Into Tibet with the Scriptures by E. Amundsen

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Tacoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Feb 20, 1908

Into Tibet with the Scriptures

By E. Amundsen

I LEFT Tachienlu on April 15, armed with three passports, including one from the mandarin and the military officer at Tachienlu. These two officials together rule all the country, south to the Jents'ang Valley, west to the Lhasa territory, and north to Chin-hai or the Shining District. I was in doubt about the real value of this passport, and consulted several as to its worth. It spoke of Luh-ho-t'en, which was explained to mean the six border territories into which the Tachienlu prefecture was divided, and stated that in all these I had freedom to travel.

I had, moreover, the mandarin's promise that the passport would be renewed at Drango, where there was an official, the custom being to send travelers from one official to another. So I left content with my success in procuring ula (that is, relays of animals supplied by government order) and official protection. The ula included two riding and six pack animals supplied by the Tibetan king of Chia-lag. The six poor beasts carried our scanty supply of food, bedding, clothing, and about fifteen hundred Gospels.

I had three men (two Tibetan and one Chinese), and my escort, with the ula drivers numbering about thirteen persons.

Everything, after leaving Tachienlu, is Tibetan—people, animals, and houses. The cold, dirt, and darkness seem unpleasant till one gets used to them.

We crossed Jee-la Pass, fifteen thousand feet above sea-level, in a blinding snow-storm, and wended our way northward to Tram-bai-trong. Several of the pack animals nearly succumbed en route.

At Tram-bai-trong we entered the chief's house, which was a stone building, three stories high, the first for animals, the second and third for people, grain, straw, etc. We searched the house for a suitable room, but had at last to settle down in a dark room, smoked by argol (manure fuel) for ages. There was no exit for the smoke, except the door and two holes in the wall, which were shut at night to keep out the cold.

A Tibetan Conference

The house was full of people, who ran in all directions on our approach. They soon became quieter, and told me most politely that they were holding a conference to consider the question of forced labor—carriage of rice for the Chinese troops from Tachienlu to Batang, and elsewhere—which task had taxed them greatly of late, owing to the rebellion.

At first sight it seems almost impossible that people can continue to live in houses so full of smoke; but they do, and they grow up into strong, well-built men and women. They are extremely polite to a guest traveling as I do “in official style.”

They wish me a peaceful sleep on retiring, and ask in the morning whether my sleep has been calm. On arrival they generally bring me an earthen pot of salted tea, and a wooden bowl of tsamba (barley flour).

They live almost entirely on tsamba and tea, with now and again a little wheat flour and meat boiled together. Butter is not always to be had for the tea. The native dress is a grey wool gown, or sheepskin with the wool inside.

For several days we traveled over undulating grass country, over small passes and streams at an altitude of 13,000 to 14,000 feet, with a long, snowy range to the east, here and there rising 17,000 to 18,000 feet above sea-level. The ula was changed every day as a rule, and not without some waiting and commotion in the mornings.

At Tram-bai-trong I began the circulation of the Scriptures. I decided to pursue the Tibetan custom, and asked no fixed price for the books, leaving it to the people to offer anything (tsamba, butter, milk, etc.), or nothing, just as they pleased. After some jostling, a few accepted Gospels, but I got nothing in return. In most places I have been able to leave behind me a few books, but there is no talk of getting anything for them. Many refuse point blank to accept the books, and I give only to such as evince a desire to have them.

On the fourth day I got to Bahmeh, the place where I had the misfortune to fall in with a gang of robbers in 1898.

Our ula consisted generally of yak for pack animals, and they do not go very fast. It was hard work to cover twenty-five miles a day. We had hail and snow almost every day, and we crossed Heh-ka-la Pass in a blinding snow-storm.

In the Dawo Valley

The population from Tram-bai-trong to the Dawo Valley is scant, about one house in three miles. The valley is more populous, and has a warmer climate.

At an elevation of about ten thousand feet there is built a lamasery, capable of housing three thousand monks, and there is a street of Chinese merchants at the north side of the lamasery. But the Chinese have been so Tibetanized in dress, language, and life that they are hardly distinguishable from the Tibetans.

We found lodgings in a Chinese house. Soon the Chinese military official called on me in a most friendly way. He has a hard time trying to govern this place, or rather to vindicate the Chinese name. His cudgels and chains, so prominent in Chinese yamens, he hangs on the inner side of the posts. He laughed and said he did not dare to display them too conspicuously, explaining that the people of Dawo were very wicked, and even the lamas are very riotous at times.

I took Injong and some soldiers with me to the lamasery, thinking I might dispose of some books; but the lamas simply crowded round us in a rude fashion, and would not accept them even as gifts. Later on, one of the lamas asked Injong for a book; thus that monastery possesses at least one copy of the Gospel.

Another three days took us to Hor Drango. At one time my Tibetan escort numbered nine men mounted on horses.

The people were accordingly extremely friendly all through; even young lamas pulled off their caps when they saw the cavalcade approaching. Those riding dismounted, and women and men took down their long, heavy plaits of hair and let them hang down their backs till we had passed.

In the Dawo Valley a peculiar local dialect is spoken, totally different from Tibetan. It is more like “Ming-Kia” and “Miao” in Yunnan.

The Ubiquitous Lama

At Drango there is a big lamasery, accommodating three thousand odd lamas, and built in a style similar to Dawo monastery, only bigger. The secular town is half a mile lower down.

Altogether there are five lamaseries on the road from Tachienlu to Hor Drango, with a total of between six and seven thousand lamas. There is also another lamasery at Tailiu, or Gata, ten miles off the road. One small lamasery of about thirty monks, asked me to supply them with books. I accordingly did so.

I was taken into the yamen, and welcomed by Wu, the mandarin of Drango. Now came the revelation and disappointment! The name Luh-ho-t'en is the name lately given by the Chinese to Drango, and all my papers spoke of Luh-ho-t'en only, and not beyond. The mandarin said, moreover, that he was under the Tachienlu official, and had no power beyond Drango, and he could not therefore renew my passport without sanction from Tachienlu.

No Opening into Tibet

I tried my utmost to induce him to send me a further stage on the road, or at least to help me to hire animals and men to take me to Chiamdo, which is on the main route to Lhasa from Batang. I assured him I would take all the responsibility; but he said the country beyond was so unsettled that he would not sanction my proceeding without instructions from a higher authority. He invited me to remain as his guest at the yamen, while he dispatched a messenger to Tachienlu for instructions regarding me, but I decided to return to Tachienlu and interview the mandarin myself. I remained a day in Drango and visited the lamasery, but though the official sent his man with me, the lamas simply locked the doors to some of the halls on our approach. They would scarcely speak to us, and flatly refused to accept any books.

Retracing my steps to Tachienlu, I saw the mandarin again, but in spite of much talk could get no further assistance.

The Society wants me to find out where work is possible rather than attempt to push through strongly anti-foreign regions simply to explore, and possibly add somewhat to the annals of suffering and murder in east Tibet.

Tao Chow (my northern objective) is, I am told, in the grip of rebellion, and infested with robbers.

As to the country to the northwest of Tachienlu, it may be said to be open as far as Hor Drango, but no farther. And as a field for Bible Society operations I think I am right in saying that the results would not justify a foreigner's spending his time among the scanty population at present approachable from Tachienlu. A Tibetan or Chinese Christian might be more successful than a foreigner in doing some Bible and evangelistic work among them, that is, if a man with an ocean of patience and tact could be found.

The only part of the Tibetan-Chinese frontier with which we are not acquainted is the Yunnan Tibetan frontier. I am therefore leaving at once for Batang and southeast Tibet.—E. Amundsen, in The Bible in the World.