The McMahon Line- a Century of Discord

by J J Singh

  Later, when the Mishmi mission under W.C.M. Dundas was launched in October 1911, the Pangum chief also reported the visit of Tibetan lamas sent by the Chinese to ‘summon the Miju headmen to Rima for a purpose to be disclosed on their arrival’. The Mijus did not obey the summons either, fearing they might be required in connection with the expedition against Pomed, which the Chinese were known to be organizing.8 Another valuable piece of information was provided by the Pangum chief; during the rainy season (May to September) in 1911, some Chinese activities had taken place in the Taraon Mishmi–inhabited Delei (Dilli) Valley. The Delei is a river that originates in the Himalayan watershed west of Rima and flows into the Lohit at an important village called Hayuliang, about 130 kilometres downstream from Walong.

  The Mishmi mission was able to corroborate this news from various village headmen and concluded that the Chinese did cross the frontier from the north through the Glei Dakhru Pass (Figure 9) and had tried to assert their authority and subvert the tribals of the Taraon area, though without much success. According to a fairly authentic account provided on 30 November 1911 by the village chief of Chipa in the Delei Valley, a man called Mazanon of the Taraon Mishmi tribe, a Chinese force of fifty soldiers, led by one Ta Loh,9 along with 100 Tibetan coolies, came over the Glei Dakhru Pass and halted at Chipa for seven days.

  The Chinese ordered the villagers of the area to cut a road through the valley for their use. The villagers told them the Delei road was very bad and they should instead use the Lohit Valley road, which was better and also being used by the British. The Chinese then gave the headmen ‘a piece of paper with some writing on it, which they said should be shown both to the Chinese and British’; this the Taraons did not take. Next the Chinese produced a flag and ordered the tribesmen to set it up at the confluence of the Delei and Lohit. This too they refused to do, replying that if the Chinese wished to plant flags they must do it themselves. The Chinese then produced nine loads of salt, which they gave to the villagers saying that they should eat Chinese salt as well as British. Mazanon said his people took the salt and ate half of it, leaving the other half in the village ‘for fear of incurring our displeasure’.10

  Captain Hardcastle was able to obtain a corroboration of the information provided by Mazanon and also recovered fifteen documents in the nature of authority letters or passes issued in the name of Chao Erh-feng given to the villagers to facilitate future Chinese movements for trade in Tibet. When the Taraons refused to take the hint from the Tibetan interpreters to give appropriate presents to Ta Loh, the commander of the force, the latter displayed great annoyance and threatened to send for 300 more soldiers; but they left the next day without carrying out their threat. As a matter of fact, they crossed the Glei Dakhru Pass and proceeded towards the troubled Pomed region instead. As events unfolded, the Chinese never returned to Zayul Valley again!

  Dundas, who was leading the expedition in the Lohit Valley, reached Yepauk on 14 January 1912. He gathered that two days before his arrival three Tibetans had planted another Chinese flag about 70 metres north of the previous flags at Menilkrai. This flag had a four-clawed dragon, and beside it there stood a board with inscriptions in both Chinese and Tibetan, saying, ‘The Southern frontier of Za-yul on the borders of the Szechuan Province of the Chinese Empire.’ The Chinese carried out another similar mission to the region, now with a higher-ranking official. He examined this board and gave instructions for installation of another notification that was going to be sent. The Chinese mission did not fail to notice the two inscriptions engraved by the Sappers and Miners, who had visited earlier, on a rockface at the British camp at Yepauk,11 and indeed took back impressions of the same with them.

  The Chinese also sent probes into the adjacent Dau and Delei (Dilli) Valleys, as also to the upper reaches of the Dibang Valley, which lies to the immediate east of the Tsangpo river as it flows south of the great bend. Taking advantage of the loose political control exercised by the British administration over the hill tribes, the Chinese made a few exploratory incursions of this type south of the Himalayan watershed. They mostly used Tibetans as proxies to obtain information or to convey their pronouncements. I do not subscribe to the theory put forward by Alastair Lamb that by making these forays and coercing the Mishmi tribes to obey their diktat, Chao Erh-feng was only trying to secure his southern flank. Taking into consideration the Chinese expansionist territorial claims up to 1911, their strategic design of trying to grab areas in the southern slopes of the Himalayas to connect the Pomed and Zayul regions with Yunnan province through northern Burma falls into place perfectly.12

  Ironically, the Chinese had never been heard of before or after this burst of forays by them in the region during 1910–12. As a matter of fact, Chinese presence in the whole of proper Tibet was eliminated by the end of 1912 and the Chinese forces were pushed back to the Salween-Mekong watershed (shown in Figure 8). The expansionist dreams of the Manchu Empire never materialized and, in a typical anticlimax, came to a premature and abrupt end as a result of the nationalists’ revolution of 1911.

  Given all these events, one cannot help but commend the profound comprehension and analysis of Chinese policy in the south-eastern region of Tibet by Sir Henry McMahon, which is contained in the ‘Final Memorandum on the Simla Conference’, signed on 8 July 1914. This Conference has been discussed in detail later. Here are the salient extracts from McMahon’s incisive report:

  No sooner had the Chinese forces arrived in Lhasa [in early 1910] than it became evident that China was scarcely in search of those peaceful and neighbourly relations between India and China, which had been contemplated by His Majesty’s Government when concluding the agreement of 1906 … The peace of our North-East Frontier was seriously menaced by a series of Chinese aggressions along the border line from Bhutan to Upper Burma.

  Through the hostile attitude of the Chinese a situation had arisen indeed which threatened to cancel all the advantages of our previous arrangements in regard to Tibet, and to involve grave political responsibilities and heavy military expenditure on the North-East Frontier of India.13

  There could not have been a more telling analysis of the alarming situation obtaining on British India’s north-eastern frontier than this.

  8

  The Dalai Lama Flees to India

  The Dalai Lama, who had barely returned after five and a half years of exile from Lhasa in December 1909, had to flee once again, this time veritably saving his life by the skin of his teeth. Using subterfuge, the Chinese had tricked the Grand Lama into granting them permission to enter Lhasa unopposed, by telling him that a force of about 1,000 soldiers would be arriving in the city to provide protection to the trade marts being established there as part of the Trade Agreement of 1908. Two months later, as the Dalai Lama discerned that the advancing Chinese force was actually about 2,000 strong and was intending an occupation of Lhasa and central Tibet, he was taken aback. But at that late stage he found himself in no position to offer a fight. So on 12 February 1910, as Chung Ying’s stormtroopers entered Lhasa, he took flight, along with some of his Kalons (ministers) and a small retinue, towards India. He did not want to be a puppet or, worse, a prisoner of the Chinese.

  The astute Lama escaped Chinese efforts to capture him, cleverly dodging his pursuers by avoiding the well-known routes. He took the most unexpected track, along the Bhutanese border, which involved negotiating three or four high-altitude snow-covered passes to avoid his pursuers. He set out at a blistering pace in the peak of the Tibetan winter, often through deep snow and blinding mist. Eventually, he reached Gnatong (currently known as Nathang in the Jelep La area along the Sikkim border), following the Chumbi Valley route.

  It was a remarkable feat by any standards, to ride about 64 kilometres in one night and make it to the Tsangpo river by early morning. Having crossed the river by boat, the Dalai sped on towards Chumbi Valley. A pursuing Chinese force of 200 soldiers was held at bay at the Tsangpo ferry by gallant rearguard action on the part of
Chen-sa Nang-Kang, a youthful, spirited and loyal aide of the Grand Lama, assisted by a few poorly trained and equipped Tibetan soldiers. They had cleverly tethered the boats on the southern bank of this huge obstacle of a river, and the Chinese force was delayed here for a considerable time. Gyantse and other known Chinese garrisons en route were bypassed, and the well-known cart road from Gyantse to Yatung too was cleverly avoided by the Dalai Lama. Taking a route hugging the Himalayan mountains extending southwards to the Chomolhari peak, the Dalai Lama’s entourage reached Phari Dzong, having crossed five passes over 4,500 metres in altitude and braving a snowstorm and chill winds that ‘pierced the clothes of the fugitives like thorns’, as described by Charles Bell in The Portrait of Dalai Lama. The Dalai Lama’s group finally entered Sikkim after negotiating a 1,500-metre ascent to cross the Jelep La on 21 February. Amazingly, the Grand Lama and his retinue covered the distance of approximately 500 kilometres in just nine days, doing between 40 and 50 kilometres daily in those high altitudes in the peak of Himalayan winter.

  In the wee hours of a wintry night in February 1910, much to the amusement and surprise of two British soldiers (one of them was Sergeant Bill Luff and the other was Humphreys) posted at the border telegraph and observation post at Gnatong, the Dalai Lama’s arrival was reported by the leading elements of his weary group. ‘Which blighter is the correct Dalai Lama? Yer all seem to think yer the Dalai Lama (emphasis added),’1 one of the soldiers asked the ragtag group in the darkness. On being indicated who the Dalai Lama was, they led him inside their shack and had a glimpse at him in the glow of the fireplace. The soldiers suggested the Dalai Lama might be more comfortable in the dak bungalow nearby, but were told that the Grand Lama would be happy to share their shack and stay put there itself. The God-king of the whole of Tibet, a state one-third the size of the United States of America, made for a pitiable sight. But, at least, once again, he had survived. The soldiers did not venture to let the Tibetan refugees know that they had no ammunition in their weapons, as their equipment had been back-loaded for they were themselves waiting to be relieved. The night passed uneventfully. The next morning, after as sumptuous a breakfast as field conditions would permit, the two ex-sergeants, Luff and Humphreys, with bayonets fixed and still without ammunition, escorted the Dalai Lama’s party a few kilometres down the slope into Sikkim. As they parted company, by a ‘strange coincidence’, each apparently remarked to the other, ‘Thank heaven we’ve got the boss of Tibet off our bally hands safe and sound.’2

  The Dalai Lama took a few days to reach the extremely picturesque town of Kalimpong, which was a centre of commerce, intrigue and espionage focused on Tibet and all that went on in that enchanted land of the lamas. It was also a refuge for retired government officials. It is a beautiful cantonment town in the present times too. There was a swell of coreligionists from Sikkim, Bhutan and Nepal, and also ‘three little Scottish girls, daughters of Dr Graham, the well-known missionary and founder of the Kalimpong Homes’, who had lined up on the cart track leading to the bazaar to greet the Dalai Lama. The fugitive God-king of Tibet and his entourage received a tumultuous welcome from Hindus, Christians, Muslims and prostrating Buddhists. This must have been an unbelievable experience for the Dalai Lama. He left for Darjeeling after a few days in Kalimpong, having created a record of sorts for travelling in the peak of winter from Lhasa to Gnatong (Nathang) on the Sikkim border, managing the narrowest escape from the clutches of the Chinese pursuers.

  Charles Alfred Bell, an acknowledged Tibetologist of the time, was the political officer for Sikkim, Bhutan and Tibet from 1908 to 1918 and had been in charge of administering Chumbi Valley between 1904 and 1905 as a consequence of the Lhasa Convention. Naturally, the responsibility of taking care of the Dalai Lama and his entourage during their exile in India fell on his shoulders. As time would tell, he proved to be the best choice for the role. In a short period of time, he had established a personal equation with the exalted lama and had become his confidant. Soon the Dalai Lama confided to Bell: ‘I have come to India to ask the help of the British Government against the Chinese. Unless they intervene, China will occupy Tibet and oppress it; China will destroy the Buddhist religion there and the Tibetan Government, and will govern the country through Chinese officials. Eventually her power will be extended into the States on the border between Tibet and India.’3 History is proving the Grand Lama right, as far as China’s extertion of its influence over smaller nations is concerned.

  During this sojourn in India, the Dalai Lama was invited to Calcutta for an audience with the viceroy, Lord Hardinge. The journey by train from Darjeeling to Calcutta, including the metre-gauge ‘toy train’ leg to Siliguri, was a novel experience for the Tibetans. The Dalai Lama was welcomed with a seventeen-gun salute at Fort William. In his interaction with the viceroy he conveyed ‘his gratitude for the hospitality he had received and his reliance on the British Government in his present difficulties’.

  This is how the second exile of the thirteenth Dalai Lama, the reincarnation of the ‘Chen-re-zi’, commenced. Ironically, he was compelled by circumstances to seek shelter in the territory of the very same power he had considered as Tibet’s sworn enemy even until half a decade ago. The British received the fugitive Grand Lama and his entourage comprising almost all the members of the Kashag, or council of ministers, with typical British ‘neutral’ cordiality. They put him up in a suitable cottage, named ‘Hillside’, on the outskirts of Darjeeling under the personal care of Charles Bell.

  This time too the Chinese, on 25 February 1910, announced the deposition of the Dalai Lama. But, unlike on the earlier occasion, they declared that a new incarnation could be found. This idea was rejected outright by the Tibetans, as there was no question of searching for the incarnation of the Chen-re-zi while their Dalai Lama was still alive. The Chinese then endeavoured to replace him with the Panchen Lama. The Tashi Lama, another name the Panchen Lama is known by, had no choice but to obey the imperial command. He functioned in a perfunctory manner from the Norbulingka Palace of the Dalai Lama but did not occupy the seat of the Dalai Lama or endeavour to take over his temporal powers. Finding it impossible to handle Tibet without the Dalai Lama, the Chinese Amban, in September 1910, ‘offered to rescind the deposition order’, and requested him to come back to Lhasa. In a detailed reply addressed to Lo T’i-t’ai in the Manchu court, the Grand Lama recapitulated the manner in which the Chinese had invaded his nation and how the emperor had taken actions on the advice of the Amban in Lhasa without showing any concern for the ‘rang wang’ or independence of Tibet. Under the existing conditions, said the Dalai Lama, he could not return to Tibet. In view of the foregoing events, he added, the relationship between Tibet and China had distinctly changed. He emphasized that there was now a need for a third party to act as an intermediary to decide Tibet’s future policy. Having lost confidence in the Chinese, the Dalai Lama, for the first time, suggested that Great Britain be that intermediary between Tibet and China.4 The Dalai Lama continued to stay in Darjeeling until the middle of 1912.

  During the upheaval in Tibet caused by the Revolution and the new regime’s efforts to regain China’s hold on its outlying frontier regions, President Yuan Shih-k’ai announced the restoration of the titles of the Dalai Lama on 28 October 1912. The presidential proclamation, loaded with political doublespeak, talked of ‘a feeling of deep attachment to the mother country’ on the part of the Dalai Lama and ended with ‘a hope that he may prove a support to the Yellow Church and a help to the Republic’. However, after a decade of exposure to the larger canvas of world politics, the Grand Lama was now a much experienced and widely travelled leader of Tibet; he refused to be taken in and ‘spurned’ the Chinese offer. Riding a Tibetan revival of sorts—following a wave of successes on the part of his soldiers against the Chinese forces and the consequent Chinese retreat from the Kham region, some areas in the Marches and central Tibet—the Dalai Lama said he was not asking the Chinese government for any rank, as he intended
to exercise both temporal and spiritual rule.5 This action, coupled with a proclamation made by him asserting Tibet’s unique history, including the choe-yon relationship with China, was seen by the Tibetans as an announcement of Tibet’s independence.6

  During his second exile, some time in 1910, the Dalai Lama, talking of the Chinese invasion, said to Charles Bell: ‘The oppression of the Tibetans would recoil on themselves (the Chinese). An evil deed had been committed, and was bound to bring its own retribution sooner or later. Karma, irresistible karma, can never be over-ridden.’ Commenting later, Charles Bell said, ‘And in this case the retribution came soon.’7 The Chinese emperor was dethroned in the wake of the 1911 Revolution, within two years of the Chinese invasion of Tibet.

  As a matter of fact, the British—who all along wanted to see only Chinese suzerainty over Tibet—had inadvertently facilitated the Chinese in laying their foundation of sovereignty over the whole of Tibet. The fundamental flaw in the Tibet policy of Great Britain was that it had no lever with which to calibrate and control the Chinese hold and suzerainty over Tibet. There was no word such as ‘suzerainty’ in the political precepts of the Chinese, who understood it to mean only one thing: sovereignty. The Chinese would have almost certainly achieved their goal by 1912 but for the intervention caused by the collapse of the Manchu Empire and the Revolution of October 1911. These events happened unexpectedly, at a time when the Tibetans had reconciled themselves to their fate under Chinese rule and the British were in the process of amassing a small army along the Sikkim frontier in anticipation of a call for help from their isolated trading missions and modest military escorts at Gyantse and Yatung! Hearing the clarion call, Tibetans all across Tibet rose up in arms. With great hatred and pent-up feelings of revenge, they killed or captured the Chinese administrators and soldiery wherever they could, particularly in the remote and far-flung interiors, driving out the hapless Chinese civilians as well as the Amban and his escort from their soil.