The next day, December 5th, I proceeded for about eight miles across a plain in a south-easterly direction, when the gold-colored roof of a palatial building, with many white-painted dormitories for priests close by, presented itself before my view. In addition, temple-like buildings in red paint were seen rising amidst these structures, making in all a grand and beautiful spectacle. The town before me was Shigatze, the second capital of Tibet, and the palatial building was the Tashi Lhunpo Temple. The name means ‘a glorious mass’ or ‘Mount Sumeru,’ a legendary mountain mentioned in Bu??hist Scriptures. The monastery owes its name to its founder, Gendun Tub, who thought that the mountain at the rear of the temple resembled Sumeru. There were altogether three thousand three hundred priests in the temple, but sometimes the number increases to over five thousand; and though it is but the second temple in the country it maintains the same dignity as the papal see. The secular part of the city lay beyond the temple and consisted of some three thousand five hundred dwellings. The number of the inhabitants was stated by the natives to be over thirty thousand, but this calculation cannot be much trusted, as the science of statistics is utterly unknown in Tibet. I visited the temple, where I asked for the dormitory called Peetuk Khamtsan, which is allotted to the Lamaist monks from the north-eastern plateau, since I had feigned myself to be one of these. At length I found it and settled myself in it, for I intended to stay there for some time and to pick up any knowledge I could from those with whom I might come into contact.

The Lama Superior of this temple is regarded as the second Grand Lama of Tibet, for, though he does not possess any political influence, yet with regard to the rank bestowed by the Chinese Emperor he is superior even to the Dalai Lama himself. Sometimes a kind of regency under this ‘second Grand Lama’ takes place during the interval between the Dalai Lama’s death and the enthronement of what in Tibet is believed to be his re-incarnated self.

This second Grand Lama is commonly called Panchen Rinpoche, but his real title is Kyab-kon Chen-bo, meaning ‘Great Protector,’ while his name is Lobsang Choe-ki Nima, the ‘noble-minded religious sun’. I was told he was eighteen years old, having been born in the year of “sheep,” and was believed to be an incarnation of Amida-nyorai. At the time of my visit he was away at a distant palace, so that I could not see him. During my stay in the town my only business was to visit various Lamas and scholars, with whom I discussed the teachings of Bu??ha.

One day I called upon the tutor of the second Grand Lama, Tsan Chenba, a venerable priest, seventy-four years of age, who was very kind to me. As he was reputed to be the highest authority on Tibetan grammar and rhetoric among the three thousand priests in the temple, I asked him several grammatical questions, and in doing so I took care to select such questions as were familiar to me, for I wanted to know in what way my host would try to explain them. I was, however, disappointed, as he confessed that he could give no answer and said that he could only refer me to a learned physician living at Engon on the road to Lhasa, who, he was inclined to believe, could give me a satisfactory answer. I was, therefore, glad to take leave of him. En passant it may be stated that five branches of science—phonetics, medicine, logic, engineering and religious science and philosophy—were centuries ago introduced into Tibet from India, but now-a-days very few—I will almost say no—Tibetans are proficient in them, or even in one of them. Under present circumstances, those who take to the study of grammar belong to very limited classes, the majority of them consisting of the men in the Government service who learn just the elementary rules of grammar, in order to be able to prepare official documents. It is not wonderful therefore that there should be scholars who, in spite of their zeal in the investigation and exposition of Bu??ha’s doctrines, are absolute strangers to history and other branches of science.

After a stay of several days at the temple, I was one day thinking of leaving the town, when I was informed that the Grand Lama was expected home presently, so I went out to witness his procession. It must be noted that owing to the absence of roads in Tibet the procession passed through the more beaten parts of the country, which served as roads. On both sides of the route there stood cylindrical posts upon which incense was burnt by the waiting crowds, both sacerdotal and secular, most of whom prostrated themselves on the advent of the cortÈge. The second Grand Lama was borne in a palanquin decorated with gold brocades and gorgeous kinds of silk, and was accompanied by about three hundred mounted attendants who, instead of being armed, carried Bu??hist utensils. The procession was heralded by the native band, using some kind of wind instruments and drums. The spectacle was so splendid that I congratulated myself on my good fortune in having witnessed it.

During that night, in compliance with the request of the priests in my dormitory, I delivered a sermon on the ten Bu??hist virtues, which seemed to please them greatly. They confessed to me that, priests as they were, they found no interest in the theoretical and dry expositions of Bu??ha’s teachings to which they had been used to listen, but that my delivery was so easy and pleasing that it aroused in them a real zest for Bu??hism. This fact is a sad commentary on the ignorance of the average Tibetan priests.

I learned subsequently, however, that the priests in this temple were very rigid in their conduct, except in the habit of drinking. With regard to this latter an amusing story is told. One day the Dalai Lama of Lhasa met with the Grand Lama of the Tashi Lhunpo monastery. In the course of conversation, the former said he was very sorry that his priests were addicted to the use of tobacco. Panchen Rinpoche sympathised, but stated that he was no less sorry that his own priests were exceedingly partial to alcoholic drinks. They then discussed which of the two luxuries was the more sinful, and also whether or not some effective measures could be taken to prevent these vicious habits. But even their great influence could do nothing, and the vicious practices were open secrets. A curious rule was however enacted in order to prevent the habit of drinking. Every priest returning from the street was bound to present himself before the priestly guard at the gate of the temple, who examined his breath, any disclosure of his drunkenness being followed by an immediate punishment. Some impudent priests often attempted to conceal their inebriation by eating a good deal of garlic, the strong smell of which impregnated their breath and thus might prevent detection.

Leaving the temple at ten on the morning of December 15th, I proceeded about two miles across the city of Shigatze, when I reached the Tsanchu river. The great bridge erected over it is called the Samba Shar, which means eastern bridge. It measures about three hundred and sixty yards in length and eight yards in breadth. It is unlike our own bridges, for it consists of slabs of stones covered with earth, which are in turn placed upon rows of long wooden boards spanning stone structures erected in the water at equal distances of about ten yards. The bridge has parapets made of stone. Passing over the bridge, I proceeded four miles to the north, till I found myself on the bank of the Brahmapu?ra. The road now turned to the east along that river, and a further journey of about twelve miles brought me to a village called Pe, where I lodged at a poor farmer’s. There I noticed with curiosity that turf instead of the usual yak-dung was heaped besides the fire-place. I was told that in that locality the dried roots of grasses were used as fuel; hence the heaps of turf.

I also found a boy of about twelve years old sitting beside the fire-place and learning to write. He had a bamboo stick for his pen, and was writing with it upon white powder sprinkled over a small piece of wood. Every now and then he presented his work to his father and had its ill-done portions corrected by him, this process being repeated over and over again. I wondered at the care with which the child was taught to practise penmanship, in spite of the poor condition of the family, but I soon learned the secret. Agriculture was the sole industry in this locality, and if the tenant did not know how to write and count, he would possibly be imposed upon by his landlord in the payment of his rent. As to the art of counting, it was taught in a very primitive way, stones, sticks or rosaries being used for the purpose. With respect to writing and counting the poorer classes of this locality were far above those in Lhasa, who were totally ignorant.

At night I preached to the members of the family, and the next day I proceeded about five miles along the river already mentioned. The road, which sloped eastward, now became very narrow, with the river on the left and a very steep and rugged mountain on the right. I struggled on for about four miles further, and then came out upon a wide space. Looking to the right, I saw two large buildings standing on the summit of a mountain. These buildings constitute the Engon temple where, as the old priest of the Tashi Lhunpo temple had kindly informed me, lives the celebrated grammarian. I climbed the mountain, and reached the temple after an arduous ascent of more than two miles. There I learned that the larger of the two edifices accommodates two hundred and thirty male priests, while the other, situated a little lower, is a nunnery where live seventy-two nuns. The history of this temple is very interesting, but I need not dwell on it here in detail. I stayed at the temple for the night, and the next day I had an interview with its principal priest. The latter, however, talked only something of Bu??hism, being ignorant of grammar and rhetoric, but was kind enough to refer me to the physician, Amdo Ka-sang, of whom the old priest of the Tashi Lhunpo had such a high opinion.

I then called upon this physician and grammarian, to whom I gave some presents in token of my respect. After the usual greetings had been exchanged, the host questioned me how long I had been studying the Tibetan language. “Three years,” I replied. My host declared that the study of grammar and rhetoric greatly depended upon the method used and that, if the method were a poor one, the period of three years would prove too short to accomplish anything. He then asked me a few questions on grammar, which, as they were very simple, I answered quickly. I asked him to put to me some more difficult questions on rhetoric, but, to my great disappointment, he confessed that he had no knowledge of rhetoric. I next asked him which of the Tibetan grammarians he thought the best, to which question he answered that he preferred Ngul-chu Lama’s grammar (Ngul-chu being the name of a temple) which, in reality, is very imperfect. I almost doubted his sincerity, so that I again asked him why he did not follow the views taken by Situ Lama, who is well-known as the highest authority on Tibetan grammar. To my great surprise, my host had never read Situ’s works, though he had heard something of the grammarian. I then turned my questions to the number of vowels in the Tibetan alphabet, about which there are two different opinions among grammarians. This question, simple as it may appear, has been the subject of much discussion, so that the study of the Tibetan language must be started with this theme. My question on this subject seemed to embarrass my host who, after some pondering, said that there were sixteen vowels in the Tibetan alphabet, and began to enumerate them. Curiously enough, all the vowels mentioned by him were those of the Samsk?? alphabet, so I asked him what he thought of the opinion that the number of the Tibetan vowels was five.

The doctor seemed abashed. He apologised for his mistake in having mentioned the Samsk?? vowels, and admitted that the Tibetan vowels numbered only five. (This five-vowel opinion is erroneous, though several western scholars maintain it in their works. It must be noted that the Tibetan characters were invented by Thumi Sambhota, who tells us in his work that there were only four vowels in his language.) In short, the interview proved a disappointment. The doctor possessed very limited knowledge, being a great grammarian and rhetorician only in the eyes of ignorant native priests. I returned to my room, where I was asked by a priest on what subject I had talked with the ‘learned’ doctor. When I answered him that I had discussed some grammatical questions with the doctor, the priest said with an air of importance that the doctor was the highest authority on grammar and rhetoric throughout the province of Tsan, that one or two interviews with him would be insufficient to secure any benefit, and that I should stay with him for at least two or three years if I really wished to study grammar. In addition, the priest confessed that, long as he had had the fortune to listen to the doctor’s lectures, he was still a total stranger to grammar. I was so much tickled by these remarks that I burst out laughing, which seemed somewhat to embarrass the priest.

The next day, December 18th, I proceeded about five miles over an undulating country, going in a south-easterly direction, when I again reached the Brahmapu?ra river. Crossing a vast plain which stretched along the river, I made my way eastward, and was within some two miles and a half of the Pombo Ri-o-che, a temple belonging to an older sect of Lamaism, and situated upon a towering peak, when I was unexpectedly called and stopped by someone.