During these long horseback expeditions, the little children sit on their nurses’ laps, and the bigger ones in a sort of cradle with wooden bars, which they grip to keep from falling out.
WE HAD AN EXCITING TIME toward the beginning of December. An eclipse of the moon had been foretold, and since early evening the roofs had been besieged by curious people waiting eagerly for the spectacle. When the shadow of the earth slowly began to creep over the face of the moon, a mutter went through the whole town. Soon all began to clap their hands and cry aloud in order to scare away the wicked demon that stood before the moon. When the eclipse was over, the people returned happily to their houses and played games to celebrate the victory over the demon.
CHRISTMAS WAS DRAWING near, and I had thought of a surprise. I wanted to entertain my friends at a real Christmas party with a tree and presents. I had received so much kindness and hospitality that I wanted to give my friends some pleasure for a change. Preparations kept me very busy. My friend Trethong, whose late father had been a minister, lent me his house for a few days. I hired trained servants and cooks, and bought small presents for my guests, such as electric torches, penknives, table-tennis sets, and family games. I thought of special gifts for my host, Tsarong, and his family. The chief attraction was the Christmas tree. Mrs. Tsarong lent me a juniper tree in a beautiful pot, and I decorated it with candles, apples, nuts, and sweets. It looked very like the real thing.
The party began in the morning, as is usual in Lhasa. Wangdüla supported me as master of ceremonies as I was still afraid of committing some social barbarism. My guests were full of curiosity. They examined the tree from all sides and looked at the packages stacked beneath it. Everyone was full of excitement and anticipation, just like children at home. We passed the day in eating, drinking, and playing games, and when it grew dark I invited my guests to go into another room. I then lit up the Christmas tree and Wangdüla put on his fur coat inside out and played the part of Santa Claus. We put on the record “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,” the door opened, and with eyes wide with astonishment my guests clustered around the tree. Mr. Liu led the singing, and some of the guests who had been at English schools knew the tune and joined in. It was a strange scene. A medley of races in the heart of Asia gathered around a Christmas tree and singing the dear old Christmas hymn of our homes. I had become pretty good at controlling my emotions, but I must confess that at this moment I could not keep the tears from my eyes, and I had a sudden attack of homesickness.
The cheerfulness of my guests and their pleasure in their Christmas presents—aided by a little alcohol—helped me over my homesickness. When my friends left they told me repeatedly how much they had enjoyed our German “New Year.”
A year ago we had thought a couple of pieces of white bread a wonderful Christmas gift in the lonely wastes of the Changthang. Today we sat around a table laden with good things in a company of friendly souls. We had no right to complain of our lot.
We did nothing in particular to celebrate the New Year of 1947. Aufschnaiter had finished his canal and had an important new work to execute. Lhasa had an old electric plant, which had been put up twenty years before by one of the former Rugbians. It was now in a terribly neglected state and gave practically no current. On working days there was just enough power to keep the machines in the mint in motion, but only on Saturdays was there enough current for the needs of private houses.
Tibet produces its own paper money and coinage. The sang is the numismatic unit. It is divided and subdivided decimally into the sho and the karma. Paper money is made with the strong native paper brightly colored and watermarked. The numbers are very skillfully painted on by hand, and all attempts at forgery had hitherto been foiled by the difficulty of imitating the numbers. The bank notes have a very good appearance. Gold, silver, and copper coins are also used. They are stamped with the emblems of Tibet—mountains and lions, which also appear on postage stamps, beside the rising sun.
As the operation of minting was so dependent on the electric current, Aufschnaiter was approached and asked to see if he could repair the old installation. He succeeded in convincing the authorities that there was not much to be gained by doing this and that the proper course was to make use of the water power of the Kyichu River. The existing plant used the weakly flowing waters of a little tributary of the main stream. Fear was expressed that the gods would punish Lhasa if the waters of the holy river were misused for such a purpose, and great credit is due to Aufschnaiter, who succeeded in winning the authorities over. He was instructed to start a survey at once and, in order to avoid a longish journey back and forth every day, he took rooms outside the town in a garden house on a country estate.
We now saw each other much less often. My teaching work kept me in the town, and I was also giving tennis lessons. My pupils, big and small, made quite good progress, but unfortunately Tibetans are not famed for their perseverance. Full of enthusiasm at the start, and ready for anything new, their interest flags before long. For this reason I kept losing pupils and replacing them, which was not very satisfactory for me. The children of good families whom I taught were without exception intelligent and wide awake, and were not inferior to our children in comprehension. In the Indian schools the Tibetan pupils are ranked for intelligence with Europeans. One must remember that they have to learn the language of their teachers. In spite of that handicap, they are often at the head of the class. There was a boy from Lhasa at St. Joseph’s College, at Darjeeling, who was not only the best scholar in the school, but also champion in all the games and sports.
Besides my lessons I had found various other ways of adding to my income. In Lhasa one can almost pick up money off the street. One needs only a little enterprise. I might for instance have started a dairy for fresh milk and butter, or sent for an ice machine from India to produce ices for eating. Watchmakers, shoemakers, and gardeners were in great demand, and jobs in business houses, if one knew English, were easy to get. But we had no intention of becoming shopkeepers or merely earning money. We needed work that would at the same time procure us satisfaction. And more than anything, we desired to make ourselves useful to the government and thus in some measure repay their hospitality. We were consulted on all manner of subjects and were very glad to be of use. But we were regarded as maids of all work, and it was sometimes embarrassing to be asked for advice on subjects of which we knew much less than was supposed.
Once we were invited to regild the idols in a temple. By good luck we found in one of the books in Tsarong’s inexhaustible library a recipe for preparing gold paint from gold dust. For this we had to order various chemicals from India, for the Nepalese of Lhasa, among whom are skilled gold- and silversmiths, are very jealous of their secrets.
Tibet contains considerable deposits of gold, but modern methods of mining are unknown. Since ancient times they have been scooping out the soil in the Changthang with gazelle horns. An Englishman once told me that it would probably pay to treat by modern methods soil that has already been sieved by the Tibetans. Many provinces must today pay their taxes in gold dust. But there is no more digging than is absolutely necessary, for fear of disturbing the earth gods and attracting reprisals, and thus once more progress is retarded.
Many of the great rivers of Asia have their source in Tibet and carry down with them the gold from the mountains. But not till the rivers have reached neighboring countries is their gold exploited. Washing for gold is practiced only in a few parts of Tibet where it is particularly profitable. There are rivers in Eastern Tibet where the stream has scooped out bath-shaped cavities. Gold dust collects in these places by itself, and one has only to go and get it from time to time. As a rule the district governor takes possession of these natural gold washings for the government.
I always wondered why no one had thought of exploiting these treasures for personal profit. When you swim underwater in any of the streams around Lhasa, you can see the gold dust glimmering in the sunlight. But as in so many other parts of
the country, this natural wealth remains unexploited, mainly because the Tibetans consider this comparatively easy work too laborious for them.
Just before our second Tibetan New Year in Lhasa, we received our first letters from home for three years. They had been a long time on the way. One of the envelopes had a Reykjavik postmark and had been around the world. You can imagine our joy at knowing that at last there was a line of communication between our distant, unforgotten homeland and the “Roof of the World” on which we lived. Unfortunately, the line was a very slender one, and the poor postal communication did not improve during all the years of our sojourn in Tibet. The news from Europe was not encouraging. In fact, it strengthened our desire to remain where we were and make a permanent home in Lhasa. Neither of us had very close ties with our old homes. The time we had spent in this peaceful corner of the world had had a formative effect on our characters. We had come to understand the nature and mentality of the Tibetans, and our knowledge of the language had progressed far beyond the stage of merely making ourselves understood. We could now handle all the formulae of polite conversation.
A small radio set kept us in touch with the outside world. It had been presented to me by one of the ministers, who had asked me to pass on interesting political news, particularly that concerning Central Asia. It gave one a feeling of unreality to get such clear untroubled reception out of this little box. One had to remind oneself that in Lhasa there were no dentists with their electric drills, no trolley cars, no hairdressers with power-driven apparatus—in fact nothing to disturb the radio listener.
I listened to the news the first thing every day and often found myself shaking my head and wondering at the things that men seemed to think important. Here it is the yak’s pace that dictates the tempo of life, and so it has been for thousands of years. Would Tibet be happier for being transformed? A fine motor road to India would doubtless raise the people’s standard of life very greatly, but by accelerating the tempo of existence it might rob the people of their peace and leisure. One should not force a people to introduce inventions that are far ahead of their stage of evolution. They have a nice saying here: “One cannot reach the fifth story of the Potala without starting at the ground floor.”
It is a question whether the Tibetan culture and way of life do not more than balance the advantages of modern techniques. Where in the West is there anything to equal the perfect courtesy of this people? Here no one is made to lose face, and aggressiveness is unknown. Even political enemies treat each other with consideration and politeness, and greet each other cordially when they meet in the street. The women of the upper class are cultivated and elegant. Their clothes reflect their good taste, and they are perfect hostesses. People would have regarded it as a matter of course if we two bachelors had introduced one or more women into our ménage to keep house for us. Our friends did indeed suggest that we ought at least to have one female companion. In moments of loneliness, I often played with the idea, but attractive as I found many of the girls, I could not make up my mind to tie myself up. There were too few points of spiritual contact, without which a joint life would not have satisfied me. I would have been happy to bring out a wife from home, but at first I could not afford to do so and later, politics intervened.
So I lived alone, and my independence proved a great advantage when subsequently I came into close contact with the Dalai Lama. The monks probably would have disapproved still more of our meetings if I had been married. They live in strict celibacy and are forbidden to have anything to do with women. Unfortunately, homosexuality is very common. It is even condoned as giving proof that women play no part in the life of those monks who indulge in it. It also often happens that monks fall in love with women, and ask for their release so as to be able to marry them. This is granted without difficulty. A monk, on leaving holy orders, if he is of noble birth, takes the rank corresponding to that which he held in the cloister; if he is of humble origin he loses his rank but can usually make a living in commerce. Severe penalties are inflicted on monks who get entangled with women without asking permission to leave the order.
In spite of my voluntary loneliness, I found that time passed very quickly. My leisure hours were occupied with reading and visits. Aufschnaiter and I visited each other regularly since we had ceased to live together. We needed to exchange ideas. We were not completely satisfied with our activities and sometimes wondered if we could not make better use of our time. There was so much to be done in the field of exploration in this almost virgin land. We often thought of leaving Lhasa and wandering, as we once had done, through the country as poor pilgrims from station to station and thus getting to know Tibet as no European had ever done before. Aufschnaiter was always dreaming of spending a year by the Namtso, the great, mysterious inland sea, and studying its tides.
OUR LIFE in Tibet gradually lost its sensation of novelty, but that did not prevent us from realizing how lucky we were to be here. Government offices often gave us letters to translate, coming from all parts of the world and written by persons of the most varied professions. They were mostly applications for permission to enter the country. Many of the applicants offered to work for the government in return for board and lodging, with a view to getting to know the country. Others were sufferers from tuberculosis who hoped for a cure from the mountain air of Tibet. These latter were always answered, and the answers conveyed the blessing and good wishes of the Dalai Lama, and sometimes a present of money. No reply was ever sent to the other applications, and no one received permission to come to Tibet. The unchangeable policy was to present Tibet as the Forbidden Land.
The foreigners whom I met during the five years of my stay in Lhasa were not more than seven in number.
In 1947, on the recommendation of the British Legation, a French journalist named Amaury de Riencourt was officially invited. He stayed three weeks in Lhasa. A year later Professor Tucci, the famous Tibetologist, arrived from Rome. This was his seventh visit to Tibet, but his first to Lhasa. He was reckoned to be the greatest authority on the history and civilization of Tibet, and had translated numerous Tibetan books as well as publishing a number of original works. He always astonished Chinese, Nepalese, Indians, and Tibetans by his knowledge of the history of their countries. I often met him at parties, and once before a large gathering he put me in a very false position by taking sides with the Tibetans against me in an argument about the shape of the earth. In Tibet the traditional belief is that the earth is a flat disk. This was being argued at the party, and I stood up for the spherical theory. My arguments seemed to be convincing the Tibetans and I appealed to Professor Tucci to support me. To my great surprise he took up a skeptical attitude, saying that in his opinion all scientists ought continually to be revising their theories, and that one day the Tibetan doctrine might just as well prove to be true! Everyone chuckled as it was known that I gave lessons in geography. Professor Tucci stayed eight days in Lhasa and then went on a visit to the most famous monastery in Tibet, Samye, after which he left the country, taking with him scientific specimens and many valuable books from the Potala Press.
Other interesting visitors to Lhasa were the Americans Lowell Thomas and his son, who came in 1949. They also remained for a week and attended many receptions given in their honor. They had an audience with the Dalai Lama. Both of them had moving-picture cameras and took some splendid pictures. The son wrote an interesting book, which became a best-seller, and the father, a radio commentator in the U.S.A., made recordings for his future talks. I greatly envied them their splendid photographic equipment and especially their abundance of film. About that time I had joined with Wangdüla in buying a Leica, but we always suffered from a shortage of film. The Americans made me a present of two color films, my first and only ones.
The political situation at this juncture had caused a favorable answer to be given to the petition of the two Americans to be allowed to come to Tibet. The threatening attitude of China, although traditional, had now again become intensified
. Every Chinese government, whether imperial, national, or communist, had always professed to regard Tibet as a Chinese province. This pretension was entirely contrary to the wishes of the Tibetans, who loved their independence and were clearly entitled to enjoy it. The Tibetan government had in consequence decided to admit the two Americans, who undertook to make a worldwide publicity campaign in favor of Tibetan independence.
In addition to these four guests of the government, an English engineer and a mechanic came to Tibet on a professional mission. The engineer was employed by the General Electric Company, and his job was to install the new machines for the electric works. He spoke very highly of the work that Aufschnaiter had already done. The mechanic, Nedbailoff, was a White Russian who had been wandering about Asia since the Revolution. He had finally landed in our internment camp at Dehra Dun and in 1947 was about to be repatriated to Russia. In order to save his life, he had fled to Tibet but was rearrested on the frontier. Finally it was decided to let him remain in Sikkim, as he was a skilled mechanic. From there he was summoned to Lhasa to repair the machines of the old electric plant, but a few months after his arrival the armies of Red China invaded Tibet, and he had to flee once more. I believe he finally ended up in Australia. His life was one continual flight. He was a natural adventurer and seemed proof against danger and hardship.
India’s declaration of independence settled the fate of the British Legation in Lhasa. The British staff were replaced by Indians, but Mr. Richardson stayed on until September 1950, as the Indians had no trained candidate for his post. Reginald Fox was taken over by the Tibetan government as their radio operator. He was instructed to put up radio stations at all important strategic points, as the danger of a surprise invasion by the forces of Red China was growing daily. A trustworthy man was needed for Chamdo, a focal point in East Tibet, and Fox brought in a young Englishman named Robert Ford. I knew him slightly in Lhasa. He was fond of dancing and introduced the samba into Lhasa. At Tibetan parties there was a good deal of dancing. National dances not unlike those of the northern steppes were the most popular, but the fox-trot was also favored, though it was frowned on by elderly people, who thought it unseemly that partners should cling so closely to each other.