On June 9th we were as usual early on horseback, and on our road towards the south. Tenba seemed to fall back into his old suspicious mood. We were due to reach the first Challenge Gate on the following morning, and he possibly feared that if anything leaked out he would be arrested and put into jail. So he began his attacks on me again.

“The other day,” he said, “you said that there was no need for us to take the secret path, but there you were wrong. It is not nearly such difficult travelling as you suppose. I have been over it twice myself, and the wild beasts can always be scared away by lighting fires. The officers at Phari are, as I have told you, both strict and extortionate. Fourteen or fifteen yen ought to be enough, but you may have to pay thirty or even fifty. You will be detained for three or four days at the very least, possibly for a week. If you are anxious to get on quickly you had better take the secret path. Why waste money and time?”

“Well,” I replied, “if the officials want to bleed me, I suppose they must. I have no objection to being bled. It will be one way of making an offering to the Dalai Lama.”

Again my feigned nonchalance cleared his mind of doubt, though it surprised him not a little. But a short time later a most strange and weird thing took place. We had gone some five miles further, when suddenly a band of ill-favored savage-looking men, four in number, stood in my path, made a profound bow, and begged me to do them a favor.

“We are on our way from the north,” they said in excited tones, “and we were taking salt to sell at Phari. Last night, while our watchmen were dozing, some robbers came up and drove off forty-five of our yaks. We do not know whether they were Tibetans or Bhu?anese, but we intend to pursue them whoever they are, and we desire you to find out by divination which way they have gone.”

They had mistaken me for a soothsaying Tibetan priest, and there was nothing for me but to act up to the rÔle. So I struck an attitude such as I had seen the native diviners assume, and said solemnly and with decision: “Go towards the north, as quickly as you can: it may be that you will catch them before evening.”

So they hurried off with great joy, leaving us to proceed on our journey to the village of Lham tso on the slope of Mount Chomo-Lhari. It is a poor village, the soil of which is said to produce nothing that is eatable, and the inhabitants are generally unable to pay taxes.

Bhu?an is an independent country under the nominal rule of a King, whose power, however, does not go far over the various tribes within his Kingdom. Each tribe pays a tribute to Tibet, directly, and not through the King’s Government, and in return for the tribute receives a present from the Tibetan authorities, so that it is really an exchange of presents rather than a payment of tribute.

We were now not very far from the first Challenge Gate. I had had to tell Tenba repeatedly to stick to the public road, but I was obliged to have recourse to religious meditation before I could get him to act in accordance with my wishes.

Fortunately for my authority the men who had lost the yaks on the previous day came up to us. They had recovered every one of their lost animals, and had come to express their gratitude and to make me a present of two tankas and a kata. This incident impressed my servant tremendously. He was now quite sure that I was a man gifted with extraordinary powers, and was more willing to acquiesce in my decision. That evening I recited the Holy Texts until all had fallen asleep. I myself went into a religious meditation-trance, by the light of which I decided to go by the public road.

Travellers taking this road are subjected to a first and very strict examination at the first gate-house at Phari. The first requisite is a witness, who for a consideration swears that the traveller is going into India on business for a short time, intending to come back. Then a little palm-oil procures the passport, armed with which he goes on to the second gate at Chumbi Samba. Here he produces the passport and goes on to the third gate at Pimbithang, where he is examined carefully by Chinese officials. The fourth gate is at Tomo Rinchen-gang at which the traveller receives a written certificate, which he has to show on reaching the great gate of Nyatong Castle. Here he has to do much bribery, and is strictly cross-examined. If he comes through the ordeal, he receives another paper which he has to take back to the fourth gate to be countersigned and visÉd. At the fourth gate he gets some more papers which he has to take to the Chinese officer at Pimbithang, from whom he receives another document written in Chinese, which, together with the document received at the fourth gate, must be taken once more to the gate house at Nyatong Castle. At length, on the production of all these documents, he is allowed to pass through the castle gate into the village of Nyatong. Here he crosses a small bridge on the other side of which are some Chinese sentinels, the commander of these Chinese troops receiving from him the certificate which he has received at the third gate. The document from the fourth gate he takes with him to his destination: its production on his return journey will enable him once more to be admitted to the sacred soil of Tibet.

Between Phari and Nyatong I came across a great number of friends and acquaintances—some of them were chance acquaintances, others who had known me at Darjeeling. There was a lady missionary, Miss Annie R. Taylor, who was living with her servants near the Nyatong Gate, and there were some ill-natured Tibetans who knew me so well that I was obliged to keep my eye constantly open. I might, I felt, have the good fortune to get into the gate-house, but whether I would come out again was a more difficult problem. I could hardly expect to get through without meeting any of my friends. If I were detained for any length of time at Phari, there was the danger that I might be arrested by messengers from Lhasa, though I knew that ten days must elapse before my absence from that city would be detected. The period from April 20 to April 30 (Tibetan style) is a period of confusion and bustle in Lhasa, and during that period it was almost impossible that I should be missed. The conclusion of the Panchen Lama’s rites would leave the officials with leisure on their hands: then my absence would be noted, and in the end they would send messengers after me.

The day on which I held my meditation was May 3, according to the Tibetan calendar, and I concluded therefore that two or three days more must elapse before my pursuers could reach me. But a delay of four or five days at Phari might be a very critical question for me, and it was just possible that while we were kept cooling our heels in the last of the gate-houses, the Government messengers might arrive, and all our labour be lost. Yet it was very strange that, in spite of all the difficulties of the way, it had been revealed to me in my meditation that the public road was the one I ought to take.

I had thought that the danger of the two roads was about equal; but I thought that I would rather be arrested on the public road and possibly be treated with violence, than fall among wild beasts or robbers on the secret path. I had moreover on several occasions tried the method of religious meditation, and always with success. I determined therefore to follow the path that had been revealed to me.

That night, I slept but very little, in a sitting position, and early the next morning I started off on horseback towards the great snowy peak of Chomo-Lhari. By going round the side of the mountain, and gradually proceeding south, after leaving lake Lham tso, we at last saw far to the east and south, the great peak towering up above the clouds almost like a snowy image of sitting ?harma. It was summer; yet the weather was so exceedingly cold that no plants could grow there, except lichens of flattened kinds. By dint of whipping my horse all the time, I tried very hard to reach Phari on that day; but as my servant walked on foot and could not keep up with me, it was quite dark when we came to the village of Chu-kya. It is on a very high plateau, and the climate is exceedingly cold. The land here is not only high, but large snow mountains stand round it on both sides in one continuous row and it has been said to be the bleakest and most barren wilderness in the Tsang district. At night unless dried yak dung can be collected, piled up and burned continually, the cold is almost intolerable. Notwithstanding that it was early summer, it was colder than our most rigorous winter in Japan: indeed it is the coldest, wildest, most barren place between Lhasa and Darjeeling. The next morning, June 11th, we took tea and started at four o’clock, going about five miles south along the river flowing through the wilderness. I came to the Phari Zong just at sunrise.