the waters of the river before me. All was quiet, save for the occasional roars of wild animals. With all its dreary wildness, the scenery around was not without its charms that appealed to the soul.
When rising slow among the mountain heights,
The moon I see in those Tibetan wilds,
My fancy views that orb as Sovereign Lord
Of that Celestial Land, my country dear,
Those islands smiling in the far-off East.
The night was extremely cold, and I could not sleep. I sat up and fell to meditation; and while I was wandering over the borderland, half-awake and half-asleep, the morning came. With a start I got up, and on going to the river’s edge I found its waters frozen. I then stirred up the fire, and after due preparations made a hearty breakfast. When ready to start on the day’s journey, I could not recall the instruction given me before—whether to follow the river up its course, which would lead up to a high peak, or to proceed down stream. Here was a dilemma! but I felt sure of one thing, and that was that, weak and exhausted, I could not survive the ascent of the steep peak. By necessity, then, I proceeded down the stream, but I failed to come upon a rock upon which, as I had been informed, I should find an image of Buḍḍha carved. No wonder! for I took the wrong direction, as I afterwards found out. Proceeding above five miles, I emerged upon an extensive plain, which I judged must be seventeen or eighteen miles by eight or nine, with the river flowing through it.
On consulting the compass I found that, in order to proceed towards the north-west, I should have to cross the river, a prospect particularly unpleasant just then, as I thought of the chilling effects of the icy waters. As I stood taking a survey of the river in an undecided frame of mind, I noticed a bonze wading across the stream towards me. As he landed on the bank, I hailed him, and eventually found him to be a pilgrim from Kham, bound for Gelong Rinpoche’s cave. Then I negotiated with him to assist me across the river, after having astonished him with my generosity in giving him a comparatively large quantity of dried peaches and flour, articles particularly precious for a lonely traveller through those regions. I made him understand that I was ill and weak, and not equal to the task of crossing the river, heavily burdened with luggage as I was. Whatever was the effect of this piece of information, my liberality soon won him over to my help, and, taking all my luggage on his back and leading me by the hand, he assisted me to ford the stream. Having landed me and my luggage safely on the other side, and having also told me that, following the course he pointed out, I should come to an inhabited place after two days’ journey, he bade me good-bye and once more crossed the river. I, for my part, started forthwith, heading in the direction prescribed for me.
CHAPTER XVI.
A Foretaste of distressing Experiences.
After parting with the Kham bonze, I had not proceeded far before I began to feel a shortness of breath which increased in intensity as I went along, and was followed by nausea of an acute type. I made a halt, took down my luggage (which, by the way, had by this time produced very painful bruises on my back) and then took a dose of hotan—a soothing restorative. The result was that I brought up a good mouthful of blood. Not being subject to heart disease, I concluded that I had been affected by the rarity of the atmosphere. I think, as I thought then, that our lung-capacity is only about one-half of that of the native Tibetan. Be this as it may, I felt considerable alarm at this, my first experience of internal hemorrhage, and thought it would be ill-advised to continue my journey that day. I had made only eight miles, five up and three down, over undulating land; but I was so greatly fatigued that, without courage enough to go and search for yak-dung, I fell fast asleep the moment I laid me down for a rest. I do not know how long I had slept, when something pattering on my face awoke me. As soon as I realised that I was lying under a heavy shower of large-sized hail-stones, I tried to rise, but I could not; for my body literally cracked and ached all over, as if I had been prostrated with a severe attack of rheumatism. With a great effort I raised myself to a sitting posture and endeavored to calm myself. After a while my pulse became nearly normal and my breathing easier, and I knew that I was not yet to die. But the general aching of the body did not abate at all, and it was out of the question for me to resume the journey then, or to go dung-gathering. Apparently there were some hours of night yet left, so I went into the ‘meditation exercise,’ sitting upon a piece of sheep’s hide and wrapped up in the tuk-tuk, a sort of native bed-quilt weighing about twenty-five pounds, and made of thick sail-cloth lined with sheep’s wool. Sleep was no more possible. As I looked up and around, I saw the bright moon high above me, the uncertain shapes of distant lofty peaks forming a most weird back-ground against the vast sea of undulating plain. Alone upon one of the highest places in the world, surrounded by mysterious uncertainty, made doubly so by the paleness of the moonlight, both the scene and the situation would have furnished me with enough matter for my soul’s musings, but, alas! for my bodily pains. Yet the wild weirdness of the view was not altogether lost on me, and I was gradually entering into the state of spiritual conquest over bodily ailment, when I recalled the celebrated uta of that ancient divine of Japan, Daito Kokushi:
On Shijyo Gojyo Bridge, a thoroughfare,
I sit in silence holy undisturbed,
The passing crowds of men and damsels fair,
I look upon as waving sylvan trees.
In reply to this I composed the following:
On grass among those lofty plains on earth,
I enter meditation deep and wide,
I choose, nor such secluded mountain-trees,
Nor passing crowds of men and damsels fair.
I was almost in an extatic state, forgetful of all my pain, when another uta rose to my mind:
O Mind! By Dharma’s genial light and warmth
The pain-inflicting snows are melted fast,
And flow in rushing streams that sweep away
Delusive Ego and Non-Ego both.
Thus in meditation I sat out the night, and when the morning came I breakfasted on some dried grapes. I felt much refreshed both in mind and body, and made good progress on my journey that morning.
Coming to a small clear stream, I went through the process of fire-making and tea-preparing, and then took a meal of baked flour. Crossing the stream and then mounting an elevation, I saw far in front of me one white and several black tents pitched in the plain. The sight of a white tent puzzled me a good deal. Tibetan tent-cloth is almost always dark in color, the natives weaving the stuff with yak’s hair, which they first take between their teeth, draw out and twist into a yarn between their fingers, putting it on to the loom when a sufficient quantity of coarse thread has thus been obtained. I could not solve the mystery; but it mattered little after all to me then; I only wanted to reach the tents as quickly as possible, and to be allowed a few days’ rest there. I had walked about five miles, and the last mile or so brought back on me the now chronic trouble, the pain of fatigue and shortness of breath. When, somehow, I had managed to drag myself along to the threshold of the largest of the tents, the welcome I received was in the shape of five or six ferocious-looking native dogs, and it was a right hot reception, to appreciate which I had to put all my remaining energy into the gentle warning of my staff.
CHAPTER XVII.
A Beautiful
