BACK TO CIVILISATION

When we turned our backs on Phari and started to march down the Chumbi Valley, we had left the real Tibet behind us. I could not somehow look upon the Chumbi Valley as being a part of Tibet. Its characteristics, its houses, its people, its vegetation, are all so different from the greater part of Tibet. There are not the same cold winds that freeze the very marrow, nor are there the wide plains and the undulating hills with their extensive views.

In spite of all discomforts, there is a very great charm and fascination about travelling in Tibet. Is it partly because it is an unknown country, and the unknown is always fascinating, or is it rather because of the innate beauty of the country itself, with its landscapes so free from all restraint and a horizon often 150 to 200 miles distant? Never anywhere have I seen a country so full of colour as is Tibet. There is not enough vegetation to hide the rocks and the stones. The foreground as well as the distant view is wonderfully full of colour and variety. Contrasts are one of the charms of life, and probably in this lies the secret of the charm and attractiveness of Tibet. It is essentially a country of contrasts. The climate, above all, has contrasts of its own. The sun is burningly hot, but in the shade the cold may be intense. To such a pitch can the extremes of heat and cold arrive, that a man may suffer from sunstroke and frost-bite at one and the same time.

The Tibetans themselves are a strong, well-built and hardy race—Mongolian in type. The women usually put a mixture of grease and soot on their faces to protect them against the glare of the fresh snow or the biting winds, for even they, with their thick skins, do not seem to get used to the severity of the changes. How much more does the European suffer when he travels in Tibet and seems to need a fresh skin almost every day. The soot mixture does not add to the beauty of the women, though I came across some who were not bad looking. Many of the people are nomads, living in tents all the year round and moving about from camp to camp pasturing their herds of yaks and their flocks of sheep. It is curious that even in the winter-time they can find grazing places, but the secret lies in the fact that the slopes face the South in the regions where the wind blows strongest, so that the surface is usually bare. The snowfall in winter in most parts of Tibet is not heavy, and the climate being so dry, the snow is powdery, and the wind blows it along and forms great drifts in the hollows, leaving the exposed slopes usually clear. On these the herds, or flocks of sheep, obtain sufficient nourishment from such scattered patches of frozen grass or lichens as they are able to find. Of all the animals that the Tibetans have, the yak is the most useful. His long black hair, which reaches to the ground under his belly, is woven into tents or ropes. The milk, after they have drunk what they want, is turned into butter and cheese, of which they produce great quantities. When old, he is killed and his flesh is dried, providing meat for a long time. His hide supplies leather of every kind. It is always used untanned, for no tanning is ever done in Tibet and any tanned skins always come up from India. The yak dung is in many places the only fuel to be got and is most carefully picked up. To the present generation of young children the yak is probably familiar from that delightful rhyme in “The Bad Child's Book of Beasts”:—

The traveller in Tibet can easily live on such supplies as can be drawn from the country. The Tibetan is always hospitable and will provide sheep, milk, cheese and butter almost everywhere. Vegetables, however, of any kind are very scarce, though in the summer a species of spinach can be got in some places. Living, as the Tibetans do, far away from all outside influences, their customs and manners have not changed, and are the same as they were several hundred years ago. I can fully sympathise with their present desire for seclusion and their eagerness not to be exploited by foreigners. They sent a few years ago some young Tibetan boys to Rugby to be educated in different professions. These boys have now returned again to Lhasa, and with their aid, and with the aid of others who are being sent out into the world to learn, they hope to be able to develop the resources of their own country at leisure, in their own way, and by themselves, without being exploited commercially by foreigners.

The staple food of the Tibetans is tsampa (parched barley). This is ground up and either milk or tea is added, forming it into a kind of dough. This is put in a little bag, which they carry about with them when travelling, and is often their only food for several days. Tsampa can be obtained everywhere in Tibet, though it is easier to get it in the villages than from the tents of the nomads. Tea can, of course, be obtained everywhere, and, as I have described before, is mixed with salt and butter, churned up with great violence, and then poured into teapots. At every camp, and at every house, will be met fierce dogs. These dogs guard the flocks, or the nomad camps, and rather resemble large collies; as a rule, they are black and very fierce. The Tibetans were, however, always very good in tying them up before we approached their camps. In many of the houses we found tied up just outside the door another kind of dog, a huge brute of the mastiff type, always extremely savage and ready, if he had not been tied up, to tear the intruder to pieces. The peasants are still treated as serfs, though only in a mild form. For all Government officials, when on tour, they have to supply free transport and supplies of all kinds, so that official visits are not popular. At first the villagers were afraid that we might follow the example of the Tibetan officials and were much relieved to find that we did not do so.

I cannot leave the subject of Tibet without a few words about the monasteries. These are divided into two great schools, the Red Cap School and the Yellow Cap School. The former was founded by the Buddhist Saint, Padma Sambhava or Guru Rimpoche, in A.D. 749. They are the older of the two monastic sects, but their morals are much looser than those of the Yellow Sect, and the Lamas or monks of this sect are often married. In one monastery belonging to the Red Sect near Kharta, the Lamas and their wives were all living together. The Yellow Cap, or Gelukpa Sect, was founded in the fifteenth century by Tsong Kapa, who instituted a very much stricter moral code, and this sect looks down very much upon the Red Caps. The State religion of the country is Buddhism. By the middle of the seventeenth century, after a series of reincarnations, Nawang Lobsang had made himself master of Tibet and transferred his capital to Lhasa. He accepted the title of Dalai Lama (Ocean of Learning) from the Chinese, hence the Dalai Lama at Lhasa, by this doctrine of political reincarnation, has absorbed all the political power in the country into his own hands, although the Tashi Lama at Tashilumpo is in theory his senior and superior in spiritual matters. The old simple creed of the Buddhists can scarcely be recognised nowadays and is overlaid with devil worship in all its forms, supernatural agencies abounding everywhere. The top of a pass, a mountain, a river, a bridge, a storm; each will have its own particular god who is to be worshipped and propitiated. In many of the larger monasteries, too, they have oracles who are consulted far and wide and supposed to be able to foretell the future. These often acquire considerable power and influence by methods not unlike those resorted to in ancient Greece. It has been estimated that a fifth of the whole population of Tibet has entered monastic life. The conditions probably much resemble those which prevailed in mediÆval Europe. The monasteries contain nearly all the riches of the country. They own large estates; they are the source of all learning, and all the arts and crafts seem to take their inspiration from articles for use in the monasteries. The ordinary Tibetan, surrounded as he is by the various spirits which occupy every valley and mountain top, is very superstitious. He therefore has inside his house his prayer wheel and his little shrine, before which he offers up incense daily. His Mani walls or mendongs, covered with inscribed stones or carved figures of Buddha, are alongside the paths he daily uses; on the top of the mountains or passes, in addition to these prayer-covered stones, flutter rags printed over with prayers. All these are intended to propitiate the evil spirits. In places where there are particularly malignant devils, it may be necessary to build several Chortens in order to keep them in subjection, and these Chortens are filled with several thousands of prayers and sacred figures stamped in the clay.

The country is divided up into districts, each under its own Jongpen, who is responsible direct to Lhasa or Shigatse and has yearly to send the revenue collected to headquarters. A certain percentage of the crops is collected every year, and in a year of good harvest the Jongpen is able to make a certain amount of money for himself in addition to what he has to send to Lhasa. Our visit to the Kharta Valley was an unexpected windfall for the Kharta Jongpen, as I fancy that much of the money that we paid out to the different villages for supplies or coolie hire eventually found its way into his pocket and was not likely to find its way to Lhasa. This may possibly have accounted for his pleasure in entertaining us and his desire to keep us there as long as possible. The Tibetans, however, everywhere have good manners and are invariably most polite—a pleasant characteristic. Although they are all Buddhists, and accordingly object to the taking of life, they do not in the least mind killing their sheep or their yaks for food, but they objected to our shooting wild sheep or gazelles or wild birds for food. I could have understood this objection better had they been vegetarians and not killed their sheep for eating purposes, but a real vegetarian, except in the strictest monasteries, is very rare in Tibet.

There was a great fascination in roaming through the country as we did. It was the fascination of the unknown, this travelling in regions where Europeans had never travelled before, and where they had never even been seen. The people had exaggerated notions of our ferocity, and were full of fears as to what we might be like and as to what we might do. In these out-of-the-way parts they had heard vaguely of the fighting in 1904, and they imagined that our visit might be on the same lines. They imagined, too, that all Europeans were cruel and seized what they wanted without payment. They were therefore much surprised when they found that we treated them fairly and paid for everything that we wanted at very good rates. The Expedition may, I venture to think, take credit to itself for having certainly done a great deal of good in promoting more friendly relations between the Tibetans and ourselves, and in giving them a better understanding of what an Englishman is. Their ignorance of the outside world was at times astounding. Tibetan officials and traders were an exception, but it was seldom that the ordinary Tibetan ever left the valley in which he was born and bred, with the result that except for the wildest rumours, they knew nothing of the outside world. For long-distance journeys, the Tibetans used ambling mules or ponies, which were capable of going long distances and keeping up a speed of about 5 miles an hour. To our idea, the Tibetan saddle with its high wooden framework is very uncomfortable, but on the top of their saddles they would put their bedding, spreading over it a brilliant and often beautifully coloured carpet as a saddle cloth. On the top of this the rider would sit perched, and, with a good ambling pony, could get along very comfortably.

I always enjoyed travelling and moving about in Tibet. It hardly has the climate of Tennyson's Island Valley of Avilion—“Where falls not hail or rain or snow, nor ever wind blows loudly”—for we used to get samples of nearly all of these almost every day. But no matter how barren nor how bare the immediate surroundings were there was a sense of exhilaration and freedom in the air. There was never a sense of being confined in a narrow space. There was always some distant view where the colours would be continually changing. In the summer-time the climate was not unpleasant, and there was always the pleasure of finding some new and beautiful flower, oftentimes springing up out of the driest sand. Wherever there was water, there was sure to be vegetation and many bright-coloured flowers with every kind of wild-bird life. The shrill whistle of the marmot would often alone break the silence of the scene. Animal life in some form was almost always visible, whether it was the wild kiang roaming on the plains, or the gazelle, or the wild sheep, there was always something of interest to watch. The little mouse hares which lived in great colonies would constantly dodge in and out of their holes and the song of the larks could always be heard.

By the end of October the climate was beginning to get very cold, the thermometer descending at times to Zero Fahrenheit, so that we were quite ready to leave the country, being anxious to get warm again, if only for a short time. There was sorrow in our hearts, however, at parting with the friendly and hospitable folk whom we had encountered, and at leaving behind us the familiar landscapes with the transparent pale blue atmosphere that is so hard to describe, and the distant views of range upon range of snowy mountains often reflected in the calm waters of some blue coloured lake. The attractions of Tibet may yet be strong enough to draw us back again once more. Many years ago the same attraction impelled me to cross the Himalayan mountains and to visit another part of Tibet, but my excursion was, I am afraid, not favourably regarded by the Indian Government and my leave was stopped for six months. The same attraction, however, still exists for this land of many colours with its lonely sunsets full of beauty, with its nights where the eager stars gleam bright as diamonds, and where the full moon shines upon the nameless mountains covered with snow and still as death.

As we turned our backs upon the country we left winter behind us, and descending the Chumbi Valley once more found ourselves in autumnal surroundings. The Himalayan larch were all of a beautiful golden colour; the birch were all turning brown, and the berberis were a brilliant scarlet. Red currants and the scarlet haws of the rose were still on the bushes. The currants were no longer sour to eat raw, and we picked many of them on the way down. Our pockets, too, were filled with seeds of rhododendrons and other flowers. On the way I was met by the native officer commanding the garrison at Yatung, which was now found by the 90th Punjabis. As I passed their quarters, the guard turned out, presenting arms very smartly, and all the detachment came out and saluted. They were certainly a very well-trained detachment. Once more the Macdonald family most kindly sent over a generous meal, besides presents of every sort and kind of European vegetable. From Yatung we obtained forty-five mules for our transport. These came along very much faster than the yaks and the donkeys that we had been using. Here Gyalzen Kazi, one of our interpreters, left us to return to his home at Gangtok. I was very sorry to lose him. He had been a pleasant companion and had been of great assistance to the Expedition. He was always most willing to undertake any difficult or unpleasant job there might be, and I never heard a murmur or grumble from him of any kind during the whole time that he was with us. Our march was only a short one of 11 miles to Langra, where there was a Tibetan rest-house built in the Chinese style and rather reminding me of our rest-house at Tingri. It was a most perfect autumnal day, with scarcely a cloud in the sky. The woods everywhere were very beautiful, the dark silver fir trees showing up the scarlet and yellow of the bushes and the gold of the larch. Our cook, Acchu, was drunk again, but Poo prepared us a good meal instead. The next morning, to our surprise, on looking out we found a couple of inches of fresh snow on the ground and the snow was still falling steadily. The mules, nevertheless, were all loaded up in good time, and I followed on foot to the top of the Jelep Pass, snow falling steadily all the way—a fine granular snow. At the top of the pass the wind was blowing keenly, driving the snow into our faces. Besides the 6 inches of fresh snow here, there was a good deal of the old snow that had fallen a week or more ago, and in some places formed drifts several feet deep. It is seldom that a clear view is ever obtained on the Jelep Pass. It rained when we came over in May and it snowed now, and twice before, when I have crossed it, it rained all the time. Snow fell all the way down to Gnatong, where there were already a couple of inches of slush. The next morning was luckily fine, as we were to do a long march to Rongli—a distance of only 18 miles, but with a descent of 9,500 feet. The first few miles we walked through the fresh snow, but in the afternoon we were wandering among the sweet scents of a tropical jungle with orchids still flowering on the trees and ripe oranges in the garden of our bungalow. We had jumped from winter to summer in a few hours. The Tibetan mules came along excellently, doing the march in just over eight hours, a very different proceeding to our Government mules on the way up, which we were compelled to discard at Sedongchen. We reached Darjeeling on October 25. Lord Ronaldshay was unfortunately away on tour on his way to Bhutan, and as he had travelled via Gangtok, we had missed seeing him on the way. The next few days we spent in getting rid of the remainder of our stores, selling anything perishable that we could, getting tents dried and mended, and storing everything else in view of a second Expedition. We here said good-bye to our other interpreter, Chheten Wangdi, who had served us most faithfully throughout the Expedition, and it was with the greatest regret that we took leave of him on the railway station at Darjeeling.

Our Expedition had accomplished all that it had set out to do. All the approaches to Mount Everest from the North-west, North, North-east and East had been carefully reconnoitred and a possible route to the top had been found up the North-east ridge. Climatic conditions alone had prevented a much greater height being attained. Friendly relations had been established with the Tibetan officials and people wherever we went. Our travels had taken us through much unexplored and new country wherein we had discovered some magnificent and undreamt-of valleys where primeval forests existed such as we had never imagined to find in Tibet and where deep filled glens with the richest semi-tropical vegetation descended as low as 7,000 feet. Many beautiful flowers were discovered in these Alpine valleys, and we were able to collect a quantity of seeds from these which I hope may help to enrich and to beautify our gardens at home. A new part of the country has been opened up to human knowledge. It has been photographed and described. The surveyors have made an original survey at a scale of 4 miles to the inch of an area of some 12,000 square miles; a detailed photographic survey of 600 square miles of the environs of Mount Everest has been worked out, and, besides this, the maps of another 4,000 square miles of country have been revised. Dr.Heron, our indefatigable geologist, himself travelled over the greater part of this area, and has carefully investigated the geology of the whole region. That the Expedition was able to accomplish so much in such a short time was due to the hearty co-operation and keenness of all the members of the party. We were a happy family and, to use a rowing expression, we all “pulled together.” Such success as we attained is entirely due to their strenuous and ceaseless efforts, and I can only express my gratitude to them for the unselfish way in which they helped and assisted me on every occasion.

The Expedition of 1921 is over; many problems have been solved, much new country has been brought within our ken, and many new beauties have been revealed, but the soul of man is never content with what has been attained. The solution of one problem only brings forward fresh problems to be solved, so this Expedition into unknown country brings within the realms of possibility further travels and further problems to be solved. There is much that yet remains to be done, much that remains to be discovered; and though we may not be privileged to discover a new race of hairy snow men, yet there is a wild and uncharted country full of beauty and interest that awaits those who dare face the discomfort and hardships of travelling in Tibet—discomforts which are soon forgotten and leave behind them only the memories of very wonderful scenes and places which the passing of time can never efface.

R. W. S.

THE RECONNAISSANCE OF THE MOUNTAIN
By
GEORGE H. LEIGH-MALLORY