by Marco Pallis
Many of the lamas and refugees in Nyewo sent kind messages when they heard that we were leaving. A man had gone ahead of us to the next village to warn the inhabitants of our approach, for visitors seldom came to this remote part of the country and we thought our large numbers might cause alarm. Everyone had to carry some of the baggage; my attendant disapproved of my doing this and wanted to add my load to his; I had to make it clear to him that each of us must do his share; Kino Tulku carried the heaviest load. We felt that we must acclimatize ourselves to this difficult way of traveling, so we made our first day a short one. The rough track ran beside the river which now plunged through a rocky gorge. It was obvious that no animal could be brought this way, for there were a lot of huge rocks on the track with deep crevices between them, spanned by fallen pine trees; men could only move in single file. At night it was difficult to find enough space to lie down and our bedding was of the simplest. The country here was much warmer and damper than the parts we had come from, with more luxuriant vegetation. The nearer we got to the village of Rigong Kha the worse the track became, till we were faced with a very high cliff coming right down to the river. I was horrified when I looked at a very sketchy zigzag path going up this cliff. I had expected a track, but there appeared to be nothing more than a broken chain dangling at intervals, beside what appeared to be little cracks in the rock. One of the porters told me to watch the first of their men going up; he had a load on his back and never seemed to hold on to anything, but just jumped to the footholds cut in the rock; I thought I could never do it. Some of the younger men failed to get through unaided and had to hand the baggage they were carrying to one of the porters. The latter offered to carry some of the older men on their backs, but this kind offer was not accepted, it seemed too dangerous; instead they went up very slowly roped to porters in front and behind. When they got halfway some were so frightened that they refused to move and the younger people had to be firm with them saying that the porters were not going to hold on to a stationary person; they must pull themselves together and carry on. All this took a very long time. I was one of the last to attempt the passage and, while waiting, I had time to study everyone’s methods of tackling the awkward passage. The porters, by agreement among themselves, had selected the best men to carry me up, but I said I would prefer to walk. What rather disturbed me was that after so many people had climbed up the same shallow footholds, a lot of slippery mud was left on them; I was wearing European rubber-soled shoes while slip easily and this made it difficult to get a grip on the narrow footholds. However, I did not find it as hard as I expected.
When I reached the top of this hazardous ascent I found myself on a very narrow ledge with a sheer drop beneath it. I asked the porters, “What do I do next?” They told me that there was a long ladder from the ledge going down to a rock in the middle of the river; from this rock there was a line of bridges made of pine trunks which crossed a series of rocks to the farther bank. The porter looked very cheerful and said, “It’s only a ladder; just follow me.” I was still roped to the two porters. When I got on the ladder I saw how immensely long it was; we seemed to be so high up that a man at the bottom looked like a mere dwarf. It was made of single pine trunks lashed together from end to end, with notches cut in the wood for footholds. When I climbed down the first few notches I could see the swirling green waters of the river underneath; a few more steps, and I felt I was poised in space over an expanse of water. There was a cold wind coming up from a large cave under the rock into which the river was pouring; worst of all, the ladder shook in a terrifying way with the weight of the many porters who were there trying to help me. All our party who had reached the bottom of the ladder stopped to watch me. I was told that the porters had had great difficulties with some of the older men, who had been so frightened that they had nearly fainted. There was great rejoicing when I rejoined them at the bottom. When we reached the dry land we pitched camp and from here we could see the ladder and the ledge some hundred feet higher up. Next day’s track proved to be no better than the last; no part of it was on the level and we had continually to climb up cliff faces more than a thousand feet high, sometimes only by footholds cut in the rock. However, after our first experience these held no terrors for us. In places we had to make up the roadway itself because, since the Chinese had come into Tibet, this route had been little used and much of it had been disturbed by the earthquake of 1950 which had been especially severe in this region. I was getting more acclimatized to walking and sleeping under these rough conditions.
The perilous route to Rigong Kha.
The porter whom we had sent ahead to Rigong Kha returned with a local man to welcome us to his village. He told us that there were no Chinese in Rigong Kha, though they were farther eastward in the valley; however, there were strong Resistance forces in Upper Powo who believed that they could push the Communists back.
Kino Tulku had been too energetic, the very heavy loads which he had chosen to carry were beyond his strength and his eyesight became affected. We feared it was a blood clot; however, there was nowhere on the track where we could stop, so the most important thing was to get him to the village as soon as possible. From where we were we could see small farms in the distance, but there was still a long way to walk and it was all uphill. There were very few streams and we found the going very exhausting without any water to drink. When we came to a field about half a mile from Rigong Kha we stopped for the night and some of our party went up to the village to buy food. They found most of the villagers very friendly. Kino Tulku’s eyes had been growing steadily worse and the whole camp was very worried as we thought this might affect our plans. The following day a number of the villagers came to visit us. They were very surprised at finding so large a party and could not conceal their curiosity, for they had never met people from East Tibet other than a few pilgrims; no other refugees had come this way. In this isolated village the inhabitants had never seen horses, mules, or yaks, their only domestic animals being small buffaloes and pigs. Their dialect was a mixture of Kongpo and Powo and they wore the Kongpo dress, which for the men was the ordinary chuba (gown) made of woolen cloth worn under a long straight garment made of goatskin with the hair on the outside. These were belted at the waist and cut open in the middle to slip over the head. The women’s chubas were also of wool; they wore caps edged with gold brocade and they all carried a good deal of jewelry, chiefly in the form of earrings or necklaces; their boots were embroidered in bright colors.
The climb up to the village was easy and the people there gave us a warm welcome. We were a little afraid lest some traveler coming from the eastern side might turn out to be a spy, but actually there was no need for anxiety on this score. The villagers had had no authentic news of happenings at Lhasa; some vague rumors had reached them through the Communists in the lower part of the valley: When we assured them that the Communists had taken control in Lhasa and that the Dalai Lama had escaped to India, they still would not believe it. Traders coming to Rigong Kha brought the news that though the Resistance forces had fought very bravely in the Tong Gyuk Valley and had at first held the bridge, the Communists had finally gained possession of it. Now, all the area as far as Chamdo was in Communist hands; they had rebuilt the road from Chengtu in Szechuan to Chamdo and their troops were everywhere. In all the districts they had started to form rigorous indoctrination groups. It was now certain that they would penetrate before long into the Tong Gyuk Valley, barring our further route along it, so we were obliged to revise all our ideas on the subject of the best route to follow. Up till then we had been hoping to follow the Yigong River to where it joins the Brahmaputra, almost at the point where that great river turns down toward India. There was nothing to be done but to find another way. We asked the villagers if they knew of any other route by which we could cross the military highway the Chinese had constructed, but though they supposed that there might be some tracks across the mountain ranges, they really had no idea how we could get through to Lower
Kongpo. Some people suggested that we might join forces with the Potö Resistance group, but they were some distance away and in any case we were not bent on fighting.
There was a small temple in Rigong Kha and the villagers asked the lama in charge of it to invite me to stay with him so that I could perform certain rites on their behalf; they also wanted me to preach there. People from several small villages in surrounding valleys came in order to ask for a blessing and some of them suggested that we could still hide in various remote places in the vicinity where there would be little chance of the Chinese finding us. Since no other refugees had come to Rigong Kha, there had been no inroads on their food supplies and all the villagers were very generous in giving us hospitality after our arduous journey.
Meanwhile, we were preparing for further travels, giving our heavy goods such as rugs in exchange for food, particularly such items as tsampa, dried meat, butter, cheeses, and pork fat. Our porters had been sent back to Nyewo as soon as we reached Rigong Kha; they had been ever so helpful and, though not long with us, we had got to know them very well. We gave them a number of presents such as jewelry, cloth, etc., as we had little money; but they were so modest that we had difficulty in persuading them to accept even that much. As we parted they wished us a good journey and expressed the hope that we might escape the Communists.
We stayed at Rigong Kha for about a fortnight; it was now the end of August and we decided to move to the small valley of Tso-phu, lying due south. There are two high passes at the upper part of this valley, one leading southeast and the other southwest. We had not decided which to take; however, we thought this valley would be on our way and it was not very safe to remain at Rigong Kha for much longer. First we had to recross the river. The group of refugees under Lama Riwa decided to stay on at Rigong Kha saying they would join us later. The rest of us, who included Repön’s group and some other refugees, went down to the river, taking some men from the village to act as porters. The torrent was so turbulent that it had been impossible to build a bridge across it. Instead, a thick hemp rope had been fixed to the rocks on either bank. A pulley on it was attached to a belt to hold the passenger; a long rope affixed to this was held between the men on the opposite banks. The weight of the passenger carried him into the middle of the river, and the men on the farther side hauled him up the rest of the way.
Even while we were crossing the river we were told that some Communists were coming this way. In case they appeared suddenly we were resolved to cut the rope.
Kino Tulku’s eyes had improved under treatment, but now his legs began to trouble him so that he was only able to walk very slowly. He believed his illness to be incurable. His wife, however, was determined that we should all keep together; she was beside herself with anxiety; it was difficult for me to know what to do. However, after the scare that the Chinese were behind us, Kino Tulku himself decided that we were not to stay behind on his account, saying that he would go to a small village in a nearby valley where he could rest—a sorrowful parting for us all. We were still keeping in touch with our friends in Rigong Kha who sent us supplies and gave us the latest news. I sent a messenger to the village to ask them if they knew of anyone with a knowledge of Lower Kongpo who would be prepared to come to India with us and act as guide. They promised to find someone; they had several people in mind and thought it would not take more than a week to send a man. I sent a similar message to Kino Tulku in case there was anyone in his village, but no one appeared, so we started to go farther down the valley. We had yet to decide which of the two passes we should take. A lama came to us from Rigong Kha; he told us that he had brought his party from Nyewo following our lead. The conditions there had grown worse, more and more refugees were crowding into the area and there was a very serious food shortage, also a good deal of illness. Everyone was saying that Trungpa Tulku’s party had shown the way of escape and many people were starting to follow, though others had decided against this course, on hearing what a difficult track we had had to traverse on foot. The people at Nyewo had not understood what direction I would take after Rigong Kha; they thought we would be going further along the Yigong Valley. The lama told me that he had met some groups already going that way. I said, “They must be mad since it is known that the Communists are now in that area.” He replied that it was all right, for the Communists had now withdrawn, so he had heard; he added that the eighty refugees under Lama Riwa, who had intended coming with us, had changed their minds and were going with other refugees by the Yigong Valley.
It was now early September, and the weather was breaking up with frequent storms. It was likely that there would be a lot of snow on the passes and the road might be blocked. It took us some four or five days to reach the far end of the valley, from where we could really study the terrain, and we now concluded that the Tso-phu Pass which went in a southeasterly direction was the one which we should take. It appeared fairly easy, though rain was falling continuously which would mean a lot of soft snow higher up. I sent an advance party to investigate; they were only able to get about a quarter of the way and were then driven back by severe storms. They had found that the fresh snow on the pass was very deep, but thought that if the weather improved, even for three or four days, a crossing would be practicable. No news had come through concerning a possible guide for us. A local man offered to find one within a week saying that, should he fail, he would come back to discuss the situation with us; he added, “If I don’t come, you may take it that I am dead.” The weather now cleared suddenly, but still no sign of a guide or of the local man; we concluded that he must really have died.
There was nothing we could do except wait as patiently as possible. Yak Tulku and I with a few monks decided to go into retreat. I told Ugyen Tendzin to make several coracles while we were away and to train some of the men to paddle them, for we would need them later on when we had to cross the Tsangpo, which is the name given to the upper reaches of the Brahmaputra in Tibet.
The spot chosen for our retreat was inspiringly beautiful, it lay beside a blue lake surrounded by high snow-covered mountains; their peaks were glistening above the clouds and pine trees grew all around. The whole place was utterly different to the country about Surmang; it was more like Himalayan scenery.1 Every evening we sat round the campfire for our meal. Once we heard an airplane overhead and consulted whether we should cover the fire, though some said that the airplane was too far off to notice so small a thing. I took this opportunity to tell them how important it was in times of war never to show any sort of light. For a week all fires were carefully concealed, but when no further airplanes were heard we ceased to keep up this discipline. While waiting for a guide to materialize, all the camp busied themselves in repairing boots and making other preparations for the journey. We had expected that Akong Tulku would be joining us with Tsethar’s group, however nothing had been heard of them. Our party was so large that Dorje Tsering undertook to organize the people into groups under separate leaders; he brought me a list with the names and ages of all the party. I was shocked at the numbers: about 170 and among them men and women seventy and eighty years old as well as babies in arms, but very few ablebodied men. I decided to explain to all of them the sort of journey we were facing and how very hard it was likely to be. I told them that we would not be able to visit any villages, so there would be no further opportunity to get fresh supplies of food; we must take all essential provisions, as from now. There would be many high passes and difficult streams on our route. It must be understood that we would be without tents and might have to sleep in the snow. We might well be captured before reaching the Indian frontier, for there were a great many Chinese in all this region. Finally I said to them, “If any of you should be overcome by exhaustion, by long climbs and by trekking through rough country, it will be impossible for the others to stop and look after him. I want you all to realize what you are undertaking and if you think the hardships will be too great for you, now is the time to decide if you still wish to come with us.�
�� I added, “I do not want any definite answers for a day or two,” for I knew that if anyone shouted that he wanted to come, all the rest would follow like sheep. After three days, they all said they wanted to come with me and that they would rather fall by the wayside than fall into Communist hands, for then at least they would feel that they had made all possible effort. I arranged meetings to explain to everyone what rules they must promise to follow, and concluded with these words: “If we are attacked we must not kill any of the Chinese. We must not steal people’s property on the way. There must be no disunity among ourselves; and if anything goes wrong I must immediately be told about it.” Everyone agreed to keep these rules, though Repön’s party and those refugees who had their arms with them were not happy about the nonfighting clause. I told them that they must now provide themselves with the necessary food and train themselves to eat sparingly from the start. Everyone now sent their representatives to make these final purchases, bartering their tents and all superfluous possessions; the porters were sent back to Rigong Kha. I was very distressed at having to leave my books behind. Though the party disposed of their heavier goods, they still clung to their cooking pots and much spare clothing, these things in addition to their supplies of food made the loads very heavy; they amounted to almost twice as much as an average person would normally carry, the weight being chiefly due to the large amounts of food that had to be taken. Those of the party who were unable to carry all their own stuff arranged among themselves that if some of their stronger companions were willing to take a part of it, particularly gold and silver coins and jewelry, they would be given half of these things if they reached India. Since a supply of tsampa was vital, extra bags of it were entrusted to the strongest members of the party. Some people had bartered their possessions for musk which was light to carry and very valuable.
