It was illuminating that when being questioned on their arrival as to why they had brought their children here these parents gave the stock answer – ‘Because they will get schooling and it is good for them to be near His Holiness.’ Yet in Tibet this family lived four months’ journey by horse from Lhasa and had never been there or seen the Dalai Lama. (My questionnaire has shown me that few Tibetans, except those living in nearby towns and villages, ever went to the capital.) As for education, it is utterly beyond the bounds of possibility that such people, who don’t even speak Tibetan, could have thought this one out for themselves – so it seems justifiable to assume that during the three days which they have just spent in Forsythe Bazaar they were thoroughly indoctrinated.
Admittedly it is best under present conditions that at least some of the children, in a case like this, should be left at a camp while their parents find work; the tragedy is that even when work has been found the family will not be encouraged to re-unite.
This afternoon I had a most enjoyable row with Umadevi, an elderly Polish-born Feb who lives at the Palace. She accused me of being bigoted, conceited and treacherous, and I accused her of being fanatical, jealous and totally incapable of seeing the realities of any situation. After two and three-quarter hours of such exchanges we parted the best of friends – possibly because we both found that quarrelling with each other, rather than with Mrs Tsiring Dolma, was a truly satisfying experience. Certainly I felt that having someone saying what they thought of me to my face made a very nice change.
In the course of our conversation – if the interview may be so described – Umadevi asked petulantly, ‘Why don’t all you foreigners go back to your own countries and look after affairs there, instead of interfering with the Tibetans?’ To me this was a delectable question, coming from a Pole who has spent the past three years virtually running the Tibetan Government Foreign Affairs Department. I said as much, to which my opponent replied that she was only trying to help – whereupon I retorted that it was a matter of opinion whether ‘help’ or ‘interference’ was the mot juste for any of our activities. She then went on to accuse me of being ‘like the CID’ – a charge which left me completely uninsulted because, as I pointed out, CIDs are necessary evils, human nature being what it is. As can be seen, our meeting was not exactly productive, except in so far as it gave us both the opportunity to let off a great deal of long-pent-up steam. I only wish that I was more deserving of comparison with the CID – though actually Interpol is what we need here.
The walk to the Palace is more beautiful than ever at this season and when returning westward at sunset, as I did today, one is confronted by a vast red-gold sky, smouldering behind the dark, deep green of the forests. To the south lie long, multi-coloured streamers of cloud against a pale, cold green sky and nearby hundreds of almond trees are richly blossoming among the pines and deodars. Occasionally too one notices a strangely lovely tree whose transparent leaves have now turned to the palest gold and adding to this beauty is the unceasing music of the Tibetan flute. All day, from dawn to dusk, wherever you go in this region, you hear that flute being played in the distance; yet never once have I seen it being played, which makes me feel that it’s the original ‘music of the spheres’ – an illusion fostered by the quiet, simple tunes.
It’s hateful to think that within a fortnight I’ll have left this glorious region and returned to the plains.
23 NOVEMBER
It has taken us all day to realise that President Kennedy is dead. We heard of the assassination at 8 a.m. on the Delhi news, and though India had her own national tragedy yesterday (when five of her senior army and air force officers were killed in a helicopter crash not very far from here) three-quarters of the bulletin was devoted to Kennedy. The Russian tribute struck us as being sincere, and if this impression is correct its sincerity is the best epitaph he could have. It is curious how hostile feelings to the American way of life and policies do not prevent most Westerners from involuntarily regarding the President of the United States as our leader – not merely the leader of a friendly power. At least that’s how the four of us here – representing three European nations – reacted this morning. There was a sense of personal loss in our sorrow – and also an element of fear, at being suddenly deprived of a protector whose individual greatness had placed him outside the area of petty international antagonisms, while his humanity kept him within reach of the least of us.
This evening President Radhakrishnan broadcast a tribute and the most impressive thing about it was its incoherency. Last month I mentioned his fine talk on the eve of UN Day, when every idea was carefully thought out and perfectly expressed; but today he spoke very slowly and haltingly and it was the tone of his voice, rather than the inevitable clichés, that said what he felt.
The ‘apartness’ of the Tibetans is heavily underlined by this tragedy. To them ‘America’ and ‘Kennedy’ are meaningless words, and the recent death of the camp dog affected them much more deeply than the assassination of an unknown statesman. This fact, when they have now been living in India for four years, proves how effective a language barrier is – and also how little the average adult refugee is interested in his new environment. It’s unlikely that there are any other people – apart from primitive tribes in inaccessible areas – to whom today’s news meant nothing.
Last night the camp suffered a slight crisis when Pema, a five-year-old girl who had been left here by her mother yesterday afternoon, was found to have disappeared. At about 9 p.m. an unprecedented commotion started up outside the bungalow and on investigating we learned that a search party was being formed. I felt certain that in these forests, at this season, the poor little scrap couldn’t possibly survive – but here I underestimated the toughness of Tiblets. Half an hour after the search party had set out a messenger who had gone to Macleod Ganj to notify the mother came rushing back with the news that Pema had made her own way to the hamlet, walking over two miles in pitch darkness, and that she was now asleep, safely snuggled down beside her ‘amela’ in sheepskins by the roadside. She was not brought back here today, as I feared she might be, so perhaps her gallant escape-march has had the desired effect.
26 NOVEMBER
This is my last day on duty in the camp and now I wish I was gone; within the past week my happiness, on going out each morning and being inundated by a wave of Tiblets, has turned to bitterness at the thought of leaving. It is difficult to understand, much less explain, what these children have done for me. All I know is that during the past four months they have caused a subtle but powerful transformation, so that I’m aware of taking something away from here that will be of permanent value. To those who have never lived through such an experience my words may sound like so much sentimental tommyrot – yet they express a reality which others have already observed. Yesterday, Oliver slightly startled me by remarking on how much I had changed since we first met. When I asked him how this change looked to him he replied without hesitation – ‘In some ways you’re softer and in other ways you’re much stronger and calmer.’ I knew exactly what he meant and in fact I was able to return this compliment sincerely, for he too has been noticeably influenced by life among the Tiblets.
Two days ago the Simla Land-Rover appeared again, this time bringing Stuart and Miss Doris Betts and Deirdre Allen, the nineteenyear-old VSO worker who is replacing me. Deirdre has been helping at the Manor since last July and is a tremendous character, remarkably mature for her years and tough enough to take even Dharamsala camp in her stride. Yet she is also very gentle and full of fun and has the perfect temperament for looking after Tiblets; within a day of her arrival she had become ‘one of the lads’ and it was obvious that every child in the place – including Cama Yishy – already adored her. This is an indescribable relief to me, for Tiblets are philosophical little creatures, not likely to be upset by a change of staff when the new ‘Amela’ is capable of giving them at least as much understanding affection as the old.
Miss Betts is
matron of the Manor Nursery for Tibetan Refugee Children, and she came with Stuart on this trip to help him select another batch of weakly Tiblets for transfer to Simla. Originally we had planned to leave here today, but as poor Stuart has again got bogged down in the morass of Mrs Tsiring Dolma’s obstructiveness our departure has been postponed still tomorrow.
My plans for the immediate future are as follows: to leave Roz here and go to Simla by Land-Rover; to hitch-hike from there to Delhi, do some Christmas shopping for Juliet and get Nepalese visas for Doris and Oliver, who are both taking well-earned holidays next month; to return to Dharamsala by rail and bus, say final goodbyes and then cycle up the Kulu valley to see for myself what life is like in the road-camps.
Today I found that the last remnants of my patience with Mrs Tsiring Dolma had frayed away to nothing – perhaps because the need for diplomacy on my part is now over. I happened to be in the Dispensary this morning when a ten-year-old girl from the Upper Nursery was brought to Oliver suffering from such advanced gingivitis that every one of her teeth was loose and her gums were like crimson jelly. The weather is now bitterly cold yet this child was clad in a thin, torn, sleeveless cotton frock – though when VIPs visit the Upper Nursery every child there is dressed warmly in tweeds, woollens, heavy socks and strong boots.
Half an hour afterwards, while I was still seething with wrath, a message came from Mrs Tsiring Dolma saying that she expected Deirdre and me at a luncheon party to be given in our honour at the Upper Nursery. These invitations to ritual luncheons always come in the form of Royal Commands and the only acceptable excuse for declining them is serious illness. However I declined, as I have done twice before with thanks but without offering any excuse; had I been pressed to explain my reasons for not attending today it would have given me great pleasure to point out that twelve-course luncheons for the favoured few do not impress guests who are aware of the presence in this camp of hundreds of hungry children. This morning Stuart also declined his invitation, being equally opposed to these lavish parties. By now he had given up attempting to make Mrs Tsiring Dolma see reason on the various points under discussion and at 12.30 p.m. we set off together to climb to Triund Rest House, which is perched on a mountain ridge at a height of 10,300 feet. I’ve got so completely out of training that I found this trek very tiring – especially as Stuart is an exceptionally athletic type who sets a terrific pace. But it was well worth the effort, to see so much wild beauty on every side, and I returned feeling much the better for the expedition.
Yesterday, while instructing Deirdre in her new duties, I suddenly realised that the number of infected ears in the Lower Nursery is now down to 36, as compared with 315 a few months ago, and these simple statistics gave me a more glowing sense of achievement than I have ever felt before. They also prove that in this sort of situation every helper, however inexperienced, can significantly contribute to the relief of suffering.
8
Here and There
SIMLA: 27 NOVEMBER
The impersonality of refugee work struck me very forcibly this morning when we were preparing our nine chosen Tiblets for the long journey to Simla. At 5 a.m. three ayahs arrived at the bungalow carrying or leading their sleepy-eyed charges, who were put on Juliet’s bed and told to be good. Then the ayahs quietly disappeared and that was the abrupt ending of one chapter in these young lives. Their unquestioning acceptance of this upheaval seemed pathetic: it would have been easier to cope with fits of alarmed weeping than to witness such calm indifference. I couldn’t help wondering what this change would mean for each of them. One at least was being parted from a brother; another has a father living in Macleod Ganj, who will probably lose track of her as she moves from camp to camp, and as for the rest – months may pass before their parents learn of this transfer. Yet to everyone in authority these are no more than nine numbers to be crossed off the Dharamsala register and entered on the Simla register.
Within an hour Miss Betts had achieved a miracle of organisation. All nine Tiblets were securely tucked up in comfortable ‘beds’ in the back of the Land-Rover, countless flasks had been filled with hot milk, provision had been made for dealing quickly and efficiently with bouts of carsickness and diarrhoea and a picnic lunch had been packed for us.
The 206-mile journey along precipitous, winding roads took us exactly twelve hours, yet one couldn’t wish for the trip to end. Our route lay through the Himalayan foothills – which anywhere else would be referred to as majestic mountains – and these vast, lonely sweeps of earth and sky seemed intoxicating in the crystal air.
Even after living among Tiblets for four months I was astonished by our passengers’ behaviour; not once did one of them so much as whimper. At each of the three stops we lifted them out, asked them to ‘chimbathombhi’ – which they obligingly did, squatting in a row by the wayside – fed them with milk and rusks, repacked them and then set off again.
It was dark when we arrived here and though Simla is such an uninspiring place by day the approach by night is quite breathtakingly beautiful. The sheer slopes glow from their very summits down to the valleys’ depths with tens of thousands of sparkling lights; when you come round the mountain and see this sight ahead it looks as though some hoard of diamonds has been spilled out of the sky.
After sharing quarters for so long it’s an extraordinary sensation to sit here tonight in the solitude of the Menteths’ guest-room. But even the priceless blessing of privacy doesn’t outweigh the loneliness. However, it’s nice to look forward to going to bed now under an open window, with the icy wind blowing on my face. And here, at 7000 feet above sea level, it is icy!
SIMLA: 28 NOVEMBER
Having finished the above at 11.30 p.m. I retired under my open window – but at 1 a.m. I was still tossing and turning. Eventually the penny dropped; after four months of ‘sleeping hard’ my body simply couldn’t relax on a soft bed. I then migrated with blankets to the floor and a moment later had fallen fast asleep.
The weather was so appalling here today that the prospect of going down to the plains has become quite attractive. All morning a ferocious north wind tore around this summit, flaying it with sleet, and after lunch Simla had its first snowfall of the season. At teatime I went over to the Manor to see The Nine, who all looked very happy – but how I should hate to work at either of these SCF nurseries! For all its faults, snags, hardships and hazards Dharamsala does provide Tiblets with some passable substitute for their natural habitat and to see them here, being briskly Europeanised within twenty-four hours of arrival, has a most depressing effect on me. Yet material conditions in these nurseries are so much better than in Dharamsala that the eight Dispensary cases who were transferred three weeks ago have already improved beyond recognition; I would never have been able to pick them out if they hadn’t rushed to welcome ‘Amela’.
Clearly a compromise is required between the comfort of Simla and the squalor of Dharamsala. The expenditure of comparatively large sums on maintaining these palatial, English-type homes for a mere 300 children, when so many other hundreds are neglected elsewhere, shows just how rotten things are in the State of Tibland. SCF’s approach gives the impression that those who direct the operation from London are intent on upholding the highest British standards of comfort, cleanliness and kindly regimentation, regardless of their suitability in a particular context. And one of the most frustrating aspects of this situation is that the available field-workers have a very firm grasp of the realities of the problem and could efficiently implement a more constructive project if given the opportunity. Surely such intelligent and enterprising helpers should be free to work out, from their own observations on the spot, the best way of organising relief.
NEW DELHI: 2 DECEMBER
Having left Simla at 9 a.m. on the 29th, I arrived here in Delhi at 4 a.m. next day, after an uneventful journey in a series of trucks driven by polite Sikhs. In India the picking up of hitchhikers is one of a truckdriver’s ‘perks’ and, for a fraction of what the bus-
fare would cost, villagers travel long distances adhering to the tops of the most improbable loads. Being a white woman I got preferential treatment and was accommodated in the cab, though in fact it is illegal for drivers to give lifts to foreigners.
During the past few days Jill and I have spent most of our time together, discussing Tibbery and visiting innumerable offices concerned with the relief of the refugees. Tomorrow morning I’m going by bus to Mussoorie, bringing some medical supplies to the Schools and Homes there.
MUSSOORIE: 6 DECEMBER
On Tuesday morning Jill drove me to the bus-station at 5 a.m. and by four o’clock that afternoon I was back on the heights among Tiblets.
Tibetan Foothold Page 15
