by J J Singh
China’s subsequent hold on Tibet was facilitated by the weakening and demoralization of the Tibetan army on account of the string of defeats suffered by them during the Younghusband mission.
The Anglo-Tibetan Treaty of 7 September 1904 that Younghusband was able to forcibly extract from the Tibetans suffered from two drawbacks. First, the Dalai Lama played a clever trick, and his absence from Lhasa prevented him from being a party to the treaty even though, legally speaking, the seals of the Dalai Lama were affixed by the regent on his behalf, and even though the head lamas of the principal monasteries, the national assembly and council gave the treaty the desired sanctity as far as the Tibetans were concerned. Second, the Chinese Amban did not endorse the document either, thus giving the Chinese a pretext to recuse themselves from the articles in it until an adhesion agreement between the British and the Chinese was negotiated and signed.
The influence of Tsarist Russia, though not as perfidious and pervasive as projected by Curzon, was to a large extent put an end to. The shenanigans of the Buryat monk, Dorjieff, disappeared along with him. This eventually led to the end of the Great Game, with the signing of the Anglo-Russian Convention of 1907 (see Appendix 3 for text).
As a direct fallout of this invasion, neither the Chinese nor the Tibetans ever contemplated transgression of the customary, traditional or defined boundary between Tibet and the cis-Himalayan states from 1905 for at least half a century until the mid-1950s.
The fear that Tibet might be made into a protectorate of Great Britain shook up the mandarins at Peking running the affairs of the Manchu Empire. The imperial court at Peking now realized the necessity of establishing Chinese presence and control in the outlying regions adjoining the provinces of Yunnan and Sichuan, particularly the Marches in the Kham and Amdo areas.
To bring the semi-independent and irrepressible tribes living in these regions under some semblance of control of imperial China, an army was dispatched under a ruthless but dynamic commissioner, Chao Erh-feng, the Taotai (a high official who has control over the military and civil administration). He was appointed the commissioner of the Marches, the dark and shadowy frontier territories between China and Tibet. One of his principal tasks, other than to re-establish Chinese administration over these recalcitrant regions, was to open the roads linking Sichuan and Yunnan with Lhasa over which these tribes held undisputed sway. It is to his credit that during the six-year period from 1905 to 1911, he was able ‘to transform completely the political landscape in eastern Tibet’.12
For the first time in history, Chinese presence was reported in the Pome and Pemako areas of south-eastern Tibet during 1910–11, particularly in the isolated and undiscovered lower Tsangpo Valley and areas bordering the wild tribal territory on the southern slopes of the Assam Himalayas. It was during this period that Chao Erh-feng sent his probes to explore the cis-Himalayan tribal territories. This activity rang alarm bells in the British-administered and governed Brahmaputra Valley and raised the spectre of Chinese presence close to the prosperous tea-producing country in upper Assam.
The myth of the ‘Forbidden Land’ was shattered and the veil over mystical Lhasa lifted as the soldiers of the British army literally kicked up the dust in the placid streets of Lhasa as they pounded down them with their boots. For the first time in Tibetan history, a Western army was seen by the curious lamas and the laity, who were left awestruck; the people of the city lined the streets and hung out on the balconies of Tibet’s capital to watch it march past. The last Shangri-La was laid bare and presented to the world by the telegraphic reports sent by the expedition. Colonel Sir Thomas H. Holditch, a famous British geographer, writing in Tibet, the Mysterious, some years after the return of the Younghusband mission, said: ‘It may be doubted whether even now the fascination of Tibetan travel is dead. But the glamour of it has undoubtedly faded somewhat since the streets of Lhasa have been trodden by the spurred and booted Englishman and his ruthless hand has exposed the mystic shams of that quaint and squalid city.’
Once the mission achieved its objectives in Lhasa, the opportunity to explore for the first time the upper and lower Tsangpo regions was fully exploited, and a good amount of survey work was done along the Tsangpo Valley.
The British were able to showcase their military capabilities and impress not only the Tibetans, but also the Nepalese, Bhutanese, and other cis-Himalayan kingdoms or principalities. The stock of the British Empire rose to a peak in these parts.
Reparation of the costs incurred by the British mission in the form of an indemnity of Rs 75 lakh was to be paid by the Tibetans at the rate of Rs 1 lakh a year for seventy-five years. The British had the right to occupy Chumbi Valley as security till this debt was repaid.13 One can imagine the advantage that would have accrued to India if it had control and presence there till 1979!
The fact that the land they held sacred was trespassed with force by the British was never forgotten in Tibet. There is a very apt Tibetan saying, uncomplimentary to the British victory, that gained currency during those times: ‘Lion! Do not fight with dog! Lion, though victor, is lion defeated.’14
By the terms of the 1904 Lhasa treaty, the British secured the trading privileges that had been one of their ostensible reasons for invading Tibet. They granted themselves extremely favourable terms for trade with Tibet, being allowed to open trade marts at Yatung, Gyantse and Gartok, and to position a British trade official at Gyantse, giving Great Britain hold over Tibet sans responsibility.15
The Russians were to be excluded from Tibet under the treaty; no territory was allowed to be ceded or sold by Tibet to any foreign power; no concessions for railways, roads, telegraphs or mines could be granted; no representatives of any foreign power were to be admitted into Tibet; and no foreign power was permitted to intervene in Tibetan affairs.
The London view of the Younghusband expedition, keenly watched by the Chinese, also requires to be analysed at this stage in order to comprehend the national and international ramifications of the mission and the decision-making dilemmas that confronted the home government. It was difficult for the leadership at the field level and at the general headquarters of the British Indian Army at Calcutta, or for that matter, even for the viceroy’s office, to understand the rationale for certain directions sent by Whitehall, whether from the Foreign or the India Offices. Very often the views and recommendations of the ‘frontier boys’, as the viceroy’s team was called, were rejected with disdain by the know-all mandarins and parliamentarians at London. The sour aftertaste left by the second Boer War at the turn of the twentieth century rendered it extremely difficult for London to gain public acceptability for military expeditions such as Younghusband’s. To begin with, the mission was viewed in a ‘dubious light’ by many a British MP. This justifies A.M.A. Hull’s comments in his book, Colonel Younghusband’s Mission to Lhasa, 1904: ‘If the Younghusband Mission had been born constitutionally illegitimate, with a Russophobe birthright, the British public viewed it with a mixture of ill-ease and quiescence.’ Sections 54 and 55 of the Government of India Act 1858 were explicit on the matter of funding military operations in foreign lands:
Except for preventing or repelling actual invasion of Her Majesty’s Indian possessions, or under other sudden or urgent necessity, the revenues of India shall not, without the sanction of both Houses of Parliament, be applicable to defray the expenses of any military operation carried on beyond the frontiers of such possessions by Her Majesty’s forces charged upon such revenues.16
During a British parliamentary debate on this enterprise in Tibet, an agitated MP termed it as the viceroy’s ‘bear-hunt in the Himalayas’!17 Younghusband himself retrospectively ‘quite realised the difficulty which any Government at home has in securing support from the House of Commons in a matter of this kind’.18 And of his seemingly endless wait for negotiations to start in Khamba Dzong in mid-1903, he goes on to say, ‘As long as what an officer may do is contingent on the “will of men in the street” of grimy manufacturing t
owns in the heart of England, so long must our action be slow, clumsy and hesitating, when it ought to be sharp and decisive.’19 The King’s men at the frontier often found the orders emanating from thousands of miles away from their scene of action extremely frustrating and disappointing to follow, leading many of them to perhaps question the raison d’être of the whole exercise and ask, ‘What the hell are we here for?’
5
First Exile of the Dalai Lama (1904–1909)
The progress of the Younghusband expedition was being closely monitored by the Dalai Lama ever since the British force commenced its advance on 14 July 1904 towards Lhasa from Gyantse. During this leg of the mission’s journey, the Dalai Lama sent his emissaries on four occasions to persuade the British force to turn back. His first delegation met the mission at Gyantse and asked Younghusband to fall back to Yatung in the Chumbi Valley and hold talks there. As the invading force moved closer to Lhasa, the Tibetans approached Younghusband three times—once on 20 July at Nagartse Dzong, the next time at the Tsangpo ferry site around the end of July, and finally on the afternoon of 3 August on the outskirts of Lhasa—exhorting him to return to Gyantse for negotiations.
However, Younghusband was quick to realize that the delegates neither had sufficient authority to make a treaty nor the clout to implement the decisions that would be arrived at. The delegates did not include any Chinese official of rank and invariably comprised Tibetans led by ‘Ta Lama, the ‘Great Lama Minister of the Lhasa Council’, or included some other minister, or the grand chamberlain or the important lamas of the three cardinal monasteries of Lhasa: Ganden, Sera and Drepung. The tone and tenor of the Tibetans’ appeal became softer and more appeasing as the mission neared Lhasa. At the same time their desperation rose at the inevitability of British military boots trampling the sacred roads of Lhasa. The mission would bring the first European soldiers of the ‘yellow-haired’ race and their Indian and Gurkha counterparts to set foot on those sacred streets. But, as the British expedition progressed beyond Gyantse, Younghusband became more and more determined to lead his military expedition into the heart and soul of Tibet, carry the Curzonian doctrine to its logical conclusion and watch the Union Jack fluttering over Lhasa, make the Tibetans fall in line and ultimately secure a binding agreement on British terms from the vanquished. This historical event was to have a lasting imprint on Tibetan and Chinese minds.
Figure 7: Thubten Gyatso: the thirteenth Dalai Lama
Thubten Gyatso, the thirteenth Dalai Lama, quietly slipped out of the Potala Palace on 30 July 1904 when it had become clear that the British force were determined to continue its advance up to Lhasa. With his small retinue he fled northwards towards Urga in Mongolia in the company of the enigmatic Dorjieff as he did not want to be a party to any British-imposed agreement. Urga was the seat of the Jetsum Dampa Lama, also well known as Bagdo Gegen, the third great Hutukhtu.1 Before leaving, as we know, he entrusted his seal and left instructions for the hugely revered Ti Rimpoche, Lobsang Gyeltsen, the head lama of Ganden monastery, appointing him his regent.
Initially, in order to keep a safe distance from the advancing British force, the Grand Lama made his way northwards across to Reting monastery, about 100 kilometres away, across two high-altitude passes.2 From this mountain fastness he could remain in touch with Lhasa as well as be out of harm’s way. Once the invading force entered Lhasa, the Dalai Lama and his entourage, including Dorjieff, took off for Nagchuka en route to Mongolia. The distance to Urga (the current Ulan Bator) was approximately 2,500 kilometres, and it took about four months for the Dalai Lama to reach his destination. It was without doubt an incredible feat—covering such a vast distance at extremely high altitudes, averaging 25 to 30 kilometres a day.
Accounts have it that in the initial stages of this arduous journey the Dalai Lama wore the dress of a Mongolian merchant in an effort to conceal his identity, also doing some hard riding in the bargain. As the journey progressed, his entourage grew larger and larger. The journey has been eloquently described by C.A. Bell in his authoritative account of the Dalai Lama’s sojourn in exile: ‘Having seven hundred persons in his suite, his baggage was carried by a small army of camels.’ On the reception given at Urga to the Dalai Lama from Lhasa, Bell says: ‘Over ten thousand citizens went several miles out of town [Urga] to meet him and prostrate themselves before him. Pilgrims flocked in from all parts of Mongolia, from Siberia, and from the steppes of Astrakhan, to do him homage.’3
In the meanwhile, in August 1904 itself, once it was ascertained that the Dalai Lama had fled and had no intention to return, the Amban had an imperial proclamation announced, and pasted it everywhere in Lhasa declaring the Dalai Lama deposed and nominating the Panchen Lama to act on his behalf. This edict was not accepted by the Tibetans. In many places they tore down the posters or defaced them with dung.
The freezing winters of 1904 and 1905 were spent by the Dalai Lama in Urga. He kept moving residence between three monasteries in the vicinity of the city. His preoccupations weren’t ‘altogether spiritual, for he is said to have been in touch with affairs in Lhasa and in Peking’.4 His prolonged stay at Urga was a burden on its administration and the people because of the high cost of maintaining him and his enormous entourage. Moreover, after the initial euphoria of having the Dalai Lama in Mongolia, the relationship between the two Grand Lamas soured somewhat because the ‘Chen-re-zi’—the Dalai Lama—appeared to command greater reverence from the people. There was also loss of revenue to the Hutukhtu of Mongolia as offerings made by the people had to now be shared between the two personages.
Some time in mid-1906, the Dalai Lama commenced his travels or his ‘wanderings’, as the Chinese called them, southwards to Amdo region, where he visited many monasteries, presiding over spiritual meetings and conducting discourses to spread the message of the Buddha. Giving sermons and dispensing divine blessings as the ‘Inmost One’ wherever he went, he reached Kanchow in Kansu province in September 1906, and three months later Sining near the Sino-Tibetan border. For the followers of his faith the Grand Lama in person was considered something of a divine vision, and everywhere they sought his blessings. For the laity in these regions it was somewhat akin to a devout Catholic being in the presence of the Pope. During 1906–07, the Dalai Lama mostly stayed at the Kumbum monastery. It was coincidental that the British and Chinese were not content to let the Dalai Lama stay for very long in Urga, apprehending unfavourable Russian and Mongolian influence, although neither wanted him back in Lhasa either. The Chinese succeeded in doing so by ensuring the return of the Grand Lama to Kumbum monastery, which was in close proximity to Sining.5 Kumbum, meaning ‘one hundred thousand images’, is the birthplace of Tsongkhapa, and is considered among the most important monasteries in north-east Tibet.6 Facilitated by the Dalai Lama’s absence, the British had begun to court the Panchen Lama as the Chinese strengthened their foothold in Tibet.
The Dalai Lama, being a clever and astute temporal and spiritual leader, kept himself au courant on political developments in Tibet and the region while in exile. His sojourn away from his cocooned existence in Lhasa helped him expand his contacts with the outside world and increase his awareness of the role and politics being played in Asia by the world powers. With the help of Dorjieff he maintained contact with the Tsar. In fact, during his stay in Mongolia the Russians made much of him, and their consul at Urga ‘carefully shepherded’ the Dalai Lama7. The Tsar also directed M. Pokotiloff, his minister at the legation in Peking, to visit the Grand Lama, which he did in June 1906.
Dorjieff was once again dispatched to St Petersburg for an audience with the Russian emperor. However, the Russians did not offer meaningful support to Tibet against either the British or the Chinese because of their own compulsions, most importantly their war with Japan. The Dalai Lama was probably aware of the ongoing parleys between the British and the Chinese that resulted in the Sino-British Convention (Adhesion Agreement) of 1906 signed by the two nations on 27 April 1906 at Peking. O
n the one hand, he felt the status and future of Tibet had been forsaken in an agreement in which the Tibetans had no voice, yet on the other he felt greatly relieved as far as his personal safety was concerned, and confidently commenced preparations for his homeward journey towards Tibet during the summer of that year. He had to play his cards well and bide his time, and he did not appear to be a man in a hurry. Also, at that point the Chinese and the British were not very keen to see him back at Lhasa.
The Chinese were laboriously and ruthlessly re-establishing their control over the Marches along the frontier regions of Amdo, Kham and south-eastern Tibet, whereas the British were busy building a close rapport with the Panchen Lama so as to gain a sphere of influence in southern Tibet. The Chinese and the British were pleased to see the Dalai Lama confined to the environs of Kumbum, away from the influence of the Russians and unable to provide effective temporal leadership to the Tibetans. Seldom are there situations when every stakeholder is happy, but circumstantially, during 1905–08, the principal actors in the Tibetan drama—the Dalai Lama, the Tibetan elite, Britain, Russia and China—had something to be satisfied with … everyone but the ordinary Tibetans, as they felt forlorn and confused without their God! Maybe the Grand Lama was left with very few options and he chose the best of a bad bargain.
While in Sining in 1907, the Dalai Lama received requests from Lhasa to return and also summons from the Manchu court to present himself before the emperor and the empress dowager. He eventually decided to go to Peking and have an audience with the Chinese royalty before returning to Lhasa. He was aware of the Anglo-Russian convention of 1907 and the Adhesion Agreement of 1906 between China and Britain. The signing of the Anglo-Russian convention on 31 August 1907 at St Petersburg clearly spelt out the status of Tibet and duly emphasized ‘both the “suzerain rights” of China in Tibet as well as Britain’s “special interest”, owing to its geographical position, in the maintenance of the status quo in the external relations of that country’.8