by John Keay
Throbs
Country
Habit of body
My own
110
Scotland
spare
Gholam Hussein, Munshi
124
Jasulmeree
fat
Omerallah, mule-driver
112
Afghan
spare
Gaffer, groom
114
Peshawuree
spare
Dowd, do.
124
Kabuli
stout
The danger we incurred in sleeping literally amongst the snow, in the middle of winter, at the great elevation of 15,600 feet, did not occur to me at the time: we were most fortunate in having done so with impunity. Our escape is, under Providence, to be attributed to the oceans of tea we drank. The kettle was never off the fire when we were encamped; indeed, throughout the whole of our wanderings, except when feasted in Jerm, the Munshi and myself lived almost entirely upon it. We used the decoction, not the infusion, and always brewed it strong. Another preservative was the firing we kept up and the precaution of sleeping with our feet towards it.
LHASA BECKONS
Regis-Evariste Huc
(1813–60)
The 1844–6 journey to Lhasa of Father Huc was the only generally known account of a European visit to the Tibetan capital in the nineteenth century. Huc and his companion Father Gabet, also a French Catholic missionary, launched their assault from Mongolia and so approached Lhasa from the north-east and in mid-winter. They hoped for conversions in the Lamaist Rome which would assist their work in Buddhist Mongolia. Like other trespassers in Tibet, they were soon detected and escorted back to China, but not before reaching their goal.
A few days after crossing the Mouroui Oussou, the caravan began to break up; those who rode camels wished to push ahead, to avoid being held back by the slow pace of the yaks. Moreover the type of country was such that so large a company could no longer camp in the same place. The pasture was so thin and poor that there was not enough to go round. We joined up with the camel riders, and left the yaks behind. Later our party split up again; once unity was broken, a number of petty caravan leaders arose, and there was frequent disagreement about camping sites and departure times.
We were gradually approaching the highest part of Upper Asia, when a terrible north wind, which blew for a fortnight, was an added and near fatal hazard. The sky remained cloudless, but the cold was so frightful that only at midday could we feel any warmth at all from the sun; and even then only when we got out of the wind. For the rest of the day and especially at night we were continually in fear of being frozen to death. Deeply chapped faces and hands were universal. Such cold is impossible to appreciate if one has never experienced it, but we perhaps can give some idea of what it was like by mentioning one small but significant detail. Each morning before setting off we had a meal, and then did not eat again until reaching camp in the evening. As our tsamba was not sufficiently appetising to consume enough in one go to keep us going till then, we used to prepare three or four balls of the stuff by kneading it in tea, and keep them in reserve for eating during the day. We would wrap the boiling hot paste in a hot cloth and place it next to the skin of our chests; over this we had our clothes, namely: a thick sheepskin vest, then a lambskin waistcoat, then a short fox-fur coat, then a loose woollen robe. Every day of that fortnight our tsamba-cakes froze; when we took them out they were like solid putty, yet they had to be eaten, at the risk of breaking one’s teeth, to avoid perishing of hunger.
The animals, weakened by fatigue and privation, found it harder and harder to survive such cold. The mules and horses, being less resistant than the camels and the yaks, needed special care. We had to cover them with large felt rugs which we tied underneath, and we wrapped their heads in camelhair. In other circumstances all these bizarre accoutrements would have excited our hilarity; but we were too miserable to laugh. Despite all these precautions, the caravan’s animals were decimated by death.
The many frozen rivers that we had to cross were an additional source of hardship and disaster. Camels are so clumsy, their gait is so unsure, that we were obliged to make a track for them by spreading sand or earth on the ice, or by breaking up the surface with our axes. Then we had to lead them carefully in single file to keep them on the right path: if they tripped or slipped, disaster followed; they would crash heavily to the ground, and getting them up again would be a major task. They would have to be unloaded, then dragged on their sides to the river bank; then carpets would have to be spread on the ice; sometimes even that was useless; you could hit them or tug at them and they made no effort at all to get up. Then they had to be left to their fate, for it was impossible to wait, in that terrible place, long enough for a camel to make up its silly mind to get on its feet again.
So many afflictions together eventually wore down the travellers into a state approaching despair. Now not only the animals were dying; men too succumbed to the cold, and were abandoned, still alive, by the wayside. One day when the exhausted state of our animals had forced us to slow down and we had fallen slightly behind the company, we saw a traveller sitting alone beside the way on a boulder; his head was bent, his arms were tight against his side and he was as motionless as a statue; we called him several times, but he made no reply; there was no indication that he had even heard us. “What madness,” we said to each other, “to stop in such weather. He will certainly die of cold.” We called again, but still no movement. We dismounted and went over to him. We then recognised him: a young Tartar lama who had often been to visit us in our tent. His face was waxen, and his half-open eyes were glazed. Icicles hung from his nose and the corners of his mouth. There was no response when we spoke and we thought for a moment that he was dead. But then he opened his eyes and fixed them on us with a horrible expression of stupidity. He was frozen stiff, and we realised that he had been abandoned by his companions. It seemed so dreadful to let a man die in this way without trying to save his life that without hesitation we took him with us. We dragged him off that awful stone on which he had been put and hoisted him on to Samdadchiemba’s little mule. We wrapped him in a blanket and so led him to the camp. As soon as the tent was up, we went to visit the poor young man’s companions. When they learned what we had done they prostrated themselves in gratitude; they praised our kindness, but said that all our trouble would be in vain, for there was no saving him. “He is frozen,” they said, “and the cold will soon reach his heart!” We could not share their hopelessness. We returned to our tent, accompanied by one of them, to see if the patient showed any sign of recovery, but when we arrived he was dead.
More than forty members of the caravan were left in the desert, still alive, and it was quite impossible to do anything for them. The sick were mounted on camel or horseback whilst there was still hope; but when they could no longer eat, speak, nor keep themselves in the saddle, they were left by the wayside. How could one stop and tend them in an uninhabited waste, with the menace of wild beasts, brigands and above all lack of food? It was heartrending to see these dying men abandoned by the way; as a final gesture, a wooden bowl and a little bag of flour were left beside each one; then the caravan went sadly on. When we had all passed by, the crows and the vultures which ceaselessly wheeled above us swooped down on these wretches, who no doubt had enough life left in them to feel the talons that tore them.
The north winds made Father Gabet’s illness much worse. Each day his state became more alarming. He was too weak to walk and therefore unable to keep warm through exercise; his hands and his face were frozen; his lips were already blue, and his eyes dead; then he became too weak to stay in the saddle. All we could do was wrap him in blankets, tie him like a parcel on to a camel and put our trust in God.
One day when we were winding our way along a valley, our hearts full of sad thoughts, we suddenly saw two horsemen appear on the ridge of one of the surrounding mountains. At this period
we were in company with a small group of Tibetan merchants who, like us, had let the main body of the caravan go ahead, in order not to exhaust their camels by keeping up too quick a pace. “Tsong Kaba!” cried the Tibetans. “There are horsemen over there; but we are in deserted country where there are no herdsmen.” Hardly were these words out before we began to see other horsemen appearing at various points: and when we saw them bearing down on us at speed all together we could not suppress a tremor of fear. What could these horsemen be up to in this uninhabited region, and what did they want of us? We were soon convinced that we had fallen into the hands of brigands. Their appearance did nothing to reassure us: each had a slung rifle, and two sabres one on either side of his belt; they had long black hair down to their shoulders, their eyes flashed and each man wore a wolfs skin on his head. We were surrounded by twenty-seven of these alarming characters, and there were only eighteen of us, by no means all of whom were experienced warriors. Both sides dismounted, and a courageous Tibetan from our party went forward to parley with the brigand chief, distinguishable by two little red flags fluttering behind his saddle. After a long and animated conversation the Kolo chieftain said, “Who is that man?” pointing at Father Gabet, who, tied on his camel, was the only one who had not dismounted.
“He is a great Lama from the Western Heavens, and the power of his prayers is infinite,” replied the Tibetan merchant. The Kolo raised his two joined hands to his forehead and gazed at Father Gabet who, with his frozen face and his bizarre cocoon of motley-coloured blankets, looked not unlike one of those terrifying idols in a pagan temple. After a moment’s contemplation of the famous Lama from the Western Heavens, the brigand spoke a few words in a low voice to the Tibetan merchant; then, with a sign to his companions, he and the rest mounted and galloped off over the mountains.
“We’ll go no further,” said the Tibetan merchant, “let’s camp here; the Kolo are brigands, but they are great-hearted and generous; when they see that we are not afraid to stay here, where we are in their hands, they will not attack us. And also, I think that they have considerable respect for the power of the Lamas of the Western Heavens.” So, following his advice, we all set about pitching camp.
The tents were hardly up when the Kolo reappeared on the skyline and galloped towards us at their usual speed. The chief alone came into our camp; the others waited a little outside. He addressed the Tibetan he had spoken to before.
“I have come,” he said, “for an explanation of something that I do not understand. You are aware that our camp is over that mountain, and yet you dare to pitch your tents here, quite close. How many men have you in your party?”
“We are only eighteen; and you, I think, are twenty-seven. But men of courage never take flight.”
“So you want to fight?”
“If there were not a number of sick amongst us, I would answer ‘Yes’, for I have met the Kolo face to face before.”
“You have already fought the Kolo? When? What is your name?”
“Five years ago, at the affray over the ambassador; I still have a reminder of that day,” and he bared his arm, marked with a long sabre scar. The brigand laughed and again asked him his name.
“I am Rala Tchembé,” said the merchant. “Maybe you know that name?”
“Yes, all the Kolo know it, it is the name of a brave man,” said the Kolo and jumped off his horse; he drew a sabre from his belt and presented it to the Tibetan. “Here,” he said, “take this sabre, it is my best. We fought more than once; when next we meet, we shall meet as brothers.” The Tibetan accepted the gift and gave the brigand chief in exchange a magnificent bow and quiver which he had bought in Peking.
The Kolo who had remained outside the camp, seeing that their chief was fraternising with the headman of the caravan, dismounted, tied their horses in pairs by the bridles and came to drink a friendly bowl of tea with the poor travellers who were at last beginning to breathe again. All these brigands were extremely amiable; they asked for news of the Tartar-Khalkas, whom they were particularly anxious to meet, because during the previous year they had killed two of their men who had to be avenged. Politics were also discussed. The brigands claimed to be great supporters of the Dalai Lama, and bitter enemies of the emperor of China; this was why they seldom failed to plunder the embassy on its way to Peking, since they held that the emperor was unworthy to receive gifts from the Dalai Lama, but normally respected it on its return, because it was right and proper that the emperor should send gifts to the Dalai Lama. After graciously accepting the tea and tsamba of the caravan, the brigands wished us a good journey and set off back to their camp. Despite all these brotherly gestures we slept with one eye open. The night was untroubled, however, and next day we peacefully resumed our journey. Amongst the many pilgrims who have taken the road to Lhasa, there are few indeed who can boast of having seen the brigands so near at hand, and suffered no harm from them.
We had just escaped one danger, but, we were told, another even greater, though of a different nature, awaited us. We were beginning to climb the huge chain of the Tant La Mountains. According to our travelling companions all the sick would die on the plateau, and even the healthy would suffer greatly. Father Gabet was condemned to certain death by the experienced travellers. After six days’ painful climb up a number of mountains, ranged as in an amphitheatre one above another, we finally arrived on this famous plateau, maybe the highest point of the world. The snow seemed to form a permanent crust, to be part of the soil. Although it crackled under our feet we hardly left the slightest footprint. The only vegetation was a grass, growing here and there in clumps, short, sharp, smooth, of a woody texture, hard as iron but not brittle; it would have made very good upholsterers’ needles. The animals were so famished that, willy nilly, they had to graze on this terrible stuff. We could hear it crunch as they bit, and they could only get a few mouthfuls of it down after a fierce struggle which made their lips bleed.
Beyond the edge of this magnificent plateau we could see below us the summits and peaks of a number of great ranges of mountains, stretching far away to the horizon. We had never seen anything to compare with the splendour of this stupendous sight. For the twelve days that we travelled on the top of the Tant La we had good weather; the air was windless, and each day God sent a health-giving warm sunshine that tempered to some extent the cold of the atmosphere. Yet the air, much rarefied by the great altitude, was incredibly bracing. Enormous eagles followed our band of travellers, and every day several corpses were left behind for them. It was decreed that Death should also take toll of our small caravan; but it took only our little black mule. We were sad but resigned. The gloomy predictions made about Father Gabet proved quite wrong. Quite the contrary, this plateau did him a deal of good. His health and normal strength gradually returned. This almost unexpected gift of Providence made us forget all our past hardships. We regained our courage, and trusted that God would let us reach our destination.
The descent from the Tant La was long, rough and steep. For four whole days we went down a kind of giant staircase, of which each step was a mountain. At the bottom, we found hot springs of great magnificence. Amongst great rocks, many pools had been hollowed out by nature, in which the water boiled as if in a pot over a hot fire. In places it spouted from cracks in the rocks, innumerable little jets shooting in all directions in a most bizarre manner. There were some pools in which the water boiled at times so violently that great columns of water rose and fell intermittently, as if a great pump were at work. From these springs thick steam rose continuously, to condense into whitish clouds. The water was all sulphurous. After churning and leaping over and over again in the pools amongst the granite rocks it finally succeeded in escaping and flowed down into a little valley, forming a wide watercourse which ran over a bed of golden pebbles. These waters, though boiling, did not remain liquid for long. The extreme cold of the air cooled them so fast that at a little over a mile from the springs the stream was frozen almost solid. There are many the
rmal springs in the Tibetan mountains. The doctor-lamas realise that they have great medicinal properties; they frequently prescribe them for their patients, both for baths and for drinking.