Sebuah Perjalanan ke Lhasa dan Tibet Tengah/Bab 2
We entered the monastery of Tashilhunpo by the little western gate, in front of which stand two chortens—one very large with a gilt spire, the other smaller but neatly constructed. I walked along the narrow lane, lined on either side by lofty buildings, with the measured steps and grave demeanour which all wearers of the sacred costume are supposed to have. The rays of the setting sun shone on the gilded spires of the houses and tombs in the monastery, and made a most enchanting picture.[1]
The minister, I learned from his head cook (Machen[2]), whom I now met, had gone to Dongtse, his native town, but he had left instructions that I be lodged in the Targod chyi-khang until his return.
Though the news of the absence of my friend Phendi Khang-sar somewhat damped my spirits, yet the pleasing thought of having been able for the second time to visit Tashilhunpo was a source of infinite gratification. The Machen opened the padlock which closed the great door of the house, and ushered me in with outstretched hands and greetings of "Pundib la, chyag-pheb nang," "Welcome, Mr. Pundit."[3]
The building was a three-storied one, the ground floor, adjoining which were two stables, being used as a godown. The rooms on the first floor were spacious and neat, but very cold on account of the height of the roof and the absence of sunlight. The third story, though it looked snug, was exposed to the wind, and therefore uninhabitable. The minister's steward (Nerpa[4]), coming in while we were looking over the house, recommended the first floor for our residence, as it would be warm in winter, when much air is not desirable. Having made up my mind to occupy it, he had the rooms dusted, and removed some two hundred volumes, a pile of printing-blocks, boards, and tallies with which the rooms were encumbered; and then, some thickly stuffed cushions having been spread, on which our carpets and rugs were placed, he begged us to be seated. Cups were placed on some small tables before us, and tea was brought from the minister's kitchen and served us by the head cook. A few twisted biscuits,[5] some pieces of mutton and tsamba were put before me, and from another teapot tea, of evidently an inferior quality, was served to my companions.
The Nerpa told me that we were to be lodged here by the minister's order, but if we did not like the place we might write to him on the subject, and he would have the letter forwarded to Dongtse. The remoteness of the house, with only that of the minister near it, and, above all, its location near the western gate, gave it peculiar advantages, which appeared to me very essential for my purposes, and we had every reason to be delighted at the forethought of our patron, who had shown himself so anxious about our safe arrival and comfort.
When the Nerpa and Machen had left us, I consulted with Ugyen about making presents to the servants of the minister and to our former acquaintances. Money, being very scarce in Tibet, is valued above all things, so that for the renewal of our former acquaintance we could do nothing better than to make presents of silver coin and scarves (khatag).
Later on in the evening we returned the visits of the steward and his comrades, and presented them with rupees, eight-anna or four-anna pieces, according to the importance of their respective offices. With difficulty we persuaded them to accept the presents, for they feared lest the minister might be vexed at their taking money from me.
December 10.—Ugyen and Phurchung were up by daylight, arranging things and buying firewood and other necessaries. Shortly after I had arisen the men we had hired at Tang-lung to lead our ponies came in for their rewards. I gave each of them six tankas, and some twisted biscuits to carry home to their children, all of which pleased them greatly. It felt strange to me not to have a day's journey before me, so accustomed had I become to daily travel, instead of which I could sit peacefully reclining on my cushions on the balcony, lighted up by the rays of the morning sun. Phurchung was the only servant I now had to attend on both myself and Ugyen, so it was decided to hire a man to help him in fetching water and in blowing the bellows. We had to wait till the Shigatse market (tom) opened at 11 o'clock before we could get any breakfast, for our provisions were exhausted. Both Ugyen and Phurchung went to the market, from which they shortly returned with butter, salt, mutton, tsamba, phing[6] and a few Chinese cakes for me. They had been surrounded on the way by two parties of beggars (Rogyaba), who, recognizing Ugyen as a new arrival from Sikkim, had by alternate threats and solicitations succeeded in squeezing from him several silver pieces. They had also seen an altercation between a woman selling salt and some Khamba traders. One of the latter had bought several scers of salt from the woman, and had offered her a debased tanka in payment, which she had refused. The Khamba would not return the salt or pay in better coin; he called six or seven of his friends to him, threw the salt on the ground, and wanted to beat the woman, whom there was no police to protect. It ended by the savage Khamba walking off unmolested, and the poor woman losing her salt. Ugyen was greatly surprised at the lawlessness of the people in the market, their violence towards the helpless, and the absence of police supervision. I smiled at his fears, and told him to take a hearty breakfast. In the evening I called at the Phuntso Khangsar, and learnt from the steward that Kusho Tung-chen,[7] the minister's secretary, would be back on the following afternoon.
December 11.—My breakfast consisted of a cup of broth (tugpa), with tsamba, radishes, marrow, and minced mutton, a little salt and some dried cheese (chura) in it. When it was over Ugyen and Phurchung went to market, and on the way they met Choi-tashi, a Mongol monk, whom I had once helped at Darjiling with food and money. The faithful Mongol had not forgotten my kindness: as soon as he saw Ugyen he threw his arms around him and led him to his home in the lamasery. Ugyen learnt from him of the whereabouts of some of my old acquaintances—Lob-zang Tanzing and other Mongol friends. Lob-zang had failed to pass his final examination for admission into the monastery, in which it is required of candidates to repeat without a single omission or mistake 120 pages of selected sacred texts,[8] so he had been deprived of subsistence allowances, and had seen his name struck off the roll of monks. He had in consequence left Tashilhunpo four months before my arrival for his native land, proposing to visit Lhasa on the way.
In the market Ugyen met another old acquaintance, the Chinese head of the Shigatse police, who invited him into his house, where his mistress (ani) served them chang and a dish of vermicelli (jya tug).[9] Then the Chinaman told Ugyen of the recent row in which the junior Amban had been involved, and of his own incredibly swift ride to Lhasa to carry dispatches to the senior Amban. As the senior Amban, together with the Shape Sa-wang rampa and Lhalu, had come to Shigatse to settle the trouble, the head constable claimed for himself no small share in the successful termination of the affair. It was also said that the Shape, together with the Amban, had decided to enforce the circulation of every kind of silver coin, no matter how debased. The distinction made in the Shigatse market between good and bad coin was considered to be productive of much inconvenience to trade, and so they had forbidden it. The same order had been recently enforced at Lhasa, to the great convenience and satisfaction of the people. Secret orders were issued to arrest the few respectable monied men who might offer objections to the enforced circulation of debased coin, by which means all trouble in the matter, it was hoped, would be averted. In consequence of this Ugyen took care not to get into trouble by changing our Indian coins for Tibetan tanka, by exchanging them in the monastery itself.
In the market-place my men saw several parties of prisoners loaded with chains weighing twenty pounds and upwards. Some had their hands manacled, others their arms passed through blocks of wood, not a few had their eyes put out. The Government does not provide these miserable wretches with food, but lets them beg their sustenance in the market-place. They are more troublesome than even the Ragyabas, and pour out curses and vile abuse on all who do not at once give them alms. At 4 p.m. I was told that the minister's secretary, the Kusho Tung-chen, had arrived, and wanted to see me; so I dressed myself in my lama costume, and, accompanied by Ugyen carrying a few coins and some khatag, I went to the Puntso Khangsar.
Being conducted into his presence, I presented him with a scarf and a couple of rupees, and Ugyen did the same. We were then given fine khatag, and asked, with an air of genuine cordiality and kindness which greatly pleased me, to be seated beside him. A stuffed raised seat, covered with a Chinese rug, was given me, and a small table placed before me. Ugyen occupied a lower seat, and the table given him was also lower than mine, to show the difference of rank between us. Plates of dried and boiled mutton, together with bowls of tsamba, were served us. An attendant then brought from the minister's shelves handsome china cups, and, filling them with tea, asked me to drink with "Pundib la, sol-ja-she" ("Please drink, Mr. Pundit"), at which I drank about a third of the contents; for it is customary in Tibet not to drink more than this at first, while to drink less would be a reflection on the cook or the host. After a short conversation of no importance I returned to my dwelling.
December 12.—The secretary sent to inform us that he would be despatching a messenger to Dongtse in the evening, and that if we had any letters to send they should be ready before noon. We at once applied ourselves to drafting a letter to the minister, which was no easy matter, as the form of the paper, the margin to be left at the top and bottom of the sheet, and the choice of complimentary words at the beginning, had all to be carefully weighed. We tried to convey to the minister how sorry we were in not having had the honour and pleasure of meeting him at Tashilhunpo, and how thankful we felt to him for his great kindness in arranging for our comfort and accommodation. We begged him, if possible, to return to the capital for the good of all living beings, and particularly for ourselves, who depended solely on his mercy for the security of our lives. We also told him that the lithographic press he had ordered me on my first visit to buy for him in India had arrived at Lachan, where it was held by the prefect of Khamba djong. Ugyen wrote a separate letter to the minister, and then we took them to the secretary, who added a few lines to our notes, asking his master to vouchsafe his sacred protection and mercy to us who had come so far and had encountered such incredible hardships and dangers.
Returning home, I found Lupa gyantsaan (gyaltsan?), a former acquaintance, awaiting me. He presented me some provisions and other things, and offered his services to buy what I might require, and see that I was not cheated. He also agreed to send me a good servant.
In the evening I called on another old friend, a most respectable man, Kusho Dechang. He was delighted to see me. Rising from his cushion, he begged me come in, saying, "Chyag-pheb-nang-chig." The steward (solpon[10]) then served tea, replenishing my cup from a silver teapot (chambim) as soon as it was about a third empty. Kusho Dechang then questioned me concerning the present condition of affairs in Aryavarta (India), and about its government under the Frang (Europeans). The conversation then turned on the recent row with the Chinese and its settlement, reached to-day.
The two Chinese Residents at Lhasa inspect each year in turn the Nepal-Tibet frontier, in order to ascertain the discipline of the garrison at Tingri and the state of the defences and military resources of the several frontier posts. As the task is a most tedious and fatiguing one, owing to the desert-like condition of the country, the Ambans draw lots to find out who is to go on the inspection tour. In the latter part of October of this year it fell to the junior Amban's lot to visit Tingri djong and Shigatse. He started accordingly, accompanied by an experienced Tibetan civil officer with the rank of Tsipon (accountant), who was to arrange, as usual, for the transportation of the Amban and his retinue by sending messengers (ngondo) ahead to the different stations along the road. The Amban decided to follow the northern road (chang lam) via Toilung Tsorphu.
|
1.Labrang Phodang. The palace of the Tashi Lama. |
14.De-chan Phodang. The summer palace of the Grand Lama, in Saust Sukhavatipur. |
Now, according to pre-established custom, the Tibetan treasury has to pay the Amban a daily travelling allowance of four doche, or Rs. 500;[11] but the Government of Lhasa, instead of paying it out of the Government treasury, raises it from the people at the time of the Amban's journey and along his route. The obligation of raising the Amban's allowance then devolved on the Tsipon Kong chyang-lochan. On arriving at Shigatse, the Amban demanded six doches, or Rs. 750, instead of four. The Tsipon notified the people (misser) between Shigatse and Tingri, and when they refused to give this amount, the headmen (tsog-pon) were flogged, and their ponies and property sold to make up the amount.
Returning to Shigatse on his way back to Lhasa, the Amban stopped there several days, during which he insisted on a daily allowance of Rs. 750, which, the people protesting they could not pay, the Chinese soldiery, by various oppressive means, tried to squeeze out of them. The Tsipon tried to resign his commission, and then the Amban visited his anger on him. In the mean time the people combined in a body to resist the exaction, and, with the connivance of the two prefects (Djongpon) of Shigatse, openly refused payment of the Amban's unjust demands. The Amban, furious, ordered his Chinese soldiers to arrest the Djongpon and put the Tsipon in irons; but the former fled, and the soldiery were stoned by the mob. The next day the Tsipon was tied to a pillar of the Amban's house and flogged. After he had received some fifteen cuts, volleys of stones were thrown, and the Amban severely hurt before he could escape into the house, and he was only saved from the infuriated populace by the prompt arrival of the Tibetan general (Dah-pon) with the troops under his command. Then it was that a messenger was sent post-haste to Lhasa, and the senior Amban, the ministers (Shape) Rampa and Lhalu having arrived, formed, with the temporal minister of the Tashi lama (Kyab-dvang chenpo) and the paymaster of the forces, a commission to investigate the matter.
Their judgment in the case was made known on the 12th. It bore that the two Djongpon of Shigatse should be degraded from the third to the fourth class of Chinese official rank, losing also their position as Djongpon for that of Djongnyer under new Djongpon; and that, furthermore, each of them should receive two hundred blows with the bamboo. The village headmen (tsog-pon) were to receive four hundred blows with the bamboo, and be imprisoned for two months in the jails of Re and Khamba djong. Eight elders (gampo) were to receive fifty blows of the bamboo, and wear the cangue for six months.
As to the junior Amban, it being proven that he had attempted to extort more than his allowance from the people, the Commissioners decided to petition the Court of Peking to no longer allow the payment by the Tibetan people of the Chinese travelling allowance (jya-tal[12]) in such cases, only supplying the usual travelling facilities. To obtain this concession, it is said that two Lhasa Shape paid the Amban fifteen doche, or Rs. 1875.
Dechang then inquired what medicines I had brought, as he was suffering from a cold and cough, and I promised to give him some later on. Then, pouring the contents of my cup into the slop-bowl (shalu[13]), as a sign of taking leave, I arose and went home.
December 13.—To-day some 15,000 persons assembled at noon in the market-place to see the arrival of the Kashmir Envoy with his guards and escort in military dress. All the alleys of Shigatse, the courtyard of Kesar Lhakhang, and the adjacent gardens were filled with people all eagerly waiting for the temo (sight). There was the Envoy of the Maharaja with some fifty sowars, all in uniform, besides a hundred mounted followers of various nationalities, some Sikhs, Mohammedans with flowing beards and white turbans, Ladakis in clumsy lambskin dresses, Murmis from Kepal, Dokpas from Chang, a few Nepalese, and some Tibetans from Kirong. There were also with the Envoy a number of merchants dressed in princely style, and attended by servants in liveries of silk and broadcloth. Some of their ponies were also richly caparisoned with ornaments of silver and brocade of gold. The Kashmir Government, I learnt, sends an envoy to Lhasa every three years with presents (called tribute) to the Grand Lama. The Tibetan Government, on receiving notice of the proposed setting out of the mission, has relays (ta-u) of ponies and mules about 500 head, and also coolies, prepared at all the towns and post-stations along the road from the Ladak frontier to Lhasa. Although so large a number of ponies and men is hardly necessary for the Envoy, who only brings presents of precious things of little bulk, the party avails itself of the privilege for the carriage of personal property and merchandise to and from Lhasa. As the mission passed by, we heard the people remark that all this splendour and ostentation was at the expense of the Government of Lhasa, and to the ruin of the poor people of Tibet.
The origin of this tribute from Kashmir to Lhasa is as follows: After the conquest of Ladak, Balti, and Skardo, Zorwar Sing, the famous Sikh general of Maharaja Golab Sing, turned his arms against Rudok and Gar in the year 1840–41. These two provinces, which produce the finest wool of Tibet, and contain the wealthiest and most sacred of its monasteries, were held by the great Buddhist ruler of Tibet as his most valued possessions, and the Sikh general, by attempting their conquest, excited the wrath of the Lhasa Government, who, applying to their suzerain, the Emperor of China, was able to put more than 10,000 men in the field. Zorwar Sing, with some 5000 men, invaded these two provinces, and the governor (garpon) fled to the Chang tang,[14] leaving the fort (of Rudok?) and the whole country at the mercy of the enemy. The general established himself near the sacred lake Mapham (Manasarowar), and sent detachments all over the country to pillage and spread desecration in the holiest of Buddhist sanctuaries at Mapham and Kailas; and one body of troops he posted at Purang, near the Nepal frontier, to watch the Lhasa forces. The combined forces of Lhasa and China now marched on Rudok under the leadership of one of the Shape; and Zorwar Sing, whose contempt for the Tibetan soldiery was great, and who underrated the strength of the forces opposed to him, sent some small detachments of his troops to oppose their advance. These were cut to pieces, when he himself, at the head of his troops, advanced to encounter the Lhasa forces. The two armies fought for two days and nights without any decisive result, but on the third day the Sikh general fell, and victory declared itself for the lamas. The defeat was complete, and the number of slain on both sides immense. The victorious troops now threatened Ladak, and the Maharaja sued for peace. A treaty was concluded by the agent of Golab Sing and the Government of Lhasa, of which one of the terms was the payment of a triennial tribute.
Talking with the Kusho Tung-chen of the severity of the punishment inflicted yesterday on the Djongpon of Shigatse and the circle headmen (tsog-pon), he told me that, besides those mentioned above, the Djongpon had had the flesh and skin stripped off their hands. The tsog-pon had offered to pay the mandarin Rs. 2000 a-piece to escape the 400 blows of the bamboo, but the Chinese had been inexorable.
December 14.—The Tung-chen sent me one of his acquaintances, Norpu Tondub, a Donnyer of Dongtse, with a request that I would let him have some medicine, as he was suffering from dyspepsia. At first I refused, as I had but very few drugs with me, and only in quantity sufficient for myself; but, the Tung-chen insisting, I took my medicine-chest with me and went to his house. Lifting up the lid, I displayed the various bottles with their sparkling contents, the secretary, his friends, and the servants all looking on with amazement, while Norpu Tondub, at the very sight of the bottles, seemed to become certain of recovery, and said he would pay as much money as I might ask. I replied that even then I could not let him have any medicine, as no amount of money could get me a fresh supply of drugs from India once these finished, for the passes were all closed by the Tibetan Government. At this the Tung-chen looked anxious, so I opened one of the bottles and called for a china cup, and three or four persons ran to the kitchen and brought me half a dozen large and small ones. I weighed the medicine in my brass balance; the drams and scruples, which glittered like gold coins, perplexed them much, as they thought I was a miracle-worker who used gold coins for weights. I now told them that the two medicines when mixed would boil. The very announcement of this filled the spectators with mute amazement, and made the patient tremble with fear; he looked at the Tung-chen and then to heaven with anxiety, evidently repenting him for having pressed me for medicine, and seemed anxious to escape from my hands. The secretary, too, looked aghast; but the medicines were mixed, and to his mind they were too valuable to be thrown away; so, having examined if the two mixtures were hot, and finding that they were not, he encouraged the patient, saying that I was a great physician, and he had no cause to apprehend danger from my hands. I told the patient that he could depend on me that I was not going to administer poison to him, and to be ready to take the draught as soon as it frothed up. All waited with eager expectation to see the phenomenon, when lo! the mixture foamed with a hissing noise, which made the patient shrink back. I told him to dip his finger in the boiling mixture; and when he found it cold he uttered the mystic sentence, "Om mani padme hum," and swallowed it, and said it was agreeable and refreshing. He then drew from the breast of his gown a khatag and a few coins, and offered them to me, laying the scarf on the ground before me. "Great physician," he said, "accept this little token of my gratitude, though it is not worthy of your acceptance. Considering, however, that you are a pious man to whom money is of no value, I venture to hope you will accept it." I declined the money, but at the request of the Tung-chen accepted the scarf. With looks of open-mouthed astonishment and feelings of endless admiration for the marvellous properties of the medicine and for the wonderful amchi (physician) who disdained money, the little circle of spectators returned to their houses and work.
The punishment of the Djongpon had filled the people with fear of the Chinese. They apprehended new insults at the hands of the Chinese swaggering about the streets of Shigatse. People who had come to the market from a distance to sell their goods were packing them up to hurry off home. No provisions could be had, no purchases could be made. Ugyen met some grain-dealers whom he knew, and begged them to sell him some rice, but none would acknowledge even that they had any for sale. An old woman who had sold us rice on our first visit here said, "Do not talk of rice before the Chinese and their friends, for they will come and take what I have away and throw some bad coins in my cloth. Come in an hour or two, when the rascals have gone away, and I will let you have what you want." On one side of the market-place is a large zakhang, or restaurant, where Phurchung and Ugyen went to appease their hunger. While they were busy with their chopsticks the proprietor came in. He was a nobleman of Tashilhunpo, head of the Tondub Khangsar family, and held the office of Chyangjob of the Tashi lama. He asked Ugyen whence he had come, where he had put up, and what merchandise (chong) he had for sale. The lady, under whose immediate supervision this establishment is, is no less a personage than the wife of this dignitary. Her manners were gentle and dignified, and she spoke in a sweet and polite manner. Her head-dress was covered with innumerable strings of pearls, worth certainly not less than Rs. 3000, and besides these there were on it coral beads, rubies, turquoises, and other precious stones. Although she belongs to one of the richest and noblest families in Tsang (Ulterior Tibet), besides being connected with the family from which the Tashi lama has sprung, yet she does not feel it beneath her dignity to keep the accounts of the inn and superintend the work of the servants.
December 15.—To-day was the twenty-fifth of the tenth Tibetan moon, and one of the greatest holidays of the Gelugpa Church, being the anniversary of the death of Tsongkhapa. It is known as Gadan namchoi. In every chapel new torma[15] of tsamba take the place of the old ones, which are now thrown away.
Late in the afternoon the Mongol monk Lobzang tanzing, to whom I have previously referred, came to pay me his respects, and presented me a long khatag and the carcass of a large sheep. He had only a few days before been released from a two-months' imprisonment, under suspicion of being implicated in a case of forgery, and had been repeatedly flogged. His tutor had been sentenced to three years of imprisonment, and had been sent to the prison of Khamba djong.
In the evening the monks of Tashilhunpo busied themselves illuminating their chapels. Hundreds of butter-lamps were tastefully placed in rows on the roof of every building in the lamasery. The Government supplies butter to every house in the town and to every resident monk, to enable them to contribute towards the illumination. From the roof of my house I saw the illuminations to great advantage. The fantastic roofs of the four tombs (gyophig) of the Tashi lamas were beautifully lit up. The mitre-shaped spires, the upturned eaves of the temple looked most gorgeous, and resembled the illuminated tajiahs in a mohurum procession in India. The great monastery of Tashilhunpo, situated as it is at the foot of a hill, presented a magnificent appearance. For an hour the illumination was beautiful, but towards 7.30 o'clock the wind began to blow a gale, and had soon extinguished all the lights and driven me into my house shivering with cold.
One of the newly incarnated lamas of Tashilhunpo, who had just arrived from the province of Tu-kham, in Eastern Tibet,[16] took advantage of to-day being a holiday to get himself admitted into the tu-kham tsan order of monks. He invited the Panchen from Kun-khyab ling, and presented to 3800 monks a tanka each, making also large presents to the Grand Lama (of Lhasa?), his court, and the College of Incarnate Lamas. At about 8 a.m. his holiness, the Panchen,[17] arrived, and was received with due honours by the monks and State officials. The road for about 300 yards was lined with red broadcloth and banners. Some old lamas stood in a profoundly reverential attitude on either side of the road, bearing divers sacred objects to receive the Panchen's chyag-wang (blessing[18]). Chinese trumpets, melodious flutes (gyaling), and great resounding horns (dung ch'en) sounded in his honour. He took his seat on an altar in the grand hall of worship (Tso khang), to preside over the inaugural ceremonies. By 10 o'clock the ceremony was over, and we saw the monks returning cheerfully to their cells, each bearing a large flat cake, sticks of candy, and strings of beads. The new incarnation, now admitted as a novice in Tashilhunpo, had gone through the usual course of moral discipline and study like any other monk. Within a year from the date of admission, every monk is required to pass an examination in selections from the sacred books, of which he must repeat from memory, and without a single mistake, 125 leaves. Candidates coming from outside Tibet are generally allowed three years to prepare for their final admission, which gives them the privileges of a resident monk, with an allowance of food. Any one failing to pass the final examination forfeits his rights to residence and his allowances. Once admitted, the monk may rise, by dint of industry and study, to the various degrees of lamahood.
At noon there was a large crowd between Tashilhunpo and the Shigatse djong (fort)—men and women in holiday dress, monks from the lamaseries, and not a few Chinese, to witness the annual rope-dancing. A long rope was stretched from the top of the fort to the foot of the lower castle bridge, a distance of 300 feet or more. Then an athlete appeared, a white khatag tied around his neck, and took his place at the upper end of the rope. With his face turned upwards, he invoked the gods; then, looking downwards, he invoked the nagas of the nether world, raising his voice to its highest pitch, and at times shrieking in a terrific manner. Then he scattered flour on all sides, and sang a snatch of a song, to which some one in the crowd sang out a laughable reply. He then let himself slide down the rope, exchanging jokes thrice with the crowd on his way down, and finishing with a shriek.[20]
Phurchung and Ugyen, whom I had sent out to buy books for me, returned towards 2 o'clock with a quantity, and later on, while I was sitting making my choice of volumes, the bookseller's son came in to carry back those I did not require. I had a talk with him about different books, and he gave me some very interesting information.
I engaged also, to-day, a new cook in place of Phurchung, whom I proposed sending to Khamba djong to arrange for the conveyance from the Lachan barrier to Khamba of the lithographic press bought for the minister.
December 16.—Getting up from bed at 7 a.m., I spread two mattresses on the third floor, opened the shutters, and, while basking in the sun and sipping tea placed on a little table before me, began to turn over the leaves of one of my newly purchased volumes. The residents of the neighbouring houses peeped out from their windows to observe my manners and habits. Henceforth I was careful to conduct myself like a good gelong (priest). Reading attentively, writing and making notes was the chief occupation of my days. It was not my habit to chant mantras, or hymns, or say my beads, for in the former practice I was never proficient, and with my beads I could only separate one bead from another without any knowledge of the prayers meant to accompany that mechanical action.
The new cook has proved no improvement on Phurchung; he is a sloven, and though I promised him a reward for cleanliness, he neither washed his face nor cleaned his teeth,[21] and always smelled most offensively. Finally I got Phurchung to make him wash his clothes and face. Our breakfast usually consisted of a few pieces of bread, tea, and one or two cups of a thin paste made of boiled tsamba, mutton, and dried milk, and called yatug. In the evening I met the Tung-chen, the minister's secretary, and talked to him about getting the lithographic press here. Two of his friends were sitting with him, one of them engaged in munching a piece of boiled mutton. He told me that the Tung-chen had toothache, caused by worms in the root of a tooth, and could only eat hashed or pounded meat. The secretary showed me the cavities made, he said, by thread-shaped worms (ringpa). He had killed several, lie added, by inserting red-hot pins in the cavities.[22]
December 17.—A messenger arrived from Dongtse with a letter from the minister asking Uygen and me to come to Dongtse, a distance of about 40 miles, which town he was unable to leave, for various reasons, for some time to come. Before leaving I was anxious to start off Phurchung for Khamba djong, and also to get winter clothes for myself, as the cold was getting keener every day. Our house, like all houses in Tibet, had no chimney, and as the ceiling was covered with fine Chinese satin, dung-fuel was most objectionable, so I had charcoal burnt in the room in nicely made earthen stoves (jalang), paying about a rupee four annas a maund weight.
At about noon a great procession arrived from Dechan Phodang[23] to pay homage before the image of the Emperor of China kept in the monastery. From the roof of the minister's house I commanded an excellent view of the southern and western quarters of the town. The Tung-chen told me that to-day was a Chinese holiday, the anniversary of their present Emperor's accession to the throne, when all Chinese and subjects of the Emperor are required to offer him homage and to pray to Heaven for his long life and prosperity. Within the monastery there exists an image of the Emperor of China, probably Chien-lung, to pay reverence to which the procession I now saw, headed by the Lhasa Shape, the Ambans, the Shape Bora of Tsang, was now advancing. Flag-bearers and a mounted troop came first, then Tibetan officials, in their best apparel of brocaded satin (kinkab), painted with the dragon of the Tartars, and Chinese satins of various colours and patterns, riding on richly caparisoned ponies, were marching slowly and solemnly towards the western gate of the monastery. The Chinese were conspicuous by their pigtails and petticoats, and, though very well dressed, were all black and of villainous appearance, greatly contrasting with the respectable Tibetan gentry, which forced me to think that they were all recruited from low-class people from Western China; and the Tung-chen told me that these men were noted in Tibet for their dissipated and licentious habits.
Some men carried boards about two feet square, on which were written the Amban's titles and his commission to supreme authority over the whole of Tibet.[24] Some of these inscriptions were in Chinese, and were carried by Chinamen; others, in the Tibetan language, were carried by Tibetans. The Shape also rode, their advance heralded by two men who warned passers-by to keep out of the way. Each was escorted by three mounted men, one on either side of him, and one marching in front, keeping off the crowd with whips, which they freely used, while two grooms ran behind holding his horse's tail. There were about three hundred dignitaries and gentlemen of the provinces of U and Tsang, besides the followers and retainers of the Ambans. The Ambans' sedan chairs were carried by eight Chinese soldiers to each, and some fifty Tibetan soldiers helped to drag them with long cords attached to the bars of the chairs.[25] After paying homage at the sacred chapels and tombs of the departed saints, the procession came out of the monastery by the eastern gate, and, headed by the Shape Bora, marched across the market-place towards Kun-khyab ling. First came the officers of state, then followed the paymaster's (Pogpon[26]) party, then the Chinese officials, followed by the chief Amban in his state chair. The flags, carried in tasteful array, were all of China silk, those at the point of the lances of the guard being of brocade, and inscribed in Chinese and Tibetan. Throughout the march the Tibetans occupied a subordinate position, and the Chinese displayed their superiority in every possible way. Though the crowd had reason to fear a whipping from the Chinese, who ran on all sides, they did not suffer from the Amban's guard. The junior Amban, as he followed on horseback, seemed pleased to see the heavily chained prisoners, the recently punished headmen groaning under the weight of their cangues. His sedan chair was carried by the same number of soldiers as that of the senior Amban, and his retinue and followers resembled his. Then came the other Shape with their respective retinues. The guards were all armed with Chinese matchlocks and long spears. Following them came the captains and lieutenants of the army, with a hundred men; and behind these marched the yellow and black turbaned officers of Labrang and the Djong. The Ambans were received by his Holiness, the Panchen, with due honours, and they paid him the reverence due to his exalted position and holy character.
In the evening I saw the Tung-chen, who gave me a very valuable manuscript entitled Dsamling gyeshe, or "General account of the world."[27] I carried it off with me to my house to read.
December 18.—The Tung-chen sent one of his storekeepers, Tsering-tashi by name, to Tondub Khangsar to get a passport (lam-yig) to enable me to send Phurchung to Khamba djong and Lachan, to bring here our heavy luggage. The tailor came at 7 o'clock this morning to begin work on my winter clothes. We kept ready for him a kettle of tea on an earthen stove. A cup, a few pieces of boiled mutton, and a wooden bowl filled with tsamba remained all the time before him, and he drank some tea every hour or so, making also three meals a day. His breakfast consisted of mutton, tsamba, and tea; at noon we gave him a dish of rice and mutton curry, tsamba, and tea; and at 6 o'clock he ate a few balls of tsamba, put on his yellow turban (bakto), and, making a low bow, walked off towards his home at Tashi-gyantsa. I was much pleased with his steady work, which had earned for him the proud title of Uje chenpo, or "head craftsman,"[28] and secured for him a tanka a day wages, exclusive of food.
December 19.—Tsering-tashi was despatched again after the passport. The delay in securing it was occasioned by the Tung-chen not having tipped the clerks and officials who had charge of the matter. The senior Amban started to-day for Lhasa viâ Gyantse and Nangartse djong. All the ponies of Shigatse had been requisitioned to supply his numerous retinue with riding and pack animals, so the junior Amban and the Shape could not get off for want of ula, and the local authorities of Gyantse were ordered to supply what they could to them as soon as the senior Amban reached their place. In the meanwhile the Chinese were strolling about the Shigatse market, carrying off the best of everything, paying nothing, or only a nominal price for the things they took. People coming into town saw their ponies seized by the ta-u officers for the Amban's service, and started off with loads to Gyantse. My men could buy nothing, for most of the people had packed up their wares and fled; but they managed to purchase some mutton and rice inside the monastery, and we found out that good things could be had there at comparatively moderate prices.
December 20.—I passed most of my day reading a collection of hymns, the composition of the second Dalai lama,[29] which I had bought from a Lhasan bookseller. To-day there arrived five men from Gyantse, whose advent was at once detected by the Rogyabas, for these pests are always on the look-out for new-comers, whom they at once surround with clamorous solicitations for alms. Few can escape from their hands without paying them something. As soon as the Rogyabas saw these Gyantse men, they informed all the fraternity of the new prey, on which vulture-like they pounced. Well do they deserve their name, which means "corpse-vultures," though, to speak the truth, they prey on the living.[30] These Gyantse men brought news about the orders issued by the Lhasa Government stopping the egress and ingress of all traders at the frontier passes. The two Djongpon of Phagri were busy executing these orders; no one, it was said, had eluded their vigilance and reached Darjiling. Even some Bhutanese traders on their way to Lhasa were stopped at Phagri; but another party of these people had started out, in defiance of the Djongpon, for Lhasa. The Bhutan Government resented such unusual interference on the part of the Tibetans in a trade which had been carried on from ancient times.
December 21.—To-day is the new moon (nam-gang, or "full night"), one of the holiest days of the month. The conch-shells called loudly the lamas to prayers. From break of day to an hour after sunset large numbers of men and women circumambulated the monastery, some carrying strings of beads, others prayer-wheels. Early in the morning the Nepalese, beating cymbals and chanting Sanskrit mantras, walked around the great monastery.
Towards 10 o'clock my attention was attracted by an unusual scene to the east of the monastery, where the entire space between the great mendong of the market-place and the eastern gateway of Tashilhunpo was filled with beggars, both men and women. Among them were people from Amdo and Khams, whose eyes had been put out for crimes such as murdering lamas; some were cripples and walked with crutches, some in heavy chains and drawn on wheelbarrows, some maimed, others deaf and dumb, others, again, still bearing traces of the torture to which they had been subjected—a vast concourse of misery and pain. In their midst stood the well-known Lhagpa-tsering distributing alms, an anna to each one. For ten years past he had done thus on the first of every moon. The circumstances which led this worthy man to undertake giving alms to the indigent is very remarkable and instructive.
Lhagpa-tsering had been a silversmith, and had by patient work amassed such wealth that he established himself as a jeweller and banker. His business prospered; in his shop were all kinds of goods—fine china, besides pearls, coral, turquoises, and jade; and here came all the great men of the country. He became noted also for his munificent gifts to the lamasery of Tashilhunpo. Some ten years ago there lived at Shang a saintly lama called Chyabtam lama; the purity of his life and his vast learning had made him an object of worship for all classes of people in Tsang. The jeweller Lhagpa, believing that if he made offering to so holy a personage his profits in trade would increase a hundred-fold, went to Shang and offered the lama Rs. 1250, besides numerous objects of value. The saint refused them all, telling him that they represented dishonest earnings, and were the property of a dishonest man. "In a previous existence you were a great sinner, and in your next you will be a crocodile."
On the following morning Lhagpa, filled with horror at his impending fate, came and begged the sage to tell him how he might avert the horrible punishment—what acts of charity, what good deeds would save him; but the lama made no reply. Again the next day he came, and the saint looked in his magic mirror, and said, "If henceforth you give alms to the poor and helpless, of whatever station, creed, or country they may be, on every new moon throughout the year till your death, you will surely get immense wealth, as well as escape from rebirth as a crocodile. There are no other means to save you;" and he sent Lhagpa away without accepting his gifts. Since then he has been in the habit of distributing alms on the first day of the moon. His example has produced a wholesome influence on the merchants of Khams, who now show some hesitation in cheating. A trader, when he cheats others, thinks, as a general rule, if he is a Buddhist, that the amount thus gained was due to him in a previous existence. This is a dangerous principle.
Close to the cemetery of Shigatse, called Kega tsal, is the Chinese graveyard, where there are about three hundred tombs of varying size and very rude construction. At a short distance from this is the parade-ground, about half a mile square, called Jah-hu-tang, and touching it a walled enclosure, used for target practice with bow and gun, in the centre of which is a large house used by the Ambans. On the sides are high towers for the drum-beaters and trumpet-blowers. The headmen of the whole country had assembled here to-day to muster the porters and pack-ponies required by the junior Amban and the Tibetan officials returning to Lhasa. Three hundred ponies were ready, and it was decided that one man should accompany each horse. Orders had been given by the Amban to requisition all the ponies in the province, no matter whether they belonged to subjects, traders, or pilgrims.
December 22.—To-day, at 9 a.m., the junior Amban, with a retinue of 300 men on horseback, left for Lhasa. The owners of the relay ponies followed them on foot, keeping pace with the ponies, or if they lagged behind they were whipped by the men on horseback; so that some dropped out and disappeared, abandoning their property to the Chinese rather than undergo their ill treatment. Of the six village headmen exiled to Re and Khamba djong for their share in the recent trouble, I learnt to-day that one had died on the road, and another is hanging between life and death.
December 23.—To-day the Shape Lhalu and 100 followers, all on horseback, left for Lhasa. The ponies and the men who have to accompany them on the ula are treated with great hardship. They have to carry their food with them, as well as provender for their beasts. In the present case they had received but short notice, and are ill prepared for the long journey. This forced service is, however, patiently borne by the people, as it is a recognized custom of the country.
The market to-day received a large supply of pottery from the village of Tanag and Lholing, on the Tsang-po, a few miles north-west of Shigatse. In these localities excellent potter's clay is obtainable, and the people carry on a profitable trade in earthenware with the surrounding districts. The Tanag pottery has not only an extensive sale in Tibet, but in the cis-Himalayan countries as well, where most utensils are of untinned copper, and the Sikkim and Darjiling people use them exclusively in preference to the earthenware made by the Nepalese inhabiting the Lower Himalayas. The Tanag earthenware is carried to the banks of the Tsang-po on donkeys, and there transferred to hide-boats (kodru), in which it is brought down to the Patama ferry, about four miles to the north-east of Shigatse. The Patama dealers, who, by the way, raise fine crops on the alluvial soil along the river banks, and make a good deal of money by fishing and ferrying, carry the earthenware to Shigatse on donkeys that jog slowly along the road to the jingle of big bells fastened around their necks. The Lholing pottery is brought to Shigatse viâ Tanag; this locality manufactures very large vessels for keeping wine or water in, and so heavy that two men can hardly lift them. The Tanag pottery is so highly glazed that it compares favourably with the Chinese and European earthenware sold in the Calcutta shops.[31]
There were on the market-place many wildly dressed Dokpas of the Chang province. The women wore such heavy and fantastic apparel that one who had not before seen them might well be taken aback. From a distance these savages looked as if they wished to imitate the peacock's gaudy plumes in their costume; they had so many beads of glass, coral, amber, and turquoise suspended from their headdress that one could hardly see their faces.
To-day the tailor finished our winter suits, consisting of a Chinese coat (kwa-tse) and trousers (pishu).[32] The lambskin lining in all the suits was quite neatly sewed. I was also furnished with a foxskin (wapa) cap, made after the Lhasa fashion. Provided with these, I felt well equipped for my journey to Dongtse. To make the linings of the coat, I had bought about sixty fine lamb-skins at a cost of Rs. 7.8. These skins appeared to have been obtained from very young lambs, which must have died shortly after birth, for the cost of a single piece of skin was not more than three or four annas, and as the live lambs would fetch at least double that price, it is not likely that they had been killed for their skins. It is, however, not unusual for the shepherds to kill ewes for the soft skin of their unborn lambs, for they fetch a high price. The demand from China for this kind of lambskin has, however, of late years much decreased, and the practice of killing ewes for the purpose of obtaining them is becoming rare.[33]
In the evening Tsering-tashi brought us the passport from the Tondub Khangar, to enable us to bring our things from Lachan to Tashilhunpo. Though it is customary to issue passports in open covers, this one was enclosed in a letter to the Djongpon of Khamba, and we were therefore unable to know its wording, but feared from this fact that some orders, probably to examine closely our packages, were contained in it. The Tung-chen, however, did not apprehend that any trouble would arise from this fact, but we could not share his confidence.
December 24.—In the morning, after washing, I went upstairs to sit in the sun. The cook brought tea and placed the pot on the stove before me. I had emptied three or four cups, warming my numbed hands against the warm cup, when Dungyig Phurching, a copyist, arrived, and was shortly followed by the Khamba Dungyig.[34] I received the first with "chyag-pheb nang-chig" ("Please come in"), extending my right hand towards him, and, as an additional mark of respect to the latter, I half raised myself from my seat and placed him on my left hand on the same rug on which I was sitting. After an exchange of the usual compliments, he opened a bundle of papers and showed me an almanac he was engaged in copying for the minister.
He said he was sorry that he was unable to copy the manuscript of the Dsam-ling-gyeshe, but recommended Dungyig Phurching; and the latter agreed to do the copying at the rate of six leaves for a tanka, exclusive of ink and paper.
To-day news arrived of the death of the Tsopon Shanku, one of the six headmen, and the richest among them, punished on account of the late riot. I saw several monks and laymen carrying from the monastery to Shigatse three huge copper caldrons, about five feet in diameter, and I learnt that tea and tugpa (a soup of tsamba, minced meat, and radishes) were to be prepared in them for the entertainment of upwards of a thousand beggars in honour of the deceased. The caldrons belong to the lamasery, and were loaned for the occasion.
During market-time Ugyen visited a Nepalese (Balpo)[35] friend in Shigatse, from whom he learnt that Nepalese trade was suffering greatly by the introduction of Calcutta goods on the Tibetan market. "The Balpo traders," he said, "used to make a hundred per centum profit in former times, but nowadays the introduction of Calcutta goods by shorter routes than the Katmandu one we have to follow has caused a great falling off in our profits and the bulk of our trade."
Later on in the day the Tung-chen's men came and told us of the arrangements made for our journey to Dongtse, and that we were to be ready to start on the following morning. As we would only remain at Dongtse a very short while —for the minister was expected to return in a few days to Tashilhunpo—we were told not to take many things with us, and were not to hire donkeys, as we had intended, to carry our luggage. I passed the evening writing letters to send home by Phurchung, who was to start at the same time as we did for the Sikkim frontier.