The Unknown Life of Jesus Christ, by Nicolas Notovitch,
Translated by J. H. Connelly and L. Landsberg
Table of
Contents
_Preface_
vi
_A Journey in
Thibet_ 1
_Ladak_
33
_A Festival in a Gonpa_
45
_The Life of Saint
Issa_ 61
_Resume_ 89
_Explanatory
Notes_ 117
Preface
After
the Turkish War (1877-1878) I made a series of travels in the Orient. From
the little remarkable Balkan peninsula, I went across the Caucasus to Central
Asia and Persia, and finally, in 1887, visited India, an admirable country
which had attracted me from my earliest childhood. My purpose in this journey
was to study and know, at home, the peoples who inhabit India and their
customs, the grand and mysterious archæology, and the colossal and majestic
nature of their country. Wandering about without fixed plans, from one place
to another, I came to mountainous Afghanistan, whence I regained India by way
of the picturesque passes of Bolan and Guernai. Then, going up the Indus
to Raval Pindi, I ran over the Pendjab--the land of the five
rivers; visited the Golden Temple of Amritsa--the tomb of the King of
Pendjab, Randjid Singh, near Lahore; and turned toward Kachmyr, "The Valley
of Eternal Bliss." Thence I directed my peregrinations as my
curiosity impelled me, until I arrived in Ladak, whence I intended returning
to Russia by way of Karakoroum and Chinese Turkestan.
One day, while
visiting a Buddhist convent on my route, I learned from a chief lama, that
there existed in the archives of Lhassa, very ancient memoirs relating to the
life of Jesus Christ and the occidental nations, and that certain great
monasteries possessed old copies and translations of those
chronicles.
As it was little probable that I should make another journey
into this country, I resolved to put off my return to Europe until a later
date, and, cost what it might, either find those copies in the great
convents or go to Lhassa--a journey which is far from being so dangerous
and difficult as is generally supposed, involving only such perils as I
was already accustomed to, and which would not make me hesitate
at attempting it.
During my sojourn at Leh, capital of Ladak, I
visited the great convent Himis, situated near the city, the chief lama of
which informed me that their monastic library contained copies of the
manuscripts in question. In order that I might not awaken the suspicions of
the authorities concerning the object of my visit to the cloister, and to
evade obstacles which might be opposed to me as a Russian, prosecuting
further my journey in Thibet, I gave out upon my return to Leh that I
would depart for India, and so left the capital of Ladak. An unfortunate
fall, causing the breaking of a leg, furnished me with an
absolutely unexpected pretext for returning to the monastery, where I
received surgical attention. I took advantage of my short sojourn among the
lamas to obtain the consent of their chief that they should bring to me,
from their library, the manuscripts relating to Jesus Christ, and,
assisted by my interpreter, who translated for me the Thibetan
language, transferred carefully to my notebook what the lama read to
me.
Not doubting at all the authenticity of this chronicle, edited
with great exactitude by the Brahminic, and more especially the
Buddhistic historians of India and Nepaul, I desired, upon my return to
Europe, to publish a translation of it.
To this end, I addressed
myself to several universally known ecclesiastics, asking them to revise my
notes and tell me what they thought of them.
Mgr. Platon, the
celebrated metropolitan of Kiew, thought that my discovery was of great
importance. Nevertheless, he sought to dissuade me from publishing the
memoirs, believing that their publication could only hurt me. "Why?" This the
venerable prelate refused to tell me more explicitly. Nevertheless, since our
conversation took place in Russia, where the censor would have put his veto
upon such a work, I made up my mind to wait.
A year later, I found
myself in Rome. I showed my manuscript to a cardinal very near to the Holy
Father, who answered me literally in these words:--"What good will it do to
print this? Nobody will attach to it any great importance and you will create
a number of enemies. But, you are still very young! If it is a question of
money which concerns you, I can ask for you a reward for your notes, a sum
which will repay your expenditures and recompense you for your loss of time."
Of course, I refused.
In Paris I spoke of my project to Cardinal
Rotelli, whose acquaintance I had made in Constantinople. He, too, was
opposed to having my work printed, under the pretext that it would be
premature. "The church," he added, "suffers already too much from the new
current of atheistic ideas, and you will but give a new food to the
calumniators and detractors of the evangelical doctrine. I tell you this in
the interest of all the Christian churches."
Then I went to see M.
Jules Simon. He found my matter very interesting and advised me to ask the
opinion of M. Renan, as to the best way of publishing these memoirs. The next
day I was seated in the cabinet of the great philosopher. At the close of our
conversation, M. Renan proposed that I should confide to him the memoirs in
question, so that he might make to the Academy a report upon the
discovery.
This proposition, as may be easily understood, was very
alluring and flattering to my _amour propre_. I, however, took away with me
the manuscript, under the pretext of further revising it. I foresaw that
if I accepted the proposed combination, I would only have the honor
of having found the chronicles, while the illustrious author of the
"Life of Jesus" would have the glory of the publication and the
commenting upon it. I thought myself sufficiently prepared to publish
the translation of the chronicles, accompanying them with my notes,
and, therefore, did not accept the very gracious offer he made to me.
But, that I might not wound the susceptibility of the great master, for
whom I felt a profound respect, I made up my mind to delay publication
until after his death, a fatality which could not be far off, if I might
judge from the apparent general weakness of M. Renan. A short time after
M. Renan's death, I wrote to M. Jules Simon again for his advice.
He answered me, that it was my affair to judge of the opportunity
for making the memoirs public.
I therefore put my notes in order and
now publish them, reserving the right to substantiate the authenticity of
these chronicles. In my commentaries I proffer the arguments which must
convince us of the sincerity and good faith of the Buddhist compilers. I wish
to add that before criticising my communication, the societies of _savans_
can, without much expense, equip a scientific expedition having for
its mission the study of those manuscripts in the place where I
discovered them, and so may easily verify their historic
value.
--_Nicolas Notovitch_
The Unknown Life of Jesus
Christ
_A Journey in Thibet_
During my sojourn in
India, I often had occasion to converse with the Buddhists, and the accounts
they gave me of Thibet excited my curiosity to such an extent that I resolved
to make a journey into that still almost unknown country. For this purpose I
set out upon a route crossing Kachmyr (Cashmere), which I had long intended
to visit.
On the 14th of October, 1887, I entered a railway car crowded
with soldiers, and went from Lahore to Raval-Pinidi, where I arrived the
next day, near noon. After resting a little and inspecting the city, to
which the permanent garrison gives the aspect of a military camp, I
provided myself with the necessaries for a journey, where horses take the
place of the railway cars. Assisted by my servant, a colored man
of Pondichery, I packed all my baggage, hired a tonga (a
two-wheeled vehicle which is drawn by two horses), stowed myself upon its
back seat, and set out upon the picturesque road leading to Kachmyr, an
excellent highway, upon which we travelled rapidly. We had to use no little
skill in making our way through the ranks of a military caravan--its
baggage carried upon camels--which was part of a detachment returning from
a country camp to the city. Soon we arrived at the end of the valley
of Pendjab, and climbing up a way with infinite windings, entered
the passes of the Himalayas. The ascent became more and more steep.
Behind us spread, like a beautiful panorama, the region we had just
traversed, which seemed to sink farther and farther away from us. As the
sun's last glances rested upon the tops of the mountains, our tonga came
gaily out from the zigzags which the eye could still trace far down
the forest-clad slope, and halted at the little city of Mure; where
the families of the English functionaries came to seek shade
and refreshment.
Ordinarily, one can go in a tonga from Mure to
Srinagar; but at the approach of the winter season, when all Europeans desert
Kachmyr, the tonga service is suspended. I undertook my journey precisely at
the time when the summer life begins to wane, and the Englishmen whom I met
upon the road, returning to India, were much astonished to see me, and
made vain efforts to divine the purpose of my travel to
Kachmyr.
Abandoning the tonga, I hired saddle horses--not without
considerable difficulty--and evening had arrived when we started to descend
from Mure, which is at an altitude of 5,000 feet. This stage of our
journey had nothing playful in it. The road was torn in deep ruts by the
late rains, darkness came upon us and our horses rather guessed than
saw their way. When night had completely set in, a tempestuous
rain surprised us in the open country, and, owing to the thick foliage of
the centenarian oaks which stood on the sides of our road, we were
plunged in profound darkness. That we might not lose each other, we had
to continue exchanging calls from time to time. In this
impenetrable obscurity we divined huge masses of rock almost above our heads,
and were conscious of, on our left, a roaring torrent, the water of
which formed a cascade we could not see. During two hours we waded in the
mud and the icy rain had chilled my very marrow, when we perceived in
the distance a little fire, the sight of which revived our energies. But
how deceitful are lights in the mountains! You believe you see the
fire burning quite near to you and at once it disappears, to reappear
again, to the right, to the left, above, below you, as if it took pleasure
in playing tricks upon the harassed traveller. All the time the road
makes a thousand turns, and winds here and there, and the fire--which
is immovable--seems to be in continual motion, the obscurity preventing
you realizing that you yourself modify your direction every instant.
I
had quite given up all hope of approaching this much-wished-for fire, when it
appeared again, and this time so near that our horses stopped before
it.
I have here to express my sincere thanks to the Englishmen for
the foresight of which they gave proof in building by the roadsides
the little bengalows--one-story houses for the shelter of travellers. It
is true, one must not demand comfort in this kind of hotel; but this is
a matter in which the traveller, broken down by fatigue, is not
exacting, and he is at the summit of happiness when he finds at his disposal
a clean and dry room.
The Hindus, no doubt, did not expect to see a
traveller arrive at so late an hour of the night and in this season, for they
had taken away the keys of the bengalow, so we had to force an entrance. I
threw myself upon a bed prepared for me, composed of a pillow and blanket
saturated with water, and almost at once fell asleep. At daybreak, after
taking tea and some conserves, we took up our march again, now bathed in
the burning rays of the sun. From time to time, we passed villages;
the first in a superb narrow pass, then along the road meandering in
the bosom of the mountain. We descended eventually to the river
Djeloum (Jhelum), the waters of which flow gracefully, amid the rocks by
which its course is obstructed, between rocky walls whose tops in many
places seem almost to reach the azure skies of the Himalayas, a heaven
which here shows itself remarkably pure and serene.
Toward noon we
arrived at the hamlet called Tongue--situated on the bank of the river--which
presents an unique array of huts that give the effect of boxes, the openings
of which form a facade. Here are sold comestibles and all kinds of
merchandise. The place swarms with Hindus, who bear on their foreheads the
variously colored marks of their respective castes. Here, too, you see the
beautiful people of Kachmyr, dressed in their long white shirts and snowy
turbans. I hired here, at a good price, a Hindu cabriolet, from a Kachmyrian.
This vehicle is so constructed that in order to keep one's seat in it, one
must cross his legs in the Turkish fashion. The seat is so small that it will
hold, at most, only two persons. The absence of any support for the back
makes this mode of transportation very dangerous; nevertheless, I
accepted this kind of circular table mounted on two wheels and drawn by a
horse, as I was anxious to reach, as soon as possible, the end of my
journey. Hardly, however, had I gone five hundred yards on it, when I
seriously regretted the horse I had forsaken, so much fatigue had I to
endure keeping my legs crossed and maintaining my equilibrium.
Unfortunately, it was already too late.
Evening was falling when I
approached the village of Hori. Exhausted by fatigue; racked by the incessant
jolting; my legs feeling as if invaded by millions of ants, I had been
completely incapable of enjoying the picturesque landscape spread before us
as we journeyed along the Djeloum, the banks of which are bordered on one
side by steep rocks and on the other by the heavily wooded slopes of the
mountains. In Hori I encountered a caravan of pilgrims returning from
Mecca.
Thinking I was a physician and learning my haste to reach Ladak,
they invited me to join them, which I promised I would at Srinagar.
I
spent an ill night, sitting up in my bed, with a lighted torch in my hand,
without closing my eyes, in constant fear of the stings and bites of the
scorpions and centipedes which swarm in the bengalows. I was sometimes
ashamed of the fear with which those vermin inspired me; nevertheless, I
could not fall asleep among them. Where, truly, in man, is the line that
separates courage from cowardice? I will not boast of my bravery, but I am
not a coward, yet the insurmountable fear with which those malevolent little
creatures thrilled me, drove sleep from my eyelids, in spite of my extreme
fatigue.
Our horses carried us into a flat valley, encircled by high
mountains. Bathed as I was in the rays of the sun, it did not take me long to
fall asleep in the saddle. A sudden sense of freshness penetrated and
awoke me. I saw that we had already begun climbing a mountain path, in
the midst of a dense forest, rifts in which occasionally opened to
our admiring gaze ravishing vistas, impetuous torrents; distant
mountains; cloudless heavens; a landscape, far below, of wondrous beauty. All
about us were the songs of numberless brilliantly plumaged birds. We came
out of the forest toward noon, descended to a little hamlet on the bank
of the river, and after refreshing ourselves with a light, cold
collation, continued our journey. Before starting, I went to a bazaar and
tried to buy there a glass of warm milk from a Hindu, who was sitting
crouched before a large cauldron full of boiling milk. How great was my
surprise when he proposed to me that I should take away the whole cauldron,
with its contents, assuring me that I had polluted the milk it contained!
"I only want a glass of milk and not a kettle of it," I said to
him.
"According to our laws," the merchant answered me, "if any one
not belonging to our caste has fixed his eyes for a long time upon one
of our cooking utensils, we have to wash that article thoroughly, and
throw away the food it contains. You have polluted my milk and no one
will drink any more of it, for not only were you not contented with
fixing your eyes upon it, but you have even pointed to it with your
finger."
I had indeed a long time examined his merchandise, to make sure
that it was really milk, and had pointed with my finger, to the merchant,
from which side I wished the milk poured out. Full of respect for the
laws and customs of foreign peoples, I paid, without dispute, a rupee,
the price of all the milk, which was poured in the street, though I
had taken only one glass of it. This was a lesson which taught me, from
now on, not to fix my eyes upon the food of the Hindus.
There is no
religious belief more muddled by the numbers of ceremonious laws and
commentaries prescribing its observances than the Brahminic.
While each
of the other principal religions has but one inspired book, one Bible, one
Gospel, or one Koran--books from which the Hebrew, the Christian and the
Musselman draw their creeds--the Brahminical Hindus possess such a great
number of tomes and commentaries in folio that the wisest Brahmin has hardly
had the time to peruse one-tenth of them. Leaving aside the four books of the
Vedas; the Puranas--which are written in Sanscrit and composed of eighteen
volumes--containing 400,000 strophes treating of law, rights, theogony,
medicine, the creation and destruction of the world, etc.; the vast Shastras,
which deal with mathematics, grammar, etc.; the Upa-Vedas, Upanishads,
Upo-Puranas--which are explanatory of the Puranas;--and a number of other
commentaries in several volumes; there still remain twelve vast books,
containing the laws of Manu, the grandchild of Brahma--books dealing not only
with civil and criminal law, but also the canonical rules--rules
which impose upon the faithful such a considerable number of ceremonies
that one is surprised into admiration of the illimitable patience
the Hindus show in observance of the precepts inculcated by Saint
Manu. Manu was incontestably a great legislator and a great thinker,
but he has written so much that it has happened to him frequently
to contradict himself in the course of a single page. The Brahmins do not
take the trouble to notice that, and the poor Hindus, whose labor supports
the Brahminic caste, obey servilely their clergy, whose prescriptions enjoin
upon them never to touch a man who does not belong to their caste, and also
absolutely prohibit a stranger from fixing his attention upon anything
belonging to a Hindu. Keeping himself to the strict letter of this law, the
Hindu imagines that his food is polluted when it receives a little protracted
notice from the stranger.
And yet, Brahminism has been, even at the
beginning of its second birth, a purely monotheistic religion, recognizing
only one infinite and indivisible God. As it came to pass in all times and in
religions, the clergy took advantage of the privileged situation which places
them above the ignorant multitude, and early manufactured various
exterior forms of cult and certain laws, thinking they could better, in this
way, influence and control the masses. Things changed soon, so far that
the principle of monotheism, of which the Vedas have given such a
clear conception, became confounded with, or, as it were, supplanted by
an absurd and limitless series of gods and goddesses, half-gods, genii
and devils, which were represented by idols, of infinite variety but
all equally horrible looking. The people, once glorious as their
religion was once great and pure, now slip by degrees into complete
idiocy. Hardly does their day suffice for the accomplishment of all
the prescriptions of their canons. It must be said positively that
the Hindus only exist to support their principal caste, the Brahmins,
who have taken into their hands the temporal power which once was
possessed by independent sovereigns of the people. While governing India,
the Englishman does not interfere with this phase of the public life, and
so the Brahmins profit by maintaining the people's hope of a better
future.
The sun passed behind the summit of a mountain, and the darkness
of night in one moment overspread the magnificent landscape we
were traversing. Soon the narrow valley of the Djeloum fell asleep. Our
road winding along ledges of steep rocks, was instantly hidden from
our sight; mountains and trees were confounded together in one dark
mass, and the stars glittered in the celestial vault. We had to dismount
and feel our way along the mountain side, for fear of becoming the prey
of the abyss which yawned at our feet. At a late hour of the night
we traversed a bridge and ascended a steep elevation leading to
the bengalow Ouri, which at this height seems to enjoy complete
isolation. The next day we traversed a charming region, always going along
the river--at a turn of which we saw the ruins of a Sikh fortress,
that seemed to remember sadly its glorious past. In a little valley,
nestled amid the mountains, we found a bengalow which seemed to welcome us.
In its proximity were encamped a cavalry regiment of the Maharajah
of Kachmyr.
When the officers learned that I was a Russian, they
invited me to share their repast. There I had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of Col. Brown, who was the first to compile a dictionary of
the Afghan-pouchton language.
As I was anxious to reach, as soon as
possible, the city of Srinagar, I, with little delay, continued my journey
through the picturesque region lying at the foot of the mountains, after
having, for a long time, followed the course of the river. Here, before our
eyes, weary of the monotonous desolation of the preceding landscapes, was
unfolded a charming view of a well-peopled valley, with many two-story
houses surrounded by gardens and cultivated fields. A little farther on
begins the celebrated valley of Kachmyr, situated behind a range of high
rocks which I crossed toward evening. What a superb panorama revealed
itself before my eyes, when I found myself at the last rock which separates
the valley of Kachmyr from the mountainous country I had traversed.
A ravishing tableau truly enchanted my sight. This valley, the limits
of which are lost in the horizon, and is throughout well populated,
is enshrined amid the high Himalayan mountains. At the rising and
the setting of the sun, the zone of eternal snows seems a silver ring,
which like a girdle surrounds this rich and delightful plateau, furrowed
by numerous rivers and traversed by excellent roads, gardens, hills,
a lake, the islands in which are occupied by constructions of
pretentious style, all these cause the traveller to feel as if he had
entered another world. It seems to him as though he had to go but a
little farther on and there must find the Paradise of which his governess
had told him so often in his childhood.
The veil of night slowly
covered the valley, merging mountains, gardens and lake in one dark
amplitude, pierced here and there by distant fires, resembling stars. I
descended into the valley, directing myself toward the Djeloum, which has
broken its way through a narrow gorge in the mountains, to unite itself with
the waters of the river Ind. According to the legend, the valley was once an
inland sea; a passage opened through the rocks environing it, and drained the
waters away, leaving nothing more of its former character than the lake, the
Djeloum and minor water-courses. The banks of the river are now lined
with boat-houses, long and narrow, which the proprietors, with
their families, inhabit the whole year.
From here Srinagar can be
reached in one day's travel on horseback; but with a boat the journey
requires a day and a half. I chose the latter mode of conveyance, and having
selected a boat and bargained with its proprietor for its hire, took my seat
in the bow, upon a carpet, sheltered by a sort of penthouse roof. The boat
left the shore at midnight, bearing us rapidly toward Srinagar. At the stern
of the bark, a Hindu prepared my tea. I went to sleep, happy in knowing my
voyage was to be accomplished. The hot caress of the sun's rays penetrating
my little roof awakened me, and what I experienced delighted me beyond
all expression. Entirely green banks; the distant outlines of mountain
tops covered with snow; pretty villages which from time to time
showed themselves at the mountain's foot; the crystalline sheet of water;
pure and peculiarly agreeable air, which I breathed with exhilaration;
the musical carols of an infinity of birds; a sky of extraordinary
purity; behind me the plash of water stirred by the round-ended paddle which
was wielded with ease by a superb woman (with marvellous eyes and
a complexion browned by the sun), who wore an air of stately
indifference: all these things together seemed to plunge me into an ecstasy,
and I forgot entirely the reason for my presence on the river. In that
moment I had not even a desire to reach the end of my voyage--and yet, how
many privations remained for me to undergo, and dangers to encounter! I
felt myself here so well content!
The boat glided rapidly and the
landscape continued to unfold new beauties before my eyes, losing itself in
ever new combinations with the horizon, which merged into the mountains we
were passing, to become one with them. Then a new panorama would display
itself, seeming to expand and flow out from the sides of the mountains,
becoming more and more grand.... The day was almost spent and I was not yet
weary of contemplating this magnificent nature, the view of which reawakened
the souvenirs of childhood and youth. How beautiful were those days
forever gone!
The more nearly one approaches Srinagar, the more
numerous become the villages embowered in the verdure. At the approach of our
boat, some of their inhabitants came running to see us; the men in their
turbans, the women in their small bonnets, both alike dressed in white gowns
reaching to the ground, the children in a state of nudity which reminded one
of the costumes of our first parents.
When entering the city one sees
a range of barks and floating houses in which entire families reside. The
tops of the far-off, snow-covered mountains were caressed by the last rays of
the setting sun, when we glided between the wooden houses of Srinagar, which
closely line both banks of the river. Life seems to cease here at sunset; the
thousands of many colored open boats (dunga) and palanquin-covered barks
(bangla) were fastened along the beach; men and women gathered near the
river, in the primitive costumes of Adam and Eve, going through their
evening ablutions without feeling any embarrassment or prudery before
each other, since they performed a religious rite, the importance of which
is greater for them than all human prejudices.
On the 20^th of October
I awoke in a neat room, from which I had a gay view upon the river that was
now inundated with the rays of the sun of Kachmyr. As it is not my purpose to
describe here my experiences in detail, I refrain from enumerating the lovely
valleys, the paradise of lakes, the enchanting islands, those historic
places, mysterious pagodas, and coquettish villages which seem lost in vast
gardens; on all sides of which rise the majestic tops of the giants of the
Himalaya, shrouded as far as the eye can see in eternal snow. I shall only
note the preparations I made in view of my journey toward Thibet. I spent
six days at Srinagar, making long excursions into the
enchanting surroundings of the city, examining the numerous ruins which
testify to the ancient prosperity of this region, and studying the strange
customs of the country.
* * * *
*
Kachmyr, as well as the other provinces attached to it,
Baltistan, Ladak, etc., are vassals of England. They formerly formed part of
the possessions of Randjid Sing, the Lion of the Pendjab. At his death,
the English troops occupied Lahore, the capital of the Pendjab,
separated Kachmyr from the rest of the empire and ceded it, under color
of hereditary right, and for the sum of 160,000,000 francs, to
Goulab-Sing, one of the familiars of the late sovereign, conferring on him
besides the title of Maharadja. At the epoch of my journey, the actual
Maharadja was Pertab-Sing, the grandchild of Goulab, whose residence is
Jamoo, on the southern slope of the Himalaya.
The celebrated "happy
valley" of Kachmyr (eighty-five miles long by twenty-five miles wide) enjoyed
glory and prosperity only under the Grand Mogul, whose court loved to taste
here the sweetness of country life, in the still existent pavilions on the
little island of the lake. Most of the Maharadjas of Hindustan used formerly
to spend here the summer months, and to take part in the magnificent
festivals given by the Grand Mogul; but times have greatly changed since, and
the happy valley is today no more than a beggar retreat. Aquatic plants and
scum have covered the clear waters of the lake; the wild juniper
has smothered all the vegetation of the islands; the palaces and
pavilions retain only the souvenir of their past grandeur; earth and grass
cover the buildings which are now falling in ruins. The surrounding
mountains and their eternally white tops seem to be absorbed in a sullen
sadness, and to nourish the hope of a better time for the disclosure of
their immortal beauties. The once spiritual, beautiful and cleanly
inhabitants have grown animalistic and stupid; they have become dirty and
lazy; and the whip now governs them, instead of the sword.
The people
of Kachmyr have so often been subject to invasions and pillages and have had
so many masters, that they have now become indifferent to every thing. They
pass their time near the banks of the rivers, gossiping about their
neighbors; or are engaged in the painstaking work of making their celebrated
shawls; or in the execution of filagree gold or silver work. The Kachmyr
women are of a melancholy temperament, and an inconceivable sadness is spread
upon their features. Everywhere reigns misery and uncleanness. The beautiful
men and superb women of Kachmyr are dirty and in rags. The costume of the two
sexes consists, winter and summer alike, of a long shirt, or gown, made
of thick material and with puffed sleeves. They wear this shirt until it
is completely worn out, and never is it washed, so that the white turban
of the men looks like dazzling snow near their dirty shirts, which
are covered all over with spittle and grease stains.
The traveller
feels himself permeated with sadness at seeing the contrast between the rich
and opulent nature surrounding them, and this people dressed in
rags.
The capital of the country, Srinagar (City of the Sun), or, to call
it by the name which is given to it here after the country, Kachmyr,
is situated on the shore of the Djeloum, along which it stretches
out toward the south to a distance of five kilometres and is not more
than two kilometres in breadth.
Its two-story houses, inhabited by a
population of 100,000 inhabitants, are built of wood and border both river
banks. Everybody lives on the river, the shores of which are united by ten
bridges. Terraces lead from the houses to the Djeloum, where all day long
people perform their ceremonial ablutions, bathe and wash their culinary
utensils, which consist of a few copper pots. Part of the inhabitants
practice the Musselman religion; two-thirds are Brahminic; and there are but
few Buddhists to be found among them.
It was time to make other
preparations for travel before plunging into the unknown. Having purchased
different kinds of conserves, wine and other things indispensable on a
journey through a country so little peopled as is Thibet, I packed all my
baggage in boxes; hired six carriers and an interpreter, bought a horse for
my own use, and fixed my departure for the 27^th of October. To cheer up my
journey, I took from a good Frenchman, M. Peicheau, the wine cultivator of
the Maharadja, a big dog, Pamir, who had already traversed the road with my
friends, Bonvallot, Capus and Pepin, the well-known explorers. As I wished
to shorten my journey by two days, I ordered my carriers to leave at
dawn from the other side of the lake, which I crossed in a boat, and
joined them and my horse at the foot of the mountain chain which separates
the valley of Srinagar from the Sind gorge.
I shall never forget the
tortures which we had to undergo in climbing almost on all fours to a
mountain top, three thousand feet high. The carriers were out of breath;
every moment I feared to see one tumble down the declivity with his burden,
and I felt pained at seeing my poor dog, Pamir, panting and with his tongue
hanging out, make two or three steps and fall to the ground exhausted.
Forgetting my own fatigue, I caressed and encouraged the poor animal, who, as
if understanding me, got up to make another two or three steps and fall anew
to the ground.
The night had come when we reached the crest; we threw
ourselves greedily upon the snow to quench our thirst; and after a short
rest, started to descend through a very thick pine forest, hastening to
gain the village of Haiena, at the foot of the defile, fearing the attacks
of beasts of prey in the darkness.
A level and good road leads from
Srinagar to Haiena, going straight northward over Ganderbal, where I repaired
by a more direct route across a pass three thousand feet high, which
shortened for me both time and distance.
My first step in the unknown
was marked by an incident which made all of us pass an ugly quarter of an
hour. The defile of the Sind, sixty miles long, is especially noteworthy for
the inhospitable hosts it contains. Among others it abounds in panthers,
tigers, leopards, black bears, wolves and jackals. As though by a special
misfortune, the snow had covered with its white carpet the heights of the
chain, compelling those formidable, carnivorous beasts to descend a little
lower for shelter in their dens. We descended in silence, amid the darkness,
a narrow path that wound through the centennary firs and birches, and the
calm of the night was only broken by the crackling sound of our steps.
Suddenly, quite near to us, a terrible howling awoke the echoes of the woods.
Our small troop stopped. "A panther!" exclaimed, in a low and
frightened voice, my servant. The small caravan of a dozen men stood
motionless, as though riveted to the spot. Then it occurred to me that at the
moment of starting on our ascent, when already feeling fatigued, I had
entrusted my revolver to one of the carriers, and my Winchester rifle to
another. Now I felt bitter regret for having parted with my arms, and asked
in a low voice where the man was to whom I had given the rifle. The
howls became more and more violent, and filled the echoes of the woods,
when suddenly a dull sound was heard, like the fall of some body. A
minute later we heard the noise of a struggle and a cry of agony which
mingled with the fierce roars of the starved animal.
"Saaib, take the
gun," I heard some one near by. I seized feverishly the rifle, but, vain
trouble, one could not see two steps before oneself. A new cry, followed by a
smothered howling, indicated to me vaguely the place of the struggle, toward
which I crawled, divided between the ardent desire to "kill a panther" and a
horrible fear of being eaten alive. No one dared to move; only after five
minutes it occurred to one of the carriers to light a match. I then
remembered the fear which feline animals exhibit at the presence of fire, and
ordered my men to gather two or three handfuls of brush, which I set on fire.
We then saw, about ten steps from us, one of our carriers stretched out on
the ground, with his limbs frightfully lacerated by the claws of a
huge panther. The beast still lay upon him defiantly, holding a piece
of flesh in its mouth. At its side, gaped a box of wine broken open by
its fall when the carrier was torn down. Hardly did I make a movement
to bring the rifle to my shoulder, when the panther raised itself,
and turned toward us while dropping part of its horrible meal. One
moment, it appeared about to spring upon me, then it suddenly wheeled,
and rending the air with a howl, enough to freeze one's blood, jumped
into the midst of the thicket and disappeared.
My coolies, whom an
odious fear had all the time kept prostrated on the ground, recovered little
by little from their fright. Keeping in readiness a few packages of dry grass
and matches, we hastened to reach the village Haiena, leaving behind the
remains of the unfortunate Hindu, whose fate we feared sharing.
An
hour later we had left the forest and entered the plain. I ordered my tent
erected under a very leafy plane tree, and had a great fire made before it,
with a pile of wood, which was the only protection we could employ against
the ferocious beasts whose howls continued to reach us from all directions.
In the forest my dog had pressed himself against me, with his tail between
his legs; but once under the tent, he suddenly recovered his watchfulness,
and barked incessantly the whole night, being very careful, however, not to
step outside. I spent a terrible night, rifle in hand, listening to the
concert of those diabolical howlings, the echoes of which seemed to shake the
defile. Some panthers approached our bivouac to answer the barking of Pamir,
but dared not attack us.
I had left Srinagar at the head of eleven
carriers, four of whom had to carry so many boxes of wine, four others bore
my travelling effects; one my weapons, another various utensils, and finally
a last, who went errands or on reconnaissance. His name was "Chicari," which
means "he who accompanies the hunter and gathers the prey." I discharged him
in the morning on account of his cowardice and his profound ignorance
of the country, and only retained four carriers. It was but slowly that
I advanced toward the village of Gounde.
How beautiful is nature in
the Sind pass, and how much is it beloved by the hunters! Besides the great
fallow deer, you meet there the hind, the stag, the mountain sheep and an
immense variety of birds, among which I want to mention above all the golden
pheasant, and others of red or snow-white plumage, very large partridges and
immense eagles.
The villages situated along the Sind do not shine by
their dimensions. They contain, for the greatest part, not more than ten to
twenty huts of an extremely miserable appearance. Their inhabitants are clad
in rags. Their cattle belongs to a very small race.
I crossed the
river at Sambal, and stopped near the village Gounde, where I procured relay
horses. In some villages they refused to hire horses to me; I then threatened
them with my whip, which at once inspired respect and obedience; my money
accomplished the same end; it inspired a servile obedience--not
willingness--to obey my least orders.
Stick and gold are the true
sovereigns in the Orient; without them the Very Grand Mogul would not have
had any preponderance.
Night began to descend, and I was in a hurry to
cross the defile which separates the villages Gogangan and Sonamarg. The road
is in very bad condition, and the mountains are infested by beasts of prey
which in the night descend into the very villages to seek their prey. The
country is delightful and very fertile; nevertheless, but few colonists
venture to settle here, on account of the neighborhood of the panthers, which
come to the dooryards to seize domestic animals.
At the very exit of
the defile, near the village of Tchokodar, or Thajwas, the half obscurity
prevailing only permitted me to distinguish two dark masses crossing the
road. They were two big bears followed by a young one. I was alone with my
servant (the caravan having loitered behind), so I did not like to attack
them with only one rifle; but the long excursions which I had made on the
mountain had strongly developed in me the sense of the hunter. To jump from
my horse, shoot, and, without even verifying the result, change quickly the
cartridge, was the affair of a second. One bear was about to jump on me, a
second shot made it run away and disappear. Holding in my hand my loaded gun,
I approached with circumspection, the one at which I had aimed, and
found it laying on its flank, dead, with the little cub beside it.
Another shot killed the little one, after which I went to work to take off
the two superb jet-black skins.
This incident made us lose two hours,
and night had completely set in when I erected my tent near Tchokodar, which
I left at sunrise to gain Baltal, by following the course of the Sind river.
At this place the ravishing landscape of the "golden prairie" terminates
abruptly with a village of the same name (Sona, gold, and Marg, prairie). The
abrupt acclivity of Zodgi-La, which we next surmounted, attains an elevation
of 11,500 feet, on the other side of which the whole country assumes
a severe and inhospitable character. My hunting adventures closed
before reaching Baltal. From there I met on the road only wild goats. In
order to hunt, I would have had to leave the grand route and to penetrate
into the heart of the mountains full of mysteries. I had neither
the inclination nor the time to do so, and, therefore, continued quietly
my journey toward Ladak.
* * * *
*
How violent the contrast I felt when passing from the laughing
nature and beautiful population of Kachmyr to the arid and forbidding rocks
and the beardless and ugly inhabitants of Ladak!
The country into
which I penetrated is situated at an altitude of 11,000 to 12,000 feet. Only
at Karghil the level descends to 8,000 feet.
The acclivity of Zodgi-La is
very rough; one must climb up an almost perpendicular rocky wall. In certain
places the road winds along upon rock ledges of only a metre in width, below
which the sight drops into unfathomable abysses. May the Lord preserve the
traveller from a fall! At one place, the way is upon long beams introduced
into holes made in the rock, like a bridge, and covered up with earth.
Brr!--At the thought that a little stone might get loose and roll down the
slope of the mountain, or that a too strong oscillation of the beams
could precipitate the whole structure into the abyss, and with it him who
had ventured upon the perilous path, one feels like fainting more than
once during this hazardous passage.
After crossing the glaciers we
stopped in a valley and prepared to spend the night near a hut, a dismal
place surrounded by eternal ice and snow.
From Baltal the distances are
determined by means of daks, _i.e._, postal stations for mail service. They
are low huts, about seven kilometres distant from each other. A man is
permanently established in each of these huts. The postal service between
Kachmyr and Thibet is yet carried on in a very primitive form. The letters
are enclosed in a leather bag, which is handed to the care of a carrier. The
latter runs rapidly over the seven kilometres assigned to him, carrying on
his back a basket which holds several of these bags, which he delivers to
another carrier, who, in his turn, accomplishes his task in an identical
manner. Neither rain nor snow can arrest these carriers. In this way the
mail service is carried on between Kachmyr and Thibet, and _vice versa_
once a week. For each course the letter carrier is paid six annas
(twenty cents); the same wages as is paid to the carriers of merchandise.
This sum I also paid to every one of my servants for carrying a ten
times heavier load.
It makes one's heart ache to see the pale and
tired-looking figures of these carriers; but what is to be done? It is the
custom of the country. The tea is brought from China by a similar system of
transportation, which is rapid and inexpensive.
In the village of
Montaiyan, I found again the Yarkandien caravan of pilgrims, whom I had
promised to accompany on their journey. They recognized me from a distance,
and asked me to examine one of their men, who had fallen sick. I found him
writhing in the agonies of an intense fever. Shaking my hands as a sign of
despair, I pointed to the heavens and gave them to understand that human will
and science were now useless, and that God alone could save him. These people
journeyed by small stages only; I, therefore, left them and arrived in the
evening at Drass, situated at the bottom of a valley near a river of the same
name. Near Drass, a little fort of ancient construction, but freshly
painted, stands aloof, under the guard of three Sikhs of the Maharadja's
army.
At Drass, my domicile was the post-house, which is a station--and
the only one--of an unique telegraph line from Srinagar to the interior
of the Himalayas. From that time on, I no more had my tent put up
each evening, but stopped in the caravansarais; places which, though
made repulsive by their dirt, are kept warm by the enormous piles of
wood burned in their fireplaces.
From Drass to Karghil the landscape
is unpleasing and monotonous, if one excepts the marvellous effects of the
rising and setting sun and the beautiful moonlight. Apart from these the road
is wearisome and abounding with dangers. Karghil is the principal place of
the district, where the governor of the country resides. Its site is
quite picturesque. Two water courses, the Souron and the Wakkha, roll
their noisy and turbulent waters among rocks and sunken snags of
uprooted trees, escaping from their respective defiles in the rocks, to join
in forming here the river Souron, upon the banks of which stands Karghil.
A little fort, garrisoned by two or three Sikhs, shows its outlines at
the junction of the streams. Provided with a horse, I continued my
journey at break of day, entering now the province of Ladak, or Little
Thibet. I traversed a ricketty bridge, composed--like all the bridges
of Kachmyr--of two long beams, the ends of which were supported upon
the banks and the floor made of a layer of fagots and sticks, which
imparted to the traveller, at least the illusion of a suspension bridge.
Soon afterward I climbed slowly up on a little plateau, which crosses the
way at a distance of two kilometres, to descend into the narrow valley of
Wakkha. Here there are several villages, among which, on the left shore, is the
very picturesque one called Paskium. |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기