CHAPTER LXX
THE SEVENTH CROSSING OF THE TRANS-HIMALAYA—TO THE HEAVENLY LAKE OF THE THRONE MOUNTAIN
Twenty-ninedegrees of frost on the night of May 8. Winter instead of spring might be coming. A month ago it was much warmer in Bongba. But now we are mounting up to the heights of the Trans-Himalaya, the weather is cold, raw, and windy, the temperature seldom above freezing-point, and to-day the whole country is again buried in snow.
We ride northwards and descend from a small saddle to the Chaktak-tsangpo, near which we have to halt a while to warm ourselves at a fire. The river bends to the west-south-west to break through Kanchung-gangri. On its bank is seen a tent, eight horses, and a hundred sheep. Panchor went off to-day to stalk a herd of ninety wild yaks, and Nima Tashi, the captain of the bodyguard, was sure that a robber band was in the tent, for no nomads are seen in this cold country. The escort, particularly Nima Tashi, were dreadfully afraid of robbers; and Panchor had told us that we could make them go anywhere by frightening the soldiers with robbers. When Panchor appeared again, he said that the suspected tent was really inhabited by the band which had the murder in Rukyok on its conscience, and he added that if the people in Rukyok would not let the matter rest, the band threatened to commit new crimes in the country. I asked why the authorities did not seize the chief now when he was so near, but Panchor shook his head and said that if he was taken and killed, thirty others would be down on the country, and thatwould be worse. A bandit’s life in Tibet is on the whole a very pleasant one.
Following the stream upwards we came to the small lake Lapchung-tso, entirely covered with ice, and set up camp 401 (17,037 feet) on its eastern shore. It is enclosed among hills and surrounded on all sides by lofty mountains. To the south Kanchung-gangri appears in all its splendour. The snow is much more abundant on its northern than on its southern side, and in the hollows between its summits three large and several small glaciers, short and steep, are seen. From all the valleys on the north, north-west, and north-east brooks descend to the Lapchung-tso, and from the southern extremity of the lake the Chaktak-tsangpo issues, and a little distance farther south-west breaks through Kanchung-gangri.
May 9. −0.9° at this time of year! We move north-eastwards along the eastern shore of Lapchung-tso, and follow a well-beaten road consisting of quite fifty parallel paths. It is very interesting to draw another line on the map of Tibet through a part unknown before. Here travel the merchants whose destination is east Bongba and Chokchu, and here passes a large part of the salt traffic from Tabie-tsaka, as well as pilgrims on their way home from Kang-rinpoche. The last usually follow thetasamon their outward journey, but return by the northern route—this is, that the whole pilgrimage may make akoreor a loop of salvation.
Our direction becomes now more northerly and we go up the Sangmo-bertik valley, where the bottom is filled with ice clear as glass, but there is good pasturage on the flanks. The country is quite flat between Kanchung-gangri and the main crest of the Trans-Himalaya. In the longitudinal valley between the two we see to the north, 60° W., the comparatively low saddle Dicha-la, which is, however, a watershed of the first rank, for it parts the water flowing to the ocean from the isolated drainage of the plateau. Over the Dicha-la runs the lately mentioned road to the Buptsang-tsangpo and Tabie-tsaka. North, north-west, and north-east are severalgangriswith firn-fields and snow, all belonging to the main range of theTrans-Himalaya. To the east lies a pass, the Nakbo-kongdo-la, with the Nakbo-gongrong-gangri; over this pass, which also seems to lie on the main watershed, a road runs to Targo-gangri and Dangra-yum-tso. Between Raga-tasam and Ombo a road crosses the Tsalam-nakta-la, mostly frequented by salt caravans. From camp 402 we could still see Chomo-uchong to the south, 13° E.
A member of the robber band we saw the day before paid us a visit and was evidently an old friend of Panchor. He gave us many interesting details of the Teri-nam-tso and Mendong-gompa, which were afterwards found to be perfectly correct. I never could make out Panchor. Either he was in league with the devil himself, or he was a fully fledged knave at his own risk and reckoning. He now assured me that it would be the easiest thing in the world to take me to the Teri-nam-tso and perhaps also to the Dangra-yum-tso. O gods of Naktsang, slumber in this cold spring and do not warn your earthly vassals until it is too late! Yes, if I could only contrive to cross the Trans-Himalaya twice more, I would then willingly leave this mighty range to rest a thousand years under a veil of clouds and glittering snowfields. It is strange that this wide country, so near to the Indian frontier, should have remained absolutely unknown till our late times. I am proud and delighted to know that I am the first white man to penetrate to this wilderness.
Panchor advised us to stay a day in the valley, for we should not find pasture as good as here for a long time. I wondered how he could know that, seeing that he had said recently that he had never been north of the Sangmo-bertik-la.
On the night of May 11 the thermometer fell to 3°. We found ourselves in a great enlargement of the Trans-Himalaya called Lap, and this region is noted for its severe climate. Even in the middle of summer, when it is warm everywhere else, it is cold in Lap. The ice breaks up on Lapchung-tso only in the beginning of June after all the other ice is melted. From the map it is seen that many considerable rivers, flowing north and south, take their rise in this lofty swell.
The day’s march took us up to higher ground, and the way was dreadful—not a road at all, but a track winding among granite boulders and yak-moss. And next day it was still worse. In raw wintry weather, with a temperature of 1.2°, we wound up the ascent extremely slowly, where all small and loose material had been removed, so that the animals might at any moment break their legs among the stones. Here no other vegetation was seen but a moss, yellow as the yolk of an egg, and another shading into red. On the left we passed three small glaciers with a blue tinge on their fronts. By one of them some wild yaks walked meditatively. The weather was so cold that we had to stop frequently to warm our hands at a small dung fire. Panchor insisted strongly on these halts “in order that the Bombo may not be tired”; but I suspect it was chiefly because he wanted a puff from his Chinesegansa.
Though it was a great struggle for our horses, we came at last to the Sangmo-bertik-la, at the giddy height of 19,094 feet, and now I stood for the seventh time on the main crest of the Trans-Himalaya and the watershed of the great Indian rivers. The view was closed in on all sides and limited by adjacent heights. On a sharp ridge to the north-west seven yaks were tramping in the snow. Panchor and one of the soldiers went on foot in pursuit of them—to mount these steep hills on foot and carry heavy, clumsy guns is tough work. We rode on among the granite boulders; lower down green porphyry begins. The gradient became more gentle, and where we encamped we could scarcely perceive in which direction the valley sloped.
The day had been stormy, and the blast continued on May 13. Little Puppy went out to look at the morning, but crept back again and lay on his mat. Takkar was still irreconcilable towards his countrymen, the Tibetans, and inspired the greatest respect in all the escort and Panchor. We rode on through the valley northwards, past numerous summer camping-grounds, and recognized the characteristic low relief of Chang-tang in contrast to the more deeply excavated valleys on the southern side of the Trans-Himalaya.At the mouth of a side-valley running in from the west the escort came to a halt, and Nima Tashi explained that our road to Buptö, where we had agreed to meet Abdul Kerim’s party, ran up this valley, and that they did not intend to go farther north. They now showed their teeth for the first time, and were not so pliant as we thought. They excused themselves on the ground that their yaks were tired, that their provisions were at an end, and that they had no orders to accompany us more than fourteen days. Panchor, the scoundrel, took their part, and frightened us with the chief of Bongba-chushar, who took tribute from all the robbers of the country, and would certainly plunder us if we passed through his domain. After long consideration we decided to camp where we were, to thoroughly discuss the situation. Before the sun had set I had won them over, though it was chiefly the chink of silver rupees which made them forget all their scruples. It was agreed that they should receive their 20 rupees every evening, and I gave them a goat in addition, as their supply of meat was at an end.
So on May 14 we rode farther north in blinding snow, and passed numerousmanis, nine standing in one row. The valley became more open, and was more than a mile broad. We found no water at the camp, but two of our yaks were laden with blocks of ice. Every evening we sat an hour conversing with Panchor, and it was easy to check his statements. I told him once and for all, that if he did not speak the truth he would receive no extra gratuity. In the evening he declared that there were dreadful apparitions at Muhamed Isa’s grave, and that at night fearful shrieks and groans could be heard from beneath. He was quite convinced that spirits and demons haunted the grave, and said that no Tibetan ventured to go near the place; this was well, for consequently the grave would not be desecrated.
He gave me also much valuable information about the country round Nam-tso or Tengri-nor, where he was born. He had gone twice round Nam-tso, thrice round Tso-mavang, and twelve times round Kang-rinpoche, which he intended to visit again soon, to complete the thirteenthcircuit of salvation. He considered it superfluous to make the circuit of Dangra-yum-tso and Targo-gangri, for he had already tramped so far that all his sins must be forgiven, and he was sure of promotion in the next incarnation. Panchor had not the slightest doubt that a man or horse which had drunk of the water of Tso-mavang or Nam-tso was for ever immune from illness, robbers, and wolves. “It is just as though a fire blazed out of that part of the body where the wolf intends to seize him,” he affirmed. But he considerably modified his statements after I had told him that we had a mule which had drunk for a whole month of the water of Tso-mavang and yet had been torn in pieces by wolves at Gartok. “Yes,” he replied, “the protection is only for Tibetans and their animals, not for Europeans and their animals. And if the wolf itself drank of the holy water it would avail nothing; he would still seize his prey.”
On the 15th of May we set out again in a snowstorm, whereas I had been looking forward ever since January to spring. It caused great merriment, both among the Tibetans and the Ladakis, when one of the escort who did not know Kunchuk’s name, spoke of him as “that there calf.” We had travelled a good long way before they ceased to laugh at the newly invented title, which stuck to Kunchuk ever after.
The valley opens out on to a plain where kiangs, Goa and Pantholops antelopes are plentiful. From the ridge of a hill we see to the east another still larger plain, beyond which Targo-gangri would be visible if the mountain were not shrouded in clouds and falling snow. Buchu-tso is a small pool which dries up in summer. There lay three black tents, and beyond another hill in the locality Kangmar, seven. When we encamped, sixty men, women, and children came out and watched us. They had gathered together here to pay their taxes to a collector from Saka. The district is called Bongba-chushar, and the elderly Gova came to visit us. He was a discreet man and put no awkward questions. Panchor, who was accustomed to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, had probably given him an account of usbeforehand. It seems he was terribly frightened, for he had never in his life seen a European. However, he gave us much valuable information about the country, among other things, that the little twin lakes Mun-tso lay to the north of the Barong-la and east of the Teri-nam-tso, not south of the Dangra-yum-tso as on Nain Sing’s map, which I had myself found to be incorrect. On the way to the Teri-nam-tso we should be able in two places to steal goose eggs; it was forbidden to the Tibetans for three years to take them, but a European could permit himself anything without having to answer for it to the gods of heaven and earth.
After a day’s rest we marched north-north-east to the broad longitudinal valley of Soma-tsangpo. The river descends from the east-south-east, and probably has its source in the great mountain system we saw from the Shuru-tso. Here it runs west-north-west, but afterwards turns north and north-eastwards, and therefore makes a sharp curve before it enters the Teri-nam-tso. Its bed is flat and shallow, and at the time carried down about 280 cubic feet of water per second, but it is so full in summer that sometimes it cannot be forded. We camped at a spring in a valley at the farther side, and on May 18 ascended the adjacent pass, Dongchen-la, and on its south slopes twenty-four Ovis Ammon sheep were a fine sight.
On the night of the 19th, the minimum temperature was 29.5°, and now it felt as if spring were really come, or even summer. The way ran north-west up a steep valley, where granite and dark schists were twice observedin situ, to the small pass Teta-la (16,266 feet), where we had at length a free view over the longed-for lake Teri-nam-tso, Nain Sing’s Tede-nam-tso, which he never visited nor saw, but only heard of, and inserted with a broken line quite correctly on his map. The only mistake he made was to draw the lake longer from north to south instead of from east to west.
To obtain an uninterrupted view we climbed up a height on the north side of the pass (16,972 feet). The scene here displayed in all directions was one of the grandest and most memorable tableaus I have seen in Tibet. The“heavenly lake” lay like a great flat-cut turquoise framed in mountains and hills shaded in pink, red, yellow, and purple, which, towards the horizon, gradually passed into a light blue veil. Only to the south-east quadrant is the view obstructed by adjacent heights belonging to the chain on the crest of which we stand, and which runs along the southern shore of the lake, but elsewhere the view is open, dizzy, boundless, and the eyes scan both Sha-kangsham’s majestic peak and Targo-gangri’s many-headed ridge, and the seven-times-mounted main range of the Trans-Himalaya, with its snow-crowned heights rising in a row of bright white domes to the south. Many other peaks and domes with eternal snow rise over this sea of tumbled waves, but, after all, the finest sight is the lake itself, which charms and fascinates the spectator by its intense ultramarine hue, a couple of shades deeper and stronger than turquoise. When one first comes to the saddle of the pass and this wealth of colouring strikes the retina, one can scarcely restrain an exclamation of astonishment and admiration. We look down straight on the lake, and its southern shore is just below us. To the west it extends for two days’ journey, and widens out enormously, while to the east it contracts and seems to stretch a good day’s journey. Due north-east the blue surface is broken by a steep rocky islet, with a level shore only in the east, and further east one fancies one can detect the hollow where the basin of the Dangra-yum-tso skirts the northern foot of the divine Targo-gangri mountain.
Beautiful weather, not a cloud on the blue vault of heaven, calm and quiet, only the gentlest whisper over the hills sounding in the ears like the tinkle of small bells and the vibration of strings. One feels overwhelmed by this grand beauty, which speaks more powerfully to the senses than the high mass of any archbishop. I stood several hours up here and made a hopeless attempt to sketch the landscape, but succeeded in producing only a feeble imitation of the reality. From the Teta-la one commands a very considerable area of the heart of Tibet. How extensive is the line of Sha-kangsham! How many are the points from which I have viewed this wonderfulmountain on different journeys! Like a gigantic beacon, a marvellous landmark, it raises its snow-covered dome above desolate Tibet. And we were far from its dripping glaciers when for the last time it sank below the horizon like a dream of snow and roses.
At last we had to drag ourselves away and follow the track of the other men to a little dreary valley where they had encamped near a couple of tents. Even here the view was remarkable. How I now missed my old tried boat, and how gladly I would have glided with sail and oar over the heavenly lake!
We remained four whole days at this miserable camp with its fine view (15,646 feet). The fact was that Dangra-yum-tso now for the fourth time began to haunt my dreams, and as the holy lake was only four days’ journey to the east, I would try to reach its shore. But Nima Tashi and Panchor put all kinds of difficulties in the way: their yaks would perish where there was no grazing, and it was impossible to hire yaks, for all had lately gone to Tabie-tsaka for salt. I proposed to go on my own horses and meet them at Mendong-gompa after the excursion, and to this they made no objection at first. If I had not been by this time heartily sick of Tibet, I would have played them a pretty trick, and gone not only to Dangra-yum-tso, but further eastwards until I was stopped. But I was weary of geography, discoveries, and adventures, and wanted to get home. And besides, on comparing the lands east and west of the Teri-nam-tso, I considered the latter far better worth visiting. The former I had traversed by three routes, and two other travellers had been there, but no one had been in the west, and we knew nothing about it except the uncertain data which the Jesuits had gathered from the natives two hundred years ago. In fact this land was the least known part of Tibet, and the road to the Nganglaring-tso crosses the blank patch in its longer direction. If the authorities had asked me which way I would choose, I should have answered, the way to the Nganglaring-tso. It would have been wisest to close at once with Nima Tashi’s suggestion to go straight to Mendong-gompa. But their oppositionegged me on to break another lance for Dangra-yum-tso. I ought to have remembered that he who grasps at all loses all, for I was within an ace of losing Mendong-gompa into the bargain.
For when Nima Tashi saw that he could not make me give way, he secretly sent a message to Tagla Tsering, the chief of Sangge-ngamo-buk, the district we were in and which is subject to Naktsang. And Tagla Tsering came. Last year he had been in Lundup’s train when the latter had stopped us at the foot of Targo-gangri and prevented us from going to the shore of the holy lake. Now he looked very grand and important. Over a mantle of panther skin he wore a belt of six bright silvergaos, and in the belt was stuck a sword with a silver scabbard inlaid with turquoise and coral, and at his side rattled knives and other pendent articles. Over all, he wore a long reddish-violet mantle, and on his head a Chinese silk cap. He was accompanied by six horsemen, and, the day after, twenty more arrived, all armed to the teeth with guns, swords, and lances; all in picturesque bright-coloured costumes, some with tall brimmed hats on their heads, others with bandages round their foreheads, Tagla Tsering evidently took the matter seriously, and tried to get over me by talking of raising the militia (Illust. 329).
The powerful chief meanwhile entered my tent, friendly and pleased, and, like an old friend, bade me heartily welcome, and expressed his great astonishment that I had come back again, though I had been forced the year before to turn back. Had I not already brought about Hlaje Tsering’s fall, and would I cause the new Governor of Naktsang to meet the same fate? Or what did I mean?
“No, Hedin Sahib, you cannot travel to Naktsang. Turn to the west. Nima Tashi had no authority to lead you even to the Teri-nam-tso; it was on the Buptsang-tsangpo you were to meet the caravan. You talk of Mendong-gompa. You have no right to travel thither. There is a nearer way to the rendezvous. Mendong-gompa does not lie in my district, but all the same I have sent written notices to all the govas in the country to stop you if you travel to the monastery.”
Poor Nima Tashi was half dead with fright. He had thought to frighten me, but now he saw that the chief and I sat together like old friends, drinking tea and smoking cigarettes, while he was reprimanded for bringing me too far. I told him afterwards that he was a noodle, and if he now got into trouble in Saka it was his own fault. Tagla Tsering’s good humour was much enhanced when I promised to turn back and conform to the arrangements of the chiefs on the way to Mendong, if by any chance I was prevented from approaching the convent.
We said farewell on May 24, and continued our journey westwards along the southern shore of the lake. The water is salt and has an extremely unpleasant taste, and cannot be drunk in any circumstances. Lamlung-la (16,880 feet) is a commanding pass, which must be crossed to cut off a peninsula. The rocks are granite and green schist. Hares and wild-geese are very plentiful. Here and there are freshwater lagoons on the shore, which forms a very narrow belt at the foot of the mountains. The northern shore belt seems to be much broader. We followed the southern shore another day to the spring Tertsi at the western extremity of the lake, which forms a large regular expansion.
I heard the name of this lovely lake variously pronounced by different nomads. Nain Sing’s Tede-nam-tso is incorrect. The Gova of Kangmar insisted that Tsari-nam-tso was the correct pronunciation, and said that the name was bestowed becauseri di tsa-la tso yore, that is, “The lake situated at the foot of the mountain.” The nomads on the shore, however, said Tiri- or Teri-nam-tso. At our camp 411 were two small mountains on the shore, called Techen and Techung, or the Great and Little Te, or more correctly Ti.Tiis a lama’s throne in a temple,risignifies mountain,namheaven, andtsolake. The whole name therefore has the poetical meaning of the Throne-mountain’s Heavenly Lake. Its height above sea-level is 15,367 feet, or 413 feet lower than Mont Blanc, which, if it lifted up its head from the turquoise billows of the lake, would look like the small rocky islet in its eastern half.
CHAPTER LXXI
ANOTHER JOURNEY ACROSS THE WHITE PATCH
Weleft 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,maniheaps, 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 ofbeing 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 twelvetsoor 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 theTarok-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 atlength 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 theLunkar-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, andtsamba, 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 twochhortens(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 thenorthern 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 akadakh, 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, withnumerous 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 theserpuns, 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.