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After
a delightful journey of twenty-five days I camped at Spitak,
among
the
_chod-tens_ and _manis_ which cluster round the base of a lofty
and
isolated
rock, crowned with one of the most striking monasteries in
Ladak,
and very early the next morning, under a sun of terrific
fierceness,
rode up a five-mile slope of blazing gravel to the goal of
my
long march. Even at a short distance off, the Tibetan capital can
scarcely
be distinguished from the bare, ribbed, scored, jagged,
vermilion
and rose-red mountains which nearly surround it, were it
not
for the palace of the former kings or Gyalpos of Ladak, a huge
building
attaining ten storeys in height, with massive walls sloping
inwards,
while long balconies and galleries, carved projections of brown
wood,
and prominent windows, give it a singular picturesqueness. It can
be
seen for many miles, and dwarfs the little Central Asian town
which
clusters
round its base.
Long
lines of _chod-tens_ and _manis_ mark the approach to Leh. Then
come
barley fields and poplar and willow plantations, bright streams
are
crossed,
and a small gateway, within which is a colony of very poor
Baltis,
gives access to the city. In consequence of 'the vigilance of
the
guard at the bridge of Khalsi,' I was expected, and was met at
the
gate
by the wazir's _jemadar_, or head of police, in artistic attire,
with
_spahis_ in apricot turbans, violet _chogas_, and green leggings,
who
cleared the way with spears, Gyalpo frolicking as merrily and as
ready
to bite, and the Afghan striding in front as firmly, as though
they
had not marched for twenty-five days through the rugged passes of
the
Himalayas. In such wise I was escorted to a shady bungalow of
three
rooms,
in the grounds of H. B. M.'s Joint Commissioner, who lives at
Leh
during the four months of the 'caravan season,' to assist in
regulating
the traffic and to guard the interests of the numerous
British
subjects who pass through Leh with merchandise. For their
benefit
also, the Indian Government aids in the support of a small
hospital,
open, however, to all, which, with a largely attended
dispensary,
is under the charge of a Moravian medical missionary.
Just
outside the Commissioner's grounds are two very humble
whitewashed
dwellings,
with small gardens brilliant with European flowers; and in
these
the two Moravian missionaries, the only permanent European
residents
in Leh, were living, Mr. Redslob and Dr. Karl Marx, with their
wives.
Dr. Marx was at his gate to welcome me.
To
these two men, especially the former, I owe a debt of gratitude
which
in
no shape, not even by the hearty acknowledgment of it, can ever
be
repaid,
for they died within a few days of each other, of an epidemic,
last
year, Dr. Marx and a new-born son being buried in one grave. For
twenty-five
years Mr. Redslob, a man of noble physique and intellect, a
scholar
and linguist, an expert botanist and an admirable artist,
devoted
himself to the welfare of the Tibetans, and though his great aim
was
to Christianize them, he gained their confidence so thoroughly by
his
virtues, kindness, profound Tibetan scholarship, and manliness,
that
he
was loved and welcomed everywhere, and is now mourned for as the
best
and
truest friend the people ever had.
I
had scarcely finished breakfast when he called; a man of great
height
and
strong voice, with a cheery manner, a face beaming with kindness,
and
speaking excellent English. Leh was the goal of my journey, but
Mr.
Redslob
came with a proposal to escort me over the great passes to the
northward
for a three weeks' journey to Nubra, a district formed of the
combined
valleys of the Shayok and Nubra rivers, tributaries of the
Indus,
and abounding in interest. Of course I at once accepted an offer
so
full of advantages, and the performance was better even than the
promise.
Two
days were occupied in making preparations, but afterwards I spent
a
fortnight
in my tent at Leh, a city by no means to be passed over
without
remark, for, though it and the region of which it is the capital
are
very remote from the thoughts of most readers, it is one of the
centres
of Central Asian commerce. There all traders from India,
Kashmir,
and Afghanistan must halt for animals and supplies on their way
to
Yarkand and Khotan, and there also merchants from the mysterious
city
of
Lhassa do a great business in brick tea and in Lhassa wares,
chiefly
ecclesiastical.
[Illustration:
LEH]
The
situation of Leh is a grand one, the great Kailas range, with its
glaciers
and snowfields, rising just behind it to the north, its passes
alone
reaching an altitude of nearly 18,000 feet; while to the south,
across
a gravelly descent and the Indus Valley, rise great red ranges
dominated
by snow-peaks exceeding 21,000 feet in altitude. The centre of
Leh
is a wide bazaar, where much polo is played in the afternoons;
and
above
this the irregular, flat-roofed, many-balconied houses of the
town
cluster
round the palace and a gigantic _chod-ten_ alongside it. The
rugged
crest of the rock on a spur of which the palace stands is crowned
by
the fantastic buildings of an ancient _gonpo_. Beyond the crops
and
plantations
which surround the town lies a flaming desert of gravel or
rock.
The architectural features of Leh, except of the palace, are
mean.
A
new mosque glaring with vulgar colour, a treasury and court of
justice,
the wazir's bungalow, a Moslem cemetery, and Buddhist cremation
grounds,
in which each family has its separate burning place, are all
that
is noteworthy. The narrow alleys, which would be abominably dirty
if
dirt were possible in a climate of such intense dryness, house a
very
mixed
population, in which the Moslem element is always increasing,
partly
owing to the renewal of that proselytising energy which is making
itself
felt throughout Asia, and partly to the marriages of Moslem
traders
with Ladaki women, who embrace the faith of their husbands and
bring
up their families in the same.
On
my arrival few of the shops in the great _place_, or bazaar, were
open,
and there was no business; but a few weeks later the little
desert
capital
nearly doubled its population, and during August the din and
stir
of trade and amusements ceased not by day or night, and the
shifting
scenes were as gay in colouring and as full of variety as could
be
desired.
Great
caravans _en route_ for Khotan, Yarkand, and even Chinese Tibet
arrived
daily from Kashmir, the Panjāb, and Afghanistan, and stacked
their
bales of goods in the _place_; the Lhassa traders opened shops in
which
the specialties were brick tea and instruments of worship;
merchants
from Amritsar, Cabul, Bokhara, and Yarkand, stately in costume
and
gait, thronged the bazaar and opened bales of costly goods in
tantalising
fashion; mules, asses, horses, and _yaks_ kicked, squealed,
and
bellowed; the dissonance of bargaining tongues rose high; there
were
mendicant
monks, Indian fakirs, Moslem dervishes, Mecca pilgrims,
itinerant
musicians, and Buddhist ballad howlers; bold-faced women with
creels
on their backs brought in lucerne; Ladakis, Baltis, and Lahulis
tended
the beasts, and the wazir's _jemadar_ and gay _spahis_ moved
about
among the throngs. In the midst of this picturesque confusion,
the
short,
square-built, Lhassa traders, who face the blazing sun in heavy
winter
clothing, exchange their expensive tea for Nubra and Baltistan
dried
apricots, Kashmir saffron, and rich stuffs from India; and
merchants
from Yarkand on big Turkestan horses offer hemp, which is
smoked
as opium, and Russian trifles and dress goods, under cloudless
skies.
With the huge Kailas range as a background, this great rendezvous
of
Central Asian traffic has a great fascination, even though moral
shadows
of the darkest kind abound.
On
the second morning, while I was taking the sketch of Usman Shah
which
appears
as the frontispiece, he was recognised both by the Joint
Commissioner
and the chief of police as a mutineer and murderer, and was
marched
out of Leh. I was asked to look over my baggage, but did not. I
had
trusted him, he had been faithful in his way, and later I found
that
nothing
was missing. He was a brutal ruffian, one of a band of
irregulars
sent by the Maharajah of Kashmir to garrison the fort at Leh.
From
it they used to descend on the town, plunder the bazaar, insult
the
women,
take all they wanted without payment, and when one of their
number
was being tried for some offence, they dragged the judge out of
court
and beat him! After holding Leh in terror for some time the
British
Commissioner obtained their removal. It was, however, at the
fort
at the Indus bridge, as related before, that the crime of murder
was
committed. Still there was something almost grand in the defiant
attitude
of the fantastic swashbuckler, as, standing outside the
bungalow,
he faced the British Commissioner, to him the embodiment of
all
earthly power, and the chief of police, and defied them. Not an
inch
would
he stir till the wazir gave him a coolie to carry his baggage. He
had
been acquitted of the murder, he said, 'and though I killed the
man,
it
was according to the custom of my country--he gave me an insult
which
could
only be wiped out in blood!' The guard dared not touch him, and
he
went
to the wazir, demanded a coolie, and got one!
Our
party left Leh early on a glorious morning, travelling light, Mr.
Redslob,
a very learned Lhassa monk, named Gergan, Mr. R.'s servant, my
three,
and four baggage horses, with two drivers engaged for the
journey.
The great Kailas range was to be crossed, and the first day's
march
up long, barren, stony valleys, without interest, took us to a
piece
of level ground, with a small semi-subterranean refuge on which
there
was barely room for two tents, at the altitude of the summit of
Mont
Blanc. For two hours before we reached it the men and animals
showed
great distress. Gyalpo stopped every few yards, gasping, with
blood
trickling from his nostrils, and turned his head so as to look at
me,
with the question in his eyes, What does this mean? Hassan Khan
was
reeling
from vertigo, but would not give in; the _seis_, a creature
without
pluck, was carried in a blanket slung on my tent poles, and even
the
Tibetans suffered. I felt no inconvenience, but as I unsaddled
Gyalpo
I was glad that there was no more work to do! This
'mountain-sickness,'
called by the natives _ladug_, or 'pass-poison,' is
supposed
by them to be the result of the odour or pollen of certain
plants
which grow on the passes. Horses and mules are unable to carry
their
loads, and men suffer from vertigo, vomiting, violent headache
and
bleeding
from the nose, mouth, and ears, as well as prostration of
strength,
sometimes complete, and occasionally ending fatally.
After
a bitterly cold night I was awakened at dawn by novel sounds,
gruntings,
and low, resonant bellowing round my tent, and the grey light
revealed
several _yaks_ (the _Bos grunniens_, the Tibetan ox), the pride
of
the Tibetan highlands. This magnificent animal, though not
exceeding
an
English shorthorn cow in height, looks gigantic, with his thick
curved
horns, his wild eyes glaring from under a mass of curls, his long
thick
hair hanging to his fetlocks, and his huge bushy tail. He is
usually
black or tawny, but the tail is often white, and is the length
of
his long hair. The nose is fine and has a look of breeding as well
as
power.
He only flourishes at altitudes exceeding 12,000 feet. Even after
generations
of semi-domestication he is very wild, and can only be
managed
by being led with a rope attached to a ring in the nostrils. He
disdains
the plough, but condescends to carry burdens, and numbers of
the
Ladak and Nubra people get their living by carrying goods for the
traders
on his broad back over the great passes. His legs are very
short,
and he has a sensible way of measuring distance with his eyes and
planting
his feet, which enables him to carry loads where it might be
supposed
that only a goat could climb. He picks up a living anyhow, in
that
respect resembling the camel.
He
has an uncertain temper, and is not favourably disposed towards
his
rider.
Indeed, my experience was that just as one was about to mount him
he
usually made a lunge at one with his horns. Some of my _yak_
steeds
shied,
plunged, kicked, executed fantastic movements on the ledges of
precipices,
knocked down their
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