Seven Years in Tibet. Heinrich Harrer
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us. He told us that our stay in Tradün had only been approved on the condition that we must never go further away from the town than one day’s march. We could go on excursions wherever we liked, provided we were back before night. If we did not comply with these instructions he would have to report to Lhasa and that would no doubt prejudice our whole case.
The village consisted of about twenty houses dominated by the hill on which the monastery stood. It housed only seven monks. The village houses were narrow and crowded together, but, nevertheless, every house had its own courtyard, in which wares were stored. All the inhabitants of the village were in some way connected with trade or transport; the real nomads lived scattered over the plain. We had occasion to attend several religious festivals, the most impressive of which was the harvest thanksgiving. We were now on a friendly footing with all the inhabitants and used to doctor them, being particularly successful in our treatment of wounds and colics.
The monotony of life in Tradün was varied now and again by the visits of high functionaries, and I have a vivid recollection of the arrival of the second Garpön on his way to Gartok.
Long before there was any sign of his convoy soldiers arrived to announce his coming. Then came his cook, who at once began to prepare his food, and it was only next day that the Garpön himself arrived with his caravan and retinue of thirty servants. The whole population, including ourselves, crowded to see him come in. The great man and his family rode on splendid mules, and the elders of the village each conducted a member of the family, holding his animal’s bridle, to the quarters prepared for them. We were less impressed by the Garpön than by his daughter. She was the first soignée young woman we had seen since 1939 and we found her very pretty. Her clothes were of pure silk and her nails lacquered red. Perhaps she had slightly overdone the rouge, powder and lipstick, but she exhaled freshness and cleanliness. We asked her if she was the prettiest girl in Lhasa but she modestly said no, and declared that there were many far prettier girls in the capital. We were very sorry to lose her charming company when the party moved on the next day.
We had a new guest in Tradün soon after—a state official from Nepal who came to see us but posed as a pilgrim. We felt that he wished to persuade us to go to Nepal against our wishes. He said we should be well received in Katmandu, the capital, and find occupation there. Our journey would be organised by the administration and 300 rupees had already been allocated for our expenses. That all sounded very attractive—perhaps too attractive—for we knew how great was British influence in Asia. We did not take his advice.
After three months we began to lose patience and to get on each other’s nerves. Kopp kept on saying that he would gladly accept the invitation to go to Nepal. Aufschnaiter as usual went his own way. He bought four sheep as pack-animals and wanted to go to Changthang. It is true that this was contrary to our original decision to await the letter from Lhasa, but we greatly doubted getting a favourable answer.
Aufschnaiter, losing patience, marched out one afternoon with his loaded sheep and pitched his camp a few miles away from Tradün. We helped him to carry his things there and intended to visit him the next day. Kopp also began to pack and the local authorities promised to give him transport. They were very pleased that he had decided to go to Nepal, but they disapproved of Aufschnaiter’s behaviour. From that day onwards guards slept in front of our door. But next day, to our surprise, Aufschnaiter came back to us with his baggage. His sheep had been attacked by wolves, which had eaten two of them. This compelled him to return and so we three spent one more evening together.
On the following morning Kopp bade us farewell. The whole population collected to see him off. So now, out of the seven of us who had broken out of the internment camp, five of whom had made for Tibet, only Aufschnaiter and I remained. We were the only mountaineers in the group and consequently physically and mentally best fitted for the lonely and strenuous life in this bleak land.
It was now late November and the caravan routes were no longer much frequented. The monastic official sent us some sheep and twelve loads of yak’s dung for fuel—and we needed it, for the temperature was already twelve degrees below zero Centigrade.
4. The Village of Happiness
We are ordered to move on—Kyirong, the happy village—Our first New Year in Tibet—Improvised skis—The war ends—The Abominable Snowman?
IN spite of the wintry weather we were more than ever determined to leave Tradün, with or without a letter of authorisation. We started hoarding provisions and bought a second yak. But just in the middle of our preparations the abbot arrived with the news that the long-awaited letter had come from Lhasa. What we had secretly feared had come true. We were forbidden to travel into Inner Tibet. The letter was not handed to us personally. We were merely told that we must go by the shortest route to Nepal, but that we might march in Tibetan territory as far as Kyirong. From there it was only eight miles to the Nepalese frontier and seven days’ march to the capital, Katmandu. We would be given transport and servants for the journey. We agreed at once to this ruling, as our route would take us somewhat further into Tibet and the longer we remained on the right side of the law the better.
On December 17th we left Tradün, which had sheltered us for four months. We felt no grudge against the Tibetans for not allowing us to go to Lhasa. Everyone knows how hard it is for foreigners without passports to get a footing in any country. By giving us presents and providing us with transport the Tibetans had shown hospitality far exceeding that customary in other countries. Although I did not then appreciate our good fortune so much as I do now, Aufschnaiter and I were still thankful for the eight months we had passed outside the barbed wire.
Now we were on the march again. Our convoy consisted of Aufschnaiter and myself accompanied by two servants. One of these carried, wrapped up like a sacred relic, the letter of the Government to the district officer at Kyirong. We were all mounted and our two yaks were kept moving by a driver. One could see from far off that our caravan belonged to persons of consequence—very different from the three down-at-heel vagabonds who had crossed the Himalayas into Tibet some months before.
Our road took us again over the Himalayan watershed towards the south-east. The Tsangpo was already frozen when we crossed it, and the nights in the tent were bitterly cold.
After riding for a week we reached Dzongka, which was visible from a long way off by reason of a thick cloud of smoke which hung over the houses. Dzongka really deserved to be called a village. It contained about a hundred mud-brick houses grouped about a monastery, and round the village were cultivated fields. The village was situated at the junction of two streams which form the river Kosi and, penetrating the Himalayas, flow into Nepal. The place was enclosed by a thirty-foot rampart and commanded by a splendid peak, some 20,000 feet high, called by the natives Chogulhari. It was Christmas Day when we came into Dzongka—our first Christmas since we had escaped. We were lodged in surprisingly comfortable quarters. The tree-line was only two days away, and wood was no longer an expensive luxury; it could be used for building and for all household needs. A contraption of tin served as a stove in which we burnt crackling juniper wood, soon warming the whole room very agreeably. When evening came we lit some Tibetan butter-lamps, and to celebrate the day we soon had a leg of mutton stewing in our cooking-pot.
As in every other place in Tibet there were no public inns here. Billets in private houses are assigned to travellers by the authorities. This is done by rotation, so that the population is not too badly inconvenienced and the arrangement forms part of the taxation system.
We had not planned to stay here long, but we were kept in Dzongka a whole month by heavy snowfalls. All day thick snowflakes fell and communications were interrupted. We were glad of our rest here, and interested ourselves in some of the activities of the monks and enjoyed as spectators the performances of a group of dancers from Nyenam.
A number of aristocratic officials lived here and we soon made friends with them. By now we spoke good Tibetan and carried on long conversations through which we got to know much about the manners and customs of the country. St. Sylvester Eve passed uncelebrated, but our thoughts dwelt more than ever on home.
Whenever we could, during this period of waiting, we made short expeditions in the neighbourhood and found many sandstone caves, a mine