at all correspond to the reality; for the lake stretches east and west, and its contour could not be more irregular than it is. The pundit places a small island in the northern half, and adds the legend "Monastery on Island." In reality Nganglaring-tso has at least four islands, but not a single monastery.

On Midsummer Day we encamped by the roaring surf (15,577 feet), and on the 25th we crossed the last hilly mountain spur which still separated us from the extensive plain of Selipuk. From its height we again saw the great chain of Sur-la, and to the south the Trans-Himalaya with sixty-three snowy peaks, regular as the teeth of a saw. On the 26th we rode over level country to the west-north-west. On the plain two mounted Tibetans were pursuing a wild ass, which was wounded in the near foreleg and had four dogs at his heels. The dogs did not bite him, but tried to chase the animal in a certain direction. Time after time the men were close on the game and dismounted; they did not shoot, but threw up dust with their hands to frighten the wild ass and drive him as near as possible to their tent, that they might not have to carry the meat far (Illust. 356).

Camp 439 was pitched on the bank of the river Sumdang-tsangpo, which flows into the Nganglaring-tso without joining the rivers Lavar-tsangpo and Aong-tsangpo, farther west, which unite and enter the lake's most western bounds. Here Lobsang caught a wolf cub, a small wild rogue, which much interested Takkar. But Takkar had a great respect for his hereditary enemy and ventured to bite only his tail. Afterwards he became bolder, and when the little creature found himself in a desperate situation, he threw himself into the river to swim over to the other side. Then Takkar gave a yell, jumped in and caught the cub, thrust him down with his paws, seized him with his teeth and brought him to land, where he ate every bit of him.

We followed the river upwards on June 27 and encamped again on its bank opposite the monastery Selipuk-gompa (15,696 feet), the abbot of which, a Kanpo-lama, Jamtse Singe, was also chief of the district in secular affairs (Illusts. 356, 374, 369, 341). Neither he nor any one else had heard anything of Abdul Kerim, but he was so good as to search in his holy books to find out where our men were, and he came to the conclusion that they were somewhere to the south, and that in twenty days we should either meet them or hear some reliable news of them.

On June 28, at half-past nine in the evening, the country was shaken by an earthquake--the only one I ever experienced in Tibet. However, it had no effect on the good relations between me and the monks and Sonam Ngurbu, the Governor (Illusts. 326, 375), who was also a guest in the monastery, and had a high lama from Chokchu (Illust. 355) in his party. The Governor gave us as much _tsamba_, rice, and sugar as would at a pinch last us till we came to Tokchen, and he received a watch in exchange. Of money we had only a few rupees left. I had never been in such straits before. If I ever meet Abdul Kerim again, I thought, he shall get what he deserves and a little more.

When we set up our tents on the last day of June on the Rartse plain, south of Selipuk, Lobsang announced at dusk that four men and four mules were coming to the camp. They were Abdul Kerim, Sedik, Gaffar, and a Tibetan. Our caravan bashi came frightened and confused to my tent, and I thought it better that he should give an account of his stewardship before I passed sentence on him. He reported that they had come to the appointed rendezvous at the proper time, but there he had been hard pressed by six Govas--Gova Parvang among them, who took the lead, and ordered them to leave the place at once and go on to the Tarok-tso. As they had no passport from Lhasa, they could expect no mercy, he said. So they betook themselves to the northern shore of the Tarok-tso, where they waited fourteen days, as the grazing was good and no one interfered with them. They heard contradictory reports about us. At length a nomad died on the lake shore, and a monk from Lunkar-gompa was summoned to his tent to read the prayers for the dead. They met this man, and he said that we had passed the monastery nine days previously. Then they packed up all their belongings, intending to hurry after us next morning. But horse-stealers had come in the night and stolen my grey Tikze horse and a mule from Saka-dzong. This event cost them three days, but they never recovered the stolen animals. While Suen, Abdullah, Abdul Rasak, and Sonam Kunchuk followed slowly, the three others made forced marches westwards, and now at last they were here and had all our cash with them. Abdul Kerim escaped with a slight reprimand, but I afterwards heard the other men badgering him. We found the others in Kyangrang, and so the whole strength of the company, thirteen men, was complete when, on July 8, we crossed the pass Ding-la (Illust. 213), 19,308 feet high, the loftiest pass we had crossed in all this journey in Tibet, and on past the small lake Argok-tso, which lies in the basin of the Aong-tsangpo; and on July 12 we crossed the Surnge-la (17,310 feet). Two days later we came to Tokchen, where another political entanglement detained us nine days. But I cannot stay to give an account of it, for I reached the limit of the space allowed me at Chapter LXIV., and my publisher is impatient.