On the day I left Karma’s, about three o’clock in the afternoon I was overtaken by a party of men, the leader of whom happened to be, as I afterwards found, the chief of the district of Hor-tosho, through which I was then travelling. They accosted me. I saw in the glint of the chief’s eyes something that told me that he had half a mind to suspect me. I perceived at once the danger I might be in, and managed to bring the conversation round to the subject of Gelong Rinpoche. As good luck would have it, the chief happened to be a great believer in Gelong Rinpoche. Had I met the holy man? Yes! And more—I had been taught to study the mysteries of Bo?hi-sa??va and Maha-sa??va, besides having been given many valuable presents by the saintly Teacher. All these incidents, of which I gave full particulars, had the effect of completely melting away the suspicion which had almost formed in the chief’s mind. He then invited me to come to his house-tent the next day and read the Sacred Books for him. His name was Wangdak.

On the following day Wangdak lent me a horse and caused his men to look after my luggage. A ride of something over ten miles brought me to the chief’s habitation, where I found his worldly possessions quite equal to the weighty position he held as a district chief. All went well. The next day Wangdak caused one of his men and a horse to accompany me for a distance of about six miles, at the end of which the servant with the horse took leave of me, after informing me that one night’s bivouac and some walking on a comparatively easy road would bring me to another nomad station.

In due time I reached this station, where I found four tents, on approaching which I was, as usual, met by a welcome-party of dogs. I shall say no more of the canine welcome, which is an invariable thing on arriving at a nomad’s tent. At one day’s distance from the station I was to come to Tamchok Khanbab, which forms the upper course of the Brahmapu?ra, and is the greatest of Tibetan rivers, and I needed a guide, without whom I could not think of any attempt to cross it. Unfortunately I found no one willing to become my guide, although I made liberal offers of money and other things of value. I was almost on the verge of despair, when a sickly looking old woman came to me. She said that she was very ill and begged me to examine her, and to tell her when she would die; a pleasant request, indeed! But I took pity on her, for I could see that hers was a case of consumption in its advanced stage. I granted her request, to please her, and also gave her some harmless medicine to ease her mind, besides telling her how to take care of herself, and other things such as a good doctor would say when he knows his patient to be in a hopeless condition, but not likely to die immediately. The old dame was gratified beyond measure, and wished to give me something in return, and she implored me to say what that something should be. Here was my chance. I told her the plight I was in, and asked her to secure, if possible, a couple of men and some horses—say three—to take me to, and help me to cross, the river on the morrow. Nothing could be easier; she was only too glad to be able to oblige so holy a Lama. When the morrow came all was done as I had requested. It is a general thing for a Tibetan pack-horse to carry on its back its driver and thirty pounds more or less of baggage. In my case the horses had an easier time of it, because my luggage was distributed on three of them. We started at five o’clock in the morning, and having covered about seventeen miles by eleven o’clock, we arrived on the banks of the Tamchok Khanbab. Here I prepared my noon-meal in the usual manner, and took it before crossing the river.

This river was a mountain stream of considerable breadth, with extensive sand-beaches on either side. The width of the beach alone on the eastern side was about two and a half miles, and that on the opposite side about half as much; the width of the stream itself, when I crossed it, was not more than a little over a mile. It was at the water’s edge that we took our meal. When all was ready for crossing, I once more felt the necessity of anointing my body, but at the same time I also felt the undesirability of letting my guides see what I was doing. Under a certain pretext, therefore, I walked away from them, and when out of their sight I quickly finished the operation. Then we plunged into the water. The condition of the stream with its cuttingly cold water was much the same as that of the Kyang-chu (except for the greater width to be forded) and the water in some places was not more than seven or eight inches deep; but the sand was so treacherous that we often sank in it right up to our hips. In this case, as in the other, my guides took my luggage on their backs, leaving the horses behind, and also helped my sheep to cross. Upon terra firma on the other side, my men pointed to a gorge between two mountains rising to the north-west, and told me that I was to go through the gorge, and thence to Lake Manasarovara, after traversing an uninhabited region for fifteen or sixteen days; the road would take me to Manasarovara first and then to Kang Rinpoche. I thanked my guides for their trouble and information, and gave them each a Kata. A kata is a small piece of thin white silk, which Tibetans present as a compliment. It generally accompanies a present, but is also given away by itself. The men, after advising me to recite the Sacred Text from time to time, in order that I might not be set upon and devoured by snow-leopards, bowed their farewell and were gone, recrossing the river.