The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (11 page)

“He is a great Lama from the Western Heavens, and the power of his prayers is infinite,” replied the Tibetan merchant. The Kolo raised his two joined hands to his forehead and gazed
at Father Gabet who, with his frozen face and his bizarre cocoon of motley-coloured blankets, looked not unlike one of those terrifying idols in a pagan temple. After a moment’s contemplation
of the famous Lama from the Western Heavens, the brigand spoke a few words in a low voice to the Tibetan merchant; then, with a sign to his companions, he and the rest mounted and galloped off over
the mountains.

“We’ll go no further,” said the Tibetan merchant, “let’s camp here; the Kolo are brigands, but they are great-hearted and generous; when they see that we are not
afraid to stay here, where we are in their hands, they will not attack us. And also, I think that they have considerable respect for the power of the Lamas of the Western Heavens.” So,
following his advice, we all set about pitching camp.

The tents were hardly up when the Kolo reappeared on the skyline and galloped towards us at their usual speed. The chief alone came into our camp; the others waited a little outside. He
addressed the Tibetan he had spoken to before.

“I have come,” he said, “for an explanation of something that I do not understand. You are aware that our camp is over that mountain, and yet you dare to pitch your tents here,
quite close. How many men have you in your party?”

“We are only eighteen; and you, I think, are twenty-seven. But men of courage never take flight.”

“So you want to fight?”

“If there were not a number of sick amongst us, I would answer ‘Yes’, for I have met the Kolo face to face before.”

“You have already fought the Kolo? When? What is your name?”

“Five years ago, at the affray over the ambassador; I still have a reminder of that day,” and he bared his arm, marked with a long sabre scar. The brigand laughed and again asked him
his name.

“I am Rala Tchembé,” said the merchant. “Maybe you know that name?”

“Yes, all the Kolo know it, it is the name of a brave man,” said the Kolo and jumped off his horse; he drew a sabre from his belt and presented it to the Tibetan. “Here,”
he said, “take this sabre, it is my best. We fought more than once; when next we meet, we shall meet as brothers.” The Tibetan accepted the gift and gave the brigand chief in exchange a
magnificent bow and quiver which he had bought in Peking.

The Kolo who had remained outside the camp, seeing that their chief was fraternising with the headman of the caravan, dismounted, tied their horses in pairs by the bridles and came to drink a
friendly bowl of tea with the poor travellers who were at last beginning to breathe again. All these brigands were extremely amiable; they asked for news of the Tartar-Khalkas, whom they were
particularly anxious to meet, because during the previous year they had killed two of their men who had to be avenged. Politics were also discussed. The brigands claimed to be great supporters of
the Dalai Lama, and bitter enemies of the emperor of China; this was why they seldom failed to plunder the embassy on its way to Peking, since they held that the emperor was unworthy to receive
gifts from the Dalai Lama, but normally respected it on its return, because it was right and proper that the emperor should send gifts to the Dalai Lama. After graciously accepting the tea and
tsamba
of the caravan, the brigands wished us a good journey and set off back to their camp. Despite all these brotherly gestures we slept with one eye open. The night was untroubled,
however, and next day we peacefully resumed our journey. Amongst the many pilgrims who have taken the road to Lhasa, there are few indeed who can boast of having seen the brigands so near at hand,
and suffered no harm from them.

We had just escaped one danger, but, we were told, another even greater, though of a different nature, awaited us. We were beginning to climb the huge chain of the Tant La Mountains. According
to our travelling companions all the sick would die on the plateau, and even the healthy would suffer greatly. Father Gabet was condemned to certain death by the experienced travellers. After six
days’ painful climb up a number of mountains, ranged as in an amphitheatre one above another, we finally arrived on this famous plateau, maybe the highest point of the world. The snow seemed
to form a permanent crust, to be part of the soil. Although it crackled under our feet we hardly left the slightest footprint. The only vegetation was a grass, growing here and there in clumps,
short, sharp, smooth, of a woody texture, hard as iron but not brittle; it would have made very good upholsterers’ needles. The animals were so famished that, willy nilly, they had to graze
on this terrible stuff. We could hear it crunch as they bit, and they could only get a few mouthfuls of it down after a fierce struggle which made their lips bleed.

Beyond the edge of this magnificent plateau we could see below us the summits and peaks of a number of great ranges of mountains, stretching far away to the horizon. We had never seen anything
to compare with the splendour of this stupendous sight. For the twelve days that we travelled on the top of the Tant La we had good weather; the air was windless, and each day God sent a
health-giving warm sunshine that tempered to some extent the cold of the atmosphere. Yet the air, much rarefied by the great altitude, was incredibly bracing. Enormous eagles followed our band of
travellers, and every day several corpses were left behind for them. It was decreed that Death should also take toll of our small caravan; but it took only our little black mule. We were sad but
resigned. The gloomy predictions made about Father Gabet proved quite wrong. Quite the contrary, this plateau did him a deal of good. His health and normal strength gradually returned. This almost
unexpected gift of Providence made us forget all our past hardships. We regained our courage, and trusted that God would let us reach our destination.

The descent from the Tant La was long, rough and steep. For four whole days we went down a kind of giant staircase, of which each step was a mountain. At the bottom, we found hot springs of
great magnificence. Amongst great rocks, many pools had been hollowed out by nature, in which the water boiled as if in a pot over a hot fire. In places it spouted from cracks in the rocks,
innumerable little jets shooting in all directions in a most bizarre manner. There were some pools in which the water boiled at times so violently that great columns of water rose and fell
intermittently, as if a great pump were at work. From these springs thick steam rose continuously, to condense into whitish clouds. The water was all sulphurous. After churning and leaping over and
over again in the pools amongst the granite rocks it finally succeeded in escaping and flowed down into a little valley, forming a wide watercourse which ran over a bed of golden pebbles. These
waters, though boiling, did not remain liquid for long. The extreme cold of the air cooled them so fast that at a little over a mile from the springs the stream was frozen almost solid. There are
many thermal springs in the Tibetan mountains. The doctor-lamas realise that they have great medicinal properties; they frequently prescribe them for their patients, both for baths and for
drinking.

From the Tant La mountains onwards, we noticed a gradual descent all the way to Lhasa. As we went, the cold became less intense and the soil produced stronger and more varied grasses. One day we
camped in a great plain where the grazing was marvellously abundant. As our animals had long suffered from terrible starvation, it was decided to stop for two days and to let them enjoy this
opportunity.

Next morning, as we were peacefully making tea inside our tent, we saw in the distance a troop of horsemen bearing down on us at full speed. Our blood froze at the sight, and we stood a moment
petrified. When we had recovered from the shock, we rushed to Rala Tchembé’s tent. “The Kolo! The Kolo!” we shouted. “Here comes a great troop of Kolo!” The
Tibetan merchants, who were sitting drinking their tea and dunking their
tsamba
, laughed and asked us to come and sit down.

“Take tea with us,” they said. “There are no more Kolo to be afraid of here; these horsemen are friendly. We are beginning to reach inhabited country; behind that hill over
there on the right there are a large number of black tents. The horsemen you took for Kolo are local herdsmen.” These words brought us comfort, and comfort bringing appetite, we were glad to
sit down and share the Tibetan merchants’ breakfast. But no sooner had they poured us a bowlful of buttered tea than the horsemen arrived at our tent door. Far from being brigands they were
splendid fellows who had come to sell us butter and fresh meat. Their saddles looked like butchers’ shops, with numerous joints of mutton and venison hanging along the horses’ flanks.
We bought eight legs of mutton, which being frozen were easy to carry. They cost us an old pair of Peking boots and the saddle from our little mule, which luckily was also from Peking. Everything
that comes from Peking is greatly prized by the Tibetans, especially by those who are still herdsmen and nomads. Hence the merchants who accompanied the embassy had carefully marked all their bales
of merchandise “Goods from Peking”. Snuff is greatly in demand in Tibet. All the herdsmen asked us if we had any Peking snuff. I, the only snuff-taker of the party, had once had some,
but for the past week I had been filling my snuff-box with a horrible mixture of earth and ashes. Inveterate snuff-takers will appreciate the grimness of my situation.

Condemned as we had been for the last two months to live exclusively on barley-meal dipped in tea, the mere sight of our joints of mutton seemed to act as a tonic on our stomachs and to
strengthen our scraggy limbs. The rest of the day was devoted to culinary operations. For spice and seasoning we had only garlic, but it was so frozen and dried up that there was next to nothing
inside the skin. We took all we had left and stuck it into two of the legs of mutton which we put into our biggest pot to boil. As there was an abundance of
argols
on this happy plain we
were able to make a good enough fire to cook our priceless supper. The sun was on the point of setting and Samdadchiemba, who had just inspected one of the joints with his thumbnail, was
triumphantly announcing that the meat was done to a turn, when we heard all around us cries of disaster: “
Mi yon
!
Mi yon
! Fire! Fire!” We bounded out of our tent. The fire
had started indeed inside the camp, burning the dry grass, and threatening to destroy our tents; the flames spread everywhere with terrifying speed. All the travellers, armed with felt rugs, were
trying to beat it out, or at least prevent it from reaching the tents. These, fortunately, escaped destruction. The fire, though pursued in all directions, found a way out and escaped into the
wilds. Then, fanned by the wind, it spread over the wide prairie, consuming the pasture as it went. We thought that there was nothing more to fear, but shouts of “Save the camels! Save the
camels!” soon made us realise how little experience we had of the dangers of fire in the wilderness. We then saw how the camels stood stupidly waiting for the flames to envelop them, instead
of running away from them, like the horses and the cattle. So we tore off to save ours, which were still some way from the fire. But the flames were there almost as soon as we were. Soon we were
surrounded by fire. We pushed and beat those silly camels to try and force them to run, but in vain: they stood still, turning their heads to look at us coolly, as if asking us what right we had to
come and stop them from grazing. We could have killed them! The flames ate up the grass at such speed that it soon reached the camels. Their long thick coats caught fire, and we had to run at them
with felt rugs to put out the flames as they ran over their bodies. We were able to save three whose coats were only singed. But the fourth was in a pitiful state; it hadn't a hair left on the
whole of its body; nothing remained but skin, and this too was horribly burnt.

The area of grazing land that had been destroyed by the fire was about a mile and half long by three-quarters of a mile wide. The Tibetans again and again blessed their lucky stars that they had
succeeded in stopping the fire, and we heartily joined in when we realised the extent of the danger we had run. They told us that if the fire had gone on much longer it would have reached the black
tents, and that then the herdsmen would have pursued and certainly slaughtered us. Hell knows no fury like that of these poor dwellers in the wilds when, by mistake or on purpose, someone reduces
to ashes the pasturelands which are their only means of livelihood. It is tantamount to destroying their cattle.

When we resumed our journey, the burnt camel was not dead, but it was unusable; the three others had to fill the gap by sharing the load of their unfortunate fellow between them. In any case,
the loads were much lighter than when we had left the Koukou Noor; our sacks of meal were almost empty; and since the crossing of the Tant La we had been reduced to a ration of two bowlfuls of
tsamba
a day. We had got our sums more or less right before we left, but we had not reckoned on the wastefulness of our two camel drivers: the one out of foolishness and carelessness, the
other out of malice. Fortunately we were about to reach a large Tibetan supply base, at which we would be able to stock up.

For several days now our route took us along a succession of valleys, with here and there a few black tents and some large herds of yaks. Then at last we pitched our camp outside a large Tibetan
village. It was on the Na Pichu River, marked on the Andriveau-Goujon map in its Mongol form of Khara Oussou; both mean “Black Waters”. Na Pichu was the first Tibetan settlement of any
size on the road to Lhasa. It consisted of some adobe houses, and a large number of black tents. There was no sign of any cultivation. Although the inhabitants were settled, they were herdsmen like
the nomadic tribes, and cattle-raising was their only occupation. We were told that long ago a king of the Koukou Noor had made war on the Tibetans, had conquered a large part of the country and
given the Na Pichu area to the soldiers he had brought with him. Although by now these Tartars had merged with the Tibetans, we did see a few Mongol yurts amongst the black tents. This historical
event may perhaps also explain why a number of Mongol expressions were in use locally, and had become part of the Tibetan language.