MULI TO YUNG-NING

The territory ruled over by the lama-prince of Muli230 is to Europeans, as it is to the Chinese themselves, almost an unknown corner of the Chinese empire. One may search in vain through books of history or travel for any description of it. Even the Ssuch'uan T'ung Chih—a work that describes the province in nearly two hundred volumes—devotes to it only a single page. Baber does little more than refer to it by name. He describes it as "a country of which almost nothing is known, lying south of Litang and west of the Yalung. I can only learn," he adds, "that the language of its inhabitants is unintelligible to Tibetans. The Chinese call it the 'land of the Yellow Lamas.' The Mili of D'Anville's map is probably its chief monastery."231 Hosie, in his recent report of a journey through Litang and Batang to the border of Tibet proper, refers to it as "the State of Mili, or Muli—better known as Huang Lama ('Yellow Lama')." As regards this name "Huang Lama," there appears to be some confusion of ideas, either on the part of the natives of the state or on the part of the Chinese. Huang means "yellow," but another word of identical sound though differently written means "imperial,"232 and I was assured by the lamas themselves—who may have been deliberately misleading me—that the huang which is applied to their territory or its rulers is the second of these. According to this theory, the state of Muli is the land of the Imperial Lamas (or Lama), not the land of the "Yellow Lamas." The Muli lamas do, however, belong to one of the GÉlupa or reformed sects, and therefore wear the "yellow hat" in religious ceremonials.

Unfortunately, the lama-prince was not at Muli at the time of my arrival there, and three or four subordinate lamas, who called upon me and with whom I conversed in Tibetan with the assistance of my servant, were either disinclined or unable to impart much information. But as far as I could gather, it appears that "a long time ago"233 the principal lama of this country rendered valuable services to the Chinese Emperor, and received as a reward the title of "Huang Lama," and was confirmed in the spiritual and temporal sovereignty of the whole principality of Muli. It is evident, however, that Muli has for centuries past been regarded as a debatable land: sometimes the kings or Grand Lamas of Tibet and sometimes the emperors of China have been regarded as suzerains. According to one story which was told me by a lama, Muli-land was at one time an integral part of the "monarchy" of Tachienlu, and was ceded to a certain lama by one of the kings of Chala as a reward for having cured the king of a painful disease. However this may be, the dignity of prince-lama is now, and long has been, the exclusive monopoly of one family. The system of succession is therefore totally different from that generally in vogue in Tibet proper, where the prior of a lamasery is either selected by the Dalai Lama or by the whole body of lamas, or—in the case of the greater establishments—is chosen as an infant to fill that high office because he is believed to be the reincarnation of the prior or abbot last deceased.234 The ecclesiastical title of the lama-prince of Muli is k'an-po,235 a word which may be translated lord-abbot or bishop—and it is by that title that he is familiarly known in his own territory; but in virtue of his civil powers he is also a gyal-po or "king," and is just as powerful within his own limits as the king of Chala. The Muli gyal-po being a lama cannot marry, but when he dies his successor is chosen from among his brothers or nephews. If an otherwise eligible heir is under the age of eighteen or thereabouts, he is passed over in favour of any suitable elder relative who may be a lama. Notification of the death of the k'an-po or gyal-po must be sent to the emperor at Peking, and at the same time the name of a suitable heir, selected from the eligible members of the "royal" family, is submitted for the imperial consideration. His succession is as a matter of form ratified by the emperor, and he forthwith enters upon his duties and honours. News of the k'an-po's death and the accession of his heir is also sent to Lhasa, but the approval of the Dalai Lama is not now essential to legalise the succession. Subject to the suzerainty of China the k'an-po is invested with full ecclesiastical and civil powers in virtue of his double position, but in practice he generally confines himself to civil and judicial administration, and leaves the management of ecclesiastical affairs to lamas of lower rank. He has three centres of government, all of which are also lamaseries: their names are Muli, Lha-k'ang236 and Khon.237 Muli, the chief lamasery and headquarters of the government, contains about four hundred and fifty lamas; Lha-k'ang and Khon between one and two hundred each. At these centres the k'an-po resides alternately, generally remaining a year at each. I was told that this custom was originated in order that the k'an-po might acquire a thorough knowledge of the different parts of his territory, and that his ear should always be open to receive his people's complaints.

Important lawsuits are decided by the k'an-po himself, but smaller suits and petty criminal cases are dealt with by officials of lower rank. The government is emphatically a hierarchy, for every official—executive and judicial—is a lama. The only apparent exceptions to this rule are the Bei-ze, village headmen, who, however, hold no official rank, and are merely the patriarchs or most substantial landholders of the different villages. The bei-ze is empowered to settle simple local disputes, but he has no prestige outside his own village. His rank is inferior to that of any one who has donned the robe of a lama or novitiate (tra-pa). The highest officials after the k'an-po are the ch'an-dzÖ,238 a kind of lord high treasurer, the ku-ts'ab239 or "commissioner," and finally the nyer-ba, whose chief duties appear to be connected with the food-supply. All these dignitaries are appointed by the k'an-po, and hold office during his good pleasure.240

In matters affecting Chinese interests the k'an-po is expected to communicate with the district magistrate of Yen-yÜan, the prefect of Ning-yÜan, or the taotai of Ya-chou. If one of the parties to a lawsuit is an independent Chinese, the case is sent to the Yen-yÜan magistrate, who deals with it according to ordinary Chinese procedure, or passes it to his superiors. But such cases hardly ever arise in practice, as the only people in Muli-land who call themselves Chinese are a few half-castes who as dependents of one of the Huang Lama lamaseries are subject to the k'an-po's jurisdiction. The k'an-po himself is expected to proceed at least once in twelve years to Wu T'ai Shan,241 the sacred mountain of Shansi, whence, after the performance of certain religious duties, he is supposed to go to Peking to do homage to the emperor. His presents to the Court on such occasions take the form of gold and skins. Within his territory he has complete control of finances, but he pays a small annual tribute to China. All local revenue is said to be paid in kind, and, as in China, mainly consists in a land-tax assessed according to the productive capacity of the land. In addition to ordinary taxation the people whose holdings adjoin the main roads are subject to the same system of ula that presses so hardly on many of the subjects of the king of Chala. The k'an-po also derives considerable revenue from the gold-workings in his territory. Gold-washing and mining rights are vested in the lamas, who exercise a jealous control over the output of the metal and exact large royalties. The gold is generally disposed of in the markets of Litang and Tachienlu. The only remaining tax of importance is levied on tea, which in the Muli territory is very expensive and beyond the means of many of the inhabitants.

The present k'an-po (whom, owing to his absence at Khon, I did not meet) was in May 1906 a man of about thirty-seven years of age, and had presided over his little state for about seventeen years. He succeeded his elder brother. His full designation as given to me was Ha-ba-de-li-gyal-po.242 The permanent rank of the k'an-po in his capacity of Barbarian Chieftain is that of an An Fu Ssu.243 His territory is said to be larger than that of the king of Chala, but it is poorer and has a smaller population.244

Within the Muli lamasery the rules of the reformed sects of Lamaism are observed with fair strictness, and no woman is allowed under any pretence to enter its coenobitical precincts. This is very different from the lax state of affairs that prevails in the large lamaseries at Tachienlu and further west. The houses or cells are for the most part buildings of two stories. In spite of their clean whitewashed exteriors they have a somewhat forbidding aspect, as, like all Tibetan buildings, the windows are small and have neither glass nor paper. Boarded windows are apt to give an impression of desolation to which it takes a long time to become accustomed. The lamasery is built on the slope of a mountain on which the various buildings rise above one another tier upon tier. The first view of it is very striking, for the configuration of the hill conceals it from sight until one is within a very short distance of its walls, and then almost every separate building becomes simultaneously visible.245 To a traveller approaching from the south-west the view is even more remarkable; for the whole mass of buildings is entirely hidden from sight until he is within a stone's throw of its nearest walls, and then it appears suddenly to rise out of the ground before him in a blaze of whiteness. Nearly all the buildings face east and north-east, with their backs to the mountain. In front of the lamasery there is a gentle slope down to a valley running north-east and south-west, through which flows a small stream, the Rong Ch'u or "Valley Water." This stream flows to swell the waters of the Li Ch'u, which is visible from Muli at a distance of about 3 miles, and which flows in a south-easterly direction to join the Yalung. On the slope in front of the lamasery are terraced fields of wheat, barley and buckwheat, and pasture-lands for goats and yak. Behind and above the lamasery is a forest, consisting mostly of oak-trees and coniferÆ. It is full of pheasants, but, as shooting is prohibited in the vicinity of the lamasery, they are of no use to a hungry sportsman. Above the forest is a precipitous range of crags. On the south side of the valley are sparsely-wooded hills. Two buildings in the lamasery stand out conspicuously, one above and the other below the lamas' dwellings.

The lower one, with not very conspicuous gilded pinnacles, may be regarded as the cathedral, for it is there that the ordinary services taken from the Kah-gyur and Tang-gyur—the scriptures of Lamaism—are daily celebrated. I attended one of the services in the company of two of my lama hosts, but was requested not to go beyond the threshold of the open door. A large choir of lamas and acolytes were on their knees, intoning the usual chants in a manner that would not discredit the choirs of some English churches. The singers had evidently been well and skilfully trained, and though the music had none of the magnificent harmonies of European music, it was by no means unpleasant to the ear, and once or twice I was vaguely reminded of Palestrina. As the interior of the building was shrouded in deep gloom, I asked if I might enter and look round when the service was over, but was told that it would continue without intermission for eleven days and nights, during which time different choirs of lamas would successively relieve each other. This surprising assertion was probably merely designed to prevent my unsanctified feet from desecrating the sacred floor; or perhaps my hosts, who may have been told that Europeans were noted for their predatory instincts, feared that I might take advantage of the darkness to purloin some of the sacred utensils. The other conspicuous building to which I have referred stands on an elevation overlooking the rest of the lamasery, and was closed up when I arrived at Muli. It is the residence of the k'an-po, and in it special services are held during one month in each year, from the middle of the fourth to the middle of the fifth Chinese "moon," roughly corresponding to July. During that month no animal may be slaughtered, and the lamas are restricted to a purely vegetable diet. This is the only time that the Buddhist injunction to destroy no living animal is observed at Muli. Smoking, however, which is nowhere referred to, so far as I remember, in the Buddhist scriptures, is at all times strictly prohibited.

Muli is much smaller than some of the huge lamaist establishments in other Tibetan states, where there are sometimes as many lamas collected in one lamasery as there are undergraduates at Oxford. Muli has only four hundred and fifty, and this number includes the tra-pa246 or novices, who are not, strictly speaking, entitled to be called lamas. Most of the lamas have been to Lhasa, and all must go there on pilgrimage before they can be allowed to hold high office. One of my hosts informed me that the journey to Lhasa occupied three months, but that the difficulties of the road were less serious than those which I had myself met with during my journey from Tachienlu.

Tibetan is the official language of the state, and most of the lamas can speak it; but they have also a language of their own, of which I attempted to compile a small vocabulary.247 It certainly appears to be allied to Tibetan, but would be unintelligible to any one acquainted with that language only. It seems to show a considerable admixture of Mo-so, and perhaps of other less-known tribal dialects. The Tibetan alphabet is used for the transcription of sounds. When I asked what different races inhabited Muli-land I was only given a little vague information which may be far from accurate. Unfortunately the dialect of Tibetan spoken by the lamas who visited me was not always intelligible to my servant, far less to myself, and I am by no means satisfied that my questions were always clearly understood, or that the replies given me were properly interpreted. The Njong, I was told, are the predominant race, and it is of their language that I have given a few words in the Appendix. I have suggested in another place248 that they may be more or less closely connected with the Mo-so of to-day. Less numerous are the Man-tzu (always a vague term), Lolos, Pa-No, Po-Nyi and Pa-Chi. The Pa-No and Po-Nyi, whoever they may be, appear to have languages of their own. The Pa-Chi are said to be of mixed Chinese and Man-tzu descent, and speak a dialect which my servant could make nothing of. Finally there are a number of Miao-tzu, an aboriginal race of which we still find vestiges in Kwang-si, Yunnan, Kuei-chou and other parts of China. It was curious to find representatives of that race or tribe so far west as the borders of Tibet,249 and it would be interesting to ascertain if they have preserved any traditions of their origin. Unfortunately, it does not seem likely that there are any educated men among them. Even in Muli-land they are a despised race, and are the only people who are debarred from becoming lamas. The names of other race-types of Muli given in the T'ung Chih250 are somewhat puzzling, and I can make little of them.

The lamas themselves are by no means well educated, and apart from the lamas no one can read or write. As in all countries where lamaism has established itself, laymen are allowed and indeed expected to remain in complete ignorance of letters. In Burma and Siam, where a far purer form of the Buddhist religion is observed, the monks are the schoolmasters of the people, and the monasteries are the village schools; but no such scholastic work is undertaken by the lamas of Tibetan countries, who believe that nothing is worth studying except what is in their sacred books, and that only lamas are worthy to study them. It is no wonder that the people of Tibet are the most ignorant and superstitious of any semi-civilised race in Asia.

In manners and customs there does not seem to be any particular in which Muli-land stands alone. The dead bodies of both lamas and laymen are disposed of by cremation. In the case of lamas the ashes are carefully collected from the funeral pyre, ground into fine powder and preserved in urns. The cremated bodies of laymen are treated with less respect, for the ashes are merely thrown over precipices or into mountain caverns.251 In some parts of the eastern Tibetan states—including those which like Chala and Muli have been annexed to the Chinese empire—the bodies of the dead are left exposed on the mountain sides until every particle of flesh has been torn off the bones by vultures and beasts of prey;252 and elsewhere—especially in the case of the very poor, who cannot afford the expense of cremation—the corpses are simply thrown into the nearest river, without any ceremony.

I rested at Muli from the 3rd of May—the day of my arrival—till the morning of the 6th, when I resumed my march towards Yunnan. From Muli to Yung-ning, which is situated a few miles beyond the border, is a journey of three stages, and up to that point—or rather to the frontier of Yunnan—my path continued to lie through the territory of Muli. The lamas did everything possible to render this part of my journey pleasant. They granted me the privilege of ula (for which I paid the same rates as in the territory of Chala), sent an avant-courier to warn the villagers to give me proper treatment, and deputed one of their probationers or tra-pa to escort me to Yung-ning. Our first stage was a short one. We began by going up the valley of the Rong Ch'u towards the S.S.W. About 4 miles from Muli we descended to the bed of the river, and crossed to the right bank. A winding path led us up the steep slope of the south side of the valley, and while we were still not more than 7 miles from Muli we halted. The prospect of a steep climb over a pass on the following day seemed to break the spirit of my followers, as they declared it was impossible to proceed further that day. The pass is apparently a notorious haunt of robbers. There was a solitary farmhouse at the place where we halted; but as it was rather more squalid and filthy than usual, I decided to camp out of doors. Towards evening a thunderstorm drove me into the house, but I was speedily expelled again by the smoke and charcoal fumes, and established myself under an improvised awning on the roof.

On the following day we had a long and somewhat arduous march over the pass of Shi Li La, the height of which is about 15,500 feet.253 The path bears at first towards the east and south-east, and gradually ascends to a ridge, which is separated from the true summit by a narrow valley running north-east and south-west. From this point to the summit the climb would be easy in dry weather, but the thawing snows made the path slippery and disagreeable. From the summit we found the descent at first steep and rocky, but, as soon as we had left the snow behind us, we found ourselves descending an easy road through a forest containing many magnificent firs. Some of them measured 15 feet in circumference, 5 feet above the ground. Between 3,000 and 4,000 feet below the summit of the pass, we crossed a stream, and went uphill for a few hundred feet, thereafter descending into a broken and very picturesque valley, in the middle of which we found the first inhabited spot we had seen in the course of a 30-mile ride. This was the hamlet of Li She Tzu, the inhabitants of which are Mo-so, a race of which I shall have more to say below.254 From this point to Yung-ning, and some distance beyond it, we found every village inhabited almost exclusively by people of this race.

Leaving Li She Tzu at dawn on 8th May, we rode over an undulating road, generally wooded, and at about 5 miles changed mules at the village of Li Rang Tzu. This proved to be the last village of Muli-land, and of the province of Ssuch'uan, for a march of barely 4 miles beyond it led us across the boundary of the province at the top of a low range of wooded hills. We were then in Yunnan. The descent into the next plain was steep, and the road execrable. There we entered the first of the Yunnanese villages—Djo-Dji—where I was received by the local headman. Though a Mo-so, he was acquainted with Chinese, as well as his own language, and was attired in a Chinese long coat with bright brass buttons that had once adorned the uniform of a British soldier. From a metal case which he held in his hand he drew one of his cards. As he presented it to me, he told me that he was well acquainted with Western foreigners, for he had seen two besides myself. They, he added, were two Frenchmen, who had passed through the village quite recently, and who—judging from his description—must have been engaged in surveying.255 He spoke of them with great warmth of feeling, for it appeared that they had presented him with a valuable memento in the shape of an empty sardine-tin. This was the metal box which he had converted into a card-case, and of which he was evidently very proud. The district in which this village is situated is fairly rich and well populated. A series of cultivated plains, divided from each other by rounded hills, extends the whole way from the frontier of the province to the town of Yung-ning, which we reached after passing through a number of prosperous villages, inhabited by Mo-so, of which the largest were Wo La, Yi Ma Wa, A-ko Am-ni Wa, and A-gu Wa. In these villages the houses were nearly all mere cabins, built of pine-logs, the roofs being thin wooden boards weighted with heavy stones to keep them from blowing away; but the dress of the women is in striking contrast with the poverty of their dwellings. Their hair, which is roped round the head, is lavishly adorned with strings of beads and silver ornaments, and their skirts are brilliantly coloured.256 But while wife and daughter are allowed to array themselves in all the finery that the family possesses, the husband is content to wear the meanest sackcloth, and carries no ornaments. Some of the men, in imitation of the Chinese, shave the front of their heads and wear queues.

Yung-ning, in spite of the prominence given to it on the maps, is a large straggling village rather than a town. It has no walls, its houses are humble structures mostly built of wood, and its only conspicuous building is an imposing lamasery. Its population is purely agricultural. The people are of mixed Mo-so and Tibetan race, and the prevailing religion is Lamaism. The town—if it must be so called—is the capital of a district bounded on the north and east by the provincial frontier, on the south by the Yangtse or River of Golden Sand, and the Chinese sub-prefecture of Yung Pei, and on the west by the tribal district of Chung-tien. The district of Yung-ning is ruled by a hereditary native chief, a personage of less importance than the "kings" of Chala and Muli, but still of considerable rank and influence. Like many other tribal chiefs who, during the last few centuries have been brought by cajolery or force of arms under the dominion of China, the Yung-ning chief holds the hereditary rank of a Chinese official. In China proper, as I need hardly say, official rank is not hereditary; but in subduing the wild "barbarian" districts of Ssuch'uan and Yunnan the Chinese Government found their task facilitated by making an ingenious compromise with the chiefs. Each chieftain who placed himself and his territory under the suzerainty of China, and undertook to be guided in all matters of political importance by Chinese advice, was not only confirmed in his position as tribal ruler, but received the title and rank of a Chinese official to be borne by his heirs and successors in perpetuity. The ruler of Yung-ning thus bears the hereditary rank and title of prefect, and it is for this reason that in the maps his capital is marked as a fu or prefecture. In all matters affecting Chinese interests he is practically the subordinate of the sub-prefect of Yung Pei, a Chinese official whose rank is nominally inferior to his own. Yung Pei is a small city lying about six days' journey south of Yung-ning, forming the centre of a Chinese administrative subdivision.

The day after my arrival at Yung-ning I received a call from the chief. As he knew no Chinese we had to converse through the medium of his Chinese secretary. The chief was a young man of about twenty-eight, amiable enough, but intensely shy and ill at ease in the presence of a foreigner. He wore the uniform of his Chinese rank, and showed himself well acquainted with the Chinese rules of ceremony and etiquette.

The plain of Yung-ning is situated about 9,500 feet above sea-level, in a warm latitude, and produces a great variety of crops. Part of it is given up to the cultivation of rice, for it is well watered by a considerable stream, which bisects the town and flows through the middle of the plain. I saw here, for the first time since I had left central Ssuch'uan, that patient and indispensable partner of the Chinese ploughman in the rice-field, the water-buffalo. The stream is named the K'ai Chi257 and is spanned by a handsome stone bridge which, according to the inscription on a tablet close by, was rebuilt as recently as the thirtieth year of the present reign (1905). The stream produces excellent fish.

The town contains, besides quasi-Tibetans and Mo-so, a considerable number of Li-so (Leesaw), who speak a language of their own. During the day and a half I spent in Yung-ning I took the opportunity to note down a list of Li-so words, in order that I might compare them with the Mo-so words I had picked up during the three days' march from Muli. The vocabularies will be found in Appendix A.

In many respects the social customs of the Mo-so are identical with those of eastern Tibet. Polyandry, for example, prevails among them to a great extent. It is quite common for a woman to have three or four husbands, or even more. With regard to the prevalence of this practice in Tibetan countries, Baber258 has observed the curious fact that polygamy is the rule in the valleys while polyandry prevails in the uplands, the reason apparently being that women are numerous in the valleys, where the work is light and suitable to their capabilities, but form only a small minority of the population of the mountains, where the climate is severe and the work of the herdsmen not suited to females. "The subject," he says, "raises many curious and by no means frivolous questions, but I cannot help thinking it singular that the conduct of courtship and matrimony should be regulated by the barometrical pressure." In the Mo-so country, however, the practice of polyandry seems to be almost, if not quite, as prevalent among the people of the plains as among those of the mountains; it exists, for instance, in the villages situated on the banks of the upper Yangtse, less than two days' journey south of Yung-ning. The children of a woman who has several husbands are apparently regarded as the legitimate offspring of all of them: an arrangement facilitated by the fact that the husbands are generally closely related to each other,259 and that the Mo-so, like the Tibetans, have no regular surnames. In one of the Sino-Tibetan states north-west of Tachienlu the sovereign power is said to be always in the hands of a woman. This is the principality of Sa-mong (so spelled in Tibetan) in the north-east of Derge. If this "regiment of women" is not connected with an ancient matriarchal custom it may be the result of ages of polyandry, though I am not aware that the queen of Sa-mong takes to herself more than one prince-consort.260

The funeral ceremonies of the Mo-so are much the same as those of the Tibetans and the people of Muli. The dead are generally cremated or left to the vultures and beasts of prey. In case of cremation, the ashes are scattered or thrown into a ravine or river. Such rough-and-ready methods of disposing of the dead seem to point back to a time when the people that practise these customs were nomads, having no fixed habitation and unable to raise permanent memorials to their dead. The Mo-so, who have settled close to the banks of the Yangtse, hold the richest lands, and are perhaps the most civilised members of their race. They, perhaps influenced by the example of the Chinese, seem to be gradually modifying the national customs with regard to the disposal of the dead. After cremation they carefully wash the ashes in the waters of the Yangtse, and then deposit them in artificial caves roughly hewn by themselves out of the loose crumbling soil of the river's right bank. But the ashes are not inurned, and no record of the deceased is preserved on tablets or monuments.