After we had passed the last Ladaki village and barley fields, a group of Ladaki women

and girls approached our column. They held in their hands brimming cups of yak milk. We

all had to bow low in our saddles, and our foreheads and those of our animals were

sprinkled with milk. In doing so they wished us godspeed and a safe journey amid the

dangers of the forbidding Karakorum.

northwest wind started soon after we had dismounted and we were obliged to seek

shelter among the neighboring cliffs. Our men, perched under the rocks in their gray

sheepskins, looked like gigantic vultures, gazing over the upland for some prey. The

yak caravan reached the spot only about ten o'clock at night. Its approach was

heralded by the loud shouting and whistling of the drivers. Soon there appeared a dark

moving mass, that slowly filled the open space on the small plateau of our camp.

difficulties in putting up the tents. The night was bitterly cold and the wind blew

The caravan was soon on the march, and the long black file of animals climbed the

mountain path. We all rode yaks and our cavalry saddles looked strange on the shaggy

black animals.

of the mountains. The ascent of the Khardong La is comparatively easy, but a little

too steep for horses. It took us fully three hours to reach the snow-capped summit of

the pass.

animals often bleed heavily at these altitudes. From the summit of the pass, the

mountains seemed like a great sea, crowned with sparkling white foam.

to dismount and walk down the pass. One of our pack yaks preferred to glide down the

glacier and with amazing agility dashed down its steep slope. We all were sure that it

would crash with its load against the huge bowlders that filled the narrow ravine below.

But the animal suddenly turned at the critical point and self-contentedly joined its

comrades on the trail.

strip of vegetation indicated the Shayok Valley, where lay the village of Khalsar, the

meeting place of our caravan. We did not mount our horses, but continued our journey on

yaks. After two hours' ride, we entered the Shayok Valley with its verdant bottom and

sharply outlined rocks. For the last five miles, the road was flat and easy. About five

o'clock in the afternoon, we were within view of the village of Khalsar, and soon

noticed our caravan-bashis, Nazar Bai and Omar Khan, waiting for us outside the village.

Two hours later we were encamped in the small but shady garden of theserai and were checking up our loads, as they arrived on yaks. From then on, for

twenty-two days, the horses had to carry the loads and climb the forbidding heights of

the mountain passes.

**September 21, 1925** [Tirit](/#m=9/34.53803/77.64609&l=Gs&p=43/o)

estate and a large and comfortable country house. He was very anxious to accord us

hospitality and made us stay for the night.

paintings, representing the eight happy signs of Tibetan religious ornamentation. The

view from the roof of the house was superb and late into the night we enjoyed the

magnificent moonlight which illumined the whole of the surrounding mountain country and

the peaceful valley of the Shayok. The caravan men, unmindful of the hardships and

privations ahead, sang around their camp fires, and the evening psalms of our Buddhist

followers intermingled with the drawling melancholy songs of Turkestan.

**September 22, 1925** [Panamik](/#m=9/34.79013/77.53316&l=Gs&p=44/o) *Through: Sandoling*

arise!"—in the Ladaki camp, and camp fires soon flashed in the dark, showing shaggy

figures drinking their morning tea andtsam-pa (parched barley flour). In

the twilight, the dark mass of the yak caravan left the camp site and started for the

pass. We followed it on our horses. The trail up the pass presented no difficulties,

but the precipitous stone slopes and the numerous skeletons of men who had fallen on

the sharp rocks below spoke of the dangers of the pass.

Khan, frightened by something, jumped suddenly and instantly crashed down the stone

slope. It landed on the rocks beneath, still alive. A bullet from one of our rifles put

an end to its agony.

of a small rivulet is a dreadful accumulation of bowlders and detritus. It is almost

incomprehensible how caravans can cross this stretch of the road! Bowlders, sharp

stones, and treacherous holes, without foothold—such is the road after the

Karaul-davan. For three hours we struggled through this stony mass, dismounting to

help our horses over the dangerous places. The swift cold rivulet had to be crossed

several times. It was hard to induce horses to enter the icy water.

could not be rescued.

the foot of the Sasser Pass the same day, but Omar Khan reported that his pack horses

were at the end of their strength and could hardly move farther.

September 25, 1925. We made a short march up the valley at the foot of the Sasser Pass

(17,500 feet) whose snowy mass towered northwest of our camp. Soon after our arrival, it

began to snow and a sharp piercing wind roared on the heights of the mountains, rapidly

sweeping down the narrow valley. After a few seconds the entire landscape was enveloped

in a whirl of snow and we all were sitting buried in it, our backs turned to the raging

wind. The snow had to be shoveled away and the tents pitched in all haste, a task by no

means easy at an altitude of some 15,400 feet.

The night was without wind and exceptionally quiet. Our horses roamed about the camp

seeking some signs of weathered grass that showed here and there from beneath the snow.

In the morning we woke up to find ourselves and our tents covered deep. The snow had

continued for the whole of the night and thick mists hid the crest of the pass. Omar

Khan was completely disheartened by the loss of three of his best animals and viewed the

prospect with much apprehension. His colleague, Nazar Bai, on the contrary, was cheerful

and only expressed the wish that we had crossed the pass a day earlier, before the

beginning of the snow blizzard. This indeed had been the suggestion of Mrs. Roerich, who

the previous day had insisted that we reach the foot of the Sasser Pass. Nazar Bai's

horses were strong and well fed and he could risk long and trying marches across

snowbound passes. Omar Khan was in quite a different position. His horses were

comparatively weak and his caravan men a turbulent lot. In the caravan, much depends on

the drivers who look after the horses, load them, and follow them on the march. A bad

and reckless caravan man will often ruin the animals intrusted to his charge and will

never think of helping them over difficult places. We urged Omar Khan to try his best to

be careful of his animals and not to allow them to graze on the poisonous grass that

abounds in the mountains.

To add to our difficulties, the iron tent pegs proved to be frozen hard into the ground

and it was almost impossible to pull them loose. Our Ladaki servants took the situation

easily, and after two hours of exertion succeeded in extricating all the pegs. Now I

perceive the difference between the caravan men on the Karakorum route and those of

Tibet proper. The caravan men of the Karakorum aim at making the journey as quickly as

possible, in order to spend only a short period of days on the bleak uplands. Neither

storm nor snow will stop them, and they will fight nature, prompted by an impetuous

desire to reach the goal. The caravan men of Tibet are of a much more indolent nature.

Their way is to proceed slowly. A storm and snowfall are pretexts for a day's rest. They

have no goal ahead and their inner self is as doleful as the undulating plains and hills

of their highlands.

snow-covered summits and the vast snowy expanses of the mountain slopes were a mass of

sparkling colors. We could hardly look ahead of us, so intense was the glow of the snow

in the sun. Everyone had to put on snow goggles. A cold blast of wind brought a sudden

and sharp change. A small cloud was seen rising on the summit of the pass; it grew

nearer and nearer and in a few moments our column was enveloped in a severe snow

blizzard. Notwithstanding the terrific force of the wind that raged around us, raising

huge clouds of snow, we hurried on.

On the very edge of the pass the trail was blocked by the carcass of a recently fallen

horse which we had to remove in order to go by. The carcass had already been attacked by

ravens, huge black birds that haunt the vicinity of the trade route. When a dying animal

is abandoned by a caravan, these dismal birds of prey hover round it, pluck out its eyes

before it has even died, and feast on its entrails.

for more than two hours over the slippery surface. Fortunately for us, the glacier was

buried under deep snow, but even then my horse slipped terribly and almost carried me

down a crevasse.

In the arctic solitude of the summit, we came across a few bales of merchandise piled in

a heap, with the name of the owner on them. A caravan had passed this way, and after

losing most of its animals, had to abandon some of its loads. Such piles are frequently

met on the way; nobody touches them, and the owner usually finds them on his way back.

The carcasses of animals became more and more numerous. Some of them had probably died

in terrible agony. The dry atmosphere had mummified them in strange attitudes, as though

galloping, their heads thrown backward. Probably some caravaneers had set up the dead

carcasses in standing posture and there was something strangely uncanny in these

galloping, dead horses.

One of our men had an attack of mountain sickness and fell from his horse not far from

the summit of the pass. He was bleeding severely and had to be treated. For a brief

moment, the sun ray pierced the dense clouds that enveloped the snowy summits, and the

whole of the snowy region sparkled with an intense and unbearable glow. The men covered

their faces and the animals' eyes were watery from the terrible glare.

of the broad Dapsang Plain that lies beyond the pass. Not far from our camp we were

disagreeably surprised to discover that the "pure" mountain stream, the water of which

we drank the evening before, was flowing under the carcass of a huge camel that lay in

the very center of it.

southwest and southeast rose mighty, snowy giants, among which the Dapsang Peak towered

to a height of some 22,000 feet. To the west, an imposing snowy mass of several giant

peaks rose toward the great heights of the Masherbrum and other peaks of its group.

Ahead of us, dark rocky hills hid behind the main chain of the Karakorum. On our way, we

passed a stone with a Latin inscription erected by the Italian expedition of Dr. de

Filippi in 1914-15. A story is told that the Italian explorers buried hundreds of

treasure cases here.

therefore hurried our caravan on. Omar Khan complained bitterly; and in view of the poor

condition of his horses we had to halt for the night at a spot two miles distant from

the pass, that lay hidden behind a mountain spur.

strongly advocated the alternate route across the Sanju Pass and we decided to follow

his advice. The Sanju route was shorter by six days and there were fewer streams to

cross.

**September 30, 1925** [Baksum-Bulak](/#m=9/35.73551/77.92061&l=Gs&p=197/o) *Through: Karakorum Pass, Balti-brangsa*

inches of snow that had fallen the night before.

impossible to ascertain the character of the neighborhood. In the evening we were

joined by another trading caravan on its way to Kokyar and Karghalik; it had unusually

fine pack animals and was traveling with great speed. The caravaneers were a fine lot

patches of snow. On one of these plains, we suddenly scented in the cold air the thin

perfume of Indian spices and saffron. We rode ahead and soon discovered a small donkey

caravan, carrying loads of Indian spices from which the strong smell emanated.

snowy giant lay the summer grazing grounds of the mountain Kirghiz. The trading

caravan, which had stayed with us at Baksum-Bulak, continued their journey toward the

northwest and soon disappeared in the trembling atmosphere of the Asiatic highland. A

violent northwest wind prevented the pitching of our camp and we had to wait until

We had been marching along the bank of a tiny mountain rivulet, which suddenly became a

considerable stream and crossed our path. There was nothing to do but mount our tired

horses and cross the stream. In the darkness ahead of us we heard shouts. It was Nazar

Bai, who had found a camping ground. The tired caravan moved into the camp. Weary men

quarreled among themselves, the Ladakis accusing the Turkis of dark intentions. This day

we had spent fourteen hours on horseback.

**October 3, 1925** [Karaul-Surget](/#m=9/36.34655/78.02556&l=Gs&p=199/o)

October 4. It is always difficult to tear people away from resting places. We started

only in the afternoon, for our march to Shahidullah was to be a very short one. We were

accompanied by two Kirghiz "soldiers" who had orders to look after our comfort

on the journey. Both of them rode their horses bareback and indulged in all sorts of

equestrian exercises.

Having crossed the broad plain in the direction of the gorge, we reached the Karakash

darya, the Black Nephrite River, one of the rivers that feed the rich oases of Khotan.

We camped there after two hours' march. The grazing was exceptionally good and our

horses had a long-deserved rest.

Behind the camp the ruins of a former Chinese frontier post and the *mazar* or

tomb of a Mohammedan saint rose on a steep crag. Many of these *mazars* were

built on spots formerly occupied by Buddhist *stupas*.

October 5. We continued our journey down the Karakash Valley. The road was stony and

heavy, in places very narrow. Sandstone cliffs overhung it and at several points the

spring and summer floods had washed away the trail, which forded the river at least

fourteen times during the day's march. On our way we passed the first relay station,

a mud hut with bundles of hay on its roof. The station was in charge of a Kirghiz

family. Women in high white headdresses and long *chapans* or coats, stood by the

roadside. Not far from the station, Nazar Bai's pack ponies, shied at something and

stampeded, throwing off their loads. Two of them broke their front legs on the stony

trail. This delayed us considerably and it was late in the afternoon when we reached the

next relay station and camped outside its walls. It was pathetic to see the two horses

with fractured legs, limping behind the caravan. We persuaded Nazar Bai to leave them

with the local Kirghiz, who are very skilful in treating horses and curing fractures.

The country was becoming much more populated. Besides parties of pilgrims to Mecca,

hurrying southward before the snow might block the passes, small groups of Kirghiz men

and women were seen moving about the valley. Terraced fields of barley lay on both banks

of the river and our hungry animals received daily rations of hay. Toward the evening

heavy dust clouds, that crept from behind the mountain ranges to the north, appeared

over the mountain crest and blew across the valley. We were approaching the great desert

basin of inner Asia, and each breath of wind brought dust from its vast sandy expanses.

**October 6, 1925** [The foot of Sanju Pass](/#m=9/36.65906/78.23372&l=Gs&p=203/o)

On our seventh mile, we came across numerous caves cut in the mountain side. They were

said to be used by the local Kirghiz as winter quarters and storerooms. They strikingly

resembled the Buddhist cave monasteries of Chinese Turkestan.

hills. This was a typical nomad highland, here and there covered by Kirghiz

or winter quarters. We were now accompanied by the local Kirghiz headman, a brave

looking man of about forty, with his match-lock and large fur cap. We continued our

journey along the mountain rivulet and soon came across a large Kirghiz encampment. The

white and light gray felt tents of the Kirghiz looked very inviting and a large crowd of

people awaited our arrival. We camped outside the

and wandered about the tents of the nomads. They were extremely friendly and offered us

juicy melons—the first melons that we had seen for years. The women and children were

neatly dressed, and the interiors of the felt tents were artfully decorated with carpets

and embroidery. Some had large, profusely decorated coffers brought from Andijan. The

well-being of the local nomads struck us at once. The Sanju Kirghiz seemed to be much

superior to their brothers of the Mongolian Altai and the mountain regions of Jungaria.

The mountain side was alive with cattle and horsemen who came and went, carrying the

news of the arrival of strangers. Kirghiz women collected round Mrs. Roerich and

wondered at her costume. It was a kindly crowd and the high white headdresses shook in

amazement at the camping outfit of the expedition. The local Kirghiz breed mostly yaks

and sheep; horses are raised only in insignificant numbers, and camels are only rarely

met with. All the camels which we saw grazing on the mountain slopes belonged to wealthy

Yarkend or Khotan traders.

October 8. The trail followed a stream, the Sanju-su according to its local name. It

crossed the river several times and was used only in winter or late autumn. In summer,

when the river is flooded and carries a considerable volume of water, another route is

used, which follows the crest of the ridge west of the river valley, crossing a low pass

and necessitating much climbing. The route along the valley was easy and led in a

gradual descent to the Oasis of Sanju.

On our way we met several camel caravans slowly moving up the trail on their hard and

long journey into the heart of the mountains. After six hours' march along the dusty

trail, we camped close to a lonely tent of a Kirghiz family. The owner brought us some

milk and raisins and tried to do what he could to assist us. Willow bushes grew along

the banks and a large drove of horses wandered on the green patches of grass at the foot

of the hills. To the north a dusty haze hid the plains of Turkestan, the country of the

"six cities" or Altyn-shahr.

The local Kirghiz population was under the jurisdiction of the district officer of Guma.

A customs official to supervise the trade along the Sanju route was stationed at Sanju

Bazaar, the most populated point of the Sanju Oasis. These were the only Chinese

officials in the district and all important matters were usually referred to the

district officer at Guma, who was subordinate to the Governor or *Tao-yin* of

Khotan, a post created only recently.

The two Kirghiz who accompanied us proved to be quite decent fellows who tried their

best to procure fuel and fodder for the caravan. We questioned local inhabitants about

possible old ruined sites or *kone-shahr* in the vicinity of the mountains, caves

or ancient tombs or *mazars*. All of us had heard about the ruined cities of the

Taklamakan and the rich finds of Sir Aurel Stein around Khotan and east of this oasis.

Nothing was known to exist in the mountains north of the Sanju Pass and the only

antiquities were Chinese copper coins imported from down country.

October 9. On the ninth of October we reached the first village of the Sanju Oasis and

with it the desert country of Turkestan. The river gorge widened and the high rugged

mountains on either side of it became low undulating hills that stretched far to the

north. The open northern horizon was screened by the everlasting dust haze. We turned

southward toward the jagged peaks and bade a last farewell to the kingdom of mountains.

There they stood, sparkling snows and dark rock masses enveloped by the same dusty veil.

With the approach to the oasis, it became decidedly hotter, and our sturdy Ladakis threw

off their heavy sheepskins to the waist. As if sensing an oasis ahead, men and animals

moved hurriedly along the dusty loess-covered trail. Suddenly in the distance something

dark showed—hazy spots that appeared and disappeared in the trembling air of the desert.

Were they trees or bushes? Our Ladakis, who marched ahead of us, shouted loudly

"*Ja-pa, ja-pa!*" "Poplars, poplars!" They were indeed

poplars, a whole grove of them at the roadside.

Before reaching the grove, we passed a huge bowlder. Curious graffiti on its surface

attracted our attention. To our great surprise, we saw represented on the stone, ibexes,

bowmen, and circles of dancing men—the same figures as appear on stones from Khalatse

and other places of western Tibet. Dr. A. H. Francke has demonstrated their ritual use

and connection with the ancient primitive nature worship of Tibet. It is difficult to

estimate the precise date of these graffiti, for they are made even nowadays. They seem

to be fairly widely spread all over western Tibet and the neighboring mountain

regions—perhaps the work of passing caravans or the ruins of a remote antiquity. The

surface of the stone was weathered and the drawings seemed to be old. The Ladakis knew

nothing of this particular stone; although many of them had traveled by this route

before, they had never noticed it previously. They told us that similar stones with

graffiti were found throughout Tibet. It is interesting to note that the ibexes were

venerated by the ancient Mongols and played a prominent part in their fire cult. These

stones, scattered throughout inner Asia, seem to be remnants of a remote antiquity,

dating back to a shamanistic form of worship which was universal in the higher regions

of Asia.

We were about to halt, when we noticed several horsemen galloping toward us. They proved

to be Sanju headmen and a *darogha* or *ya-yeh*, a messenger sent by the

magistrate of Guma. They all dismounted and, striking their beards in the approved

fashion of Turkestan, congratulated us on our successful arrival. They begged us to ride

up to the next poplar grove, where they prepared a *dastarkhan* or feast for us.

On finely designed *nimdah* or felts, quantities of fruit and other food were

spread—all that the country produced. From afar the fruits seemed like a

*nature morte* painted by some French Impressionist. Heaps of melons and

apricots, juicy pears, red and blue tinted eggs, roast chicken, and mutton. Turkestan

bread, and tea were also ready. We were obliged, according to custom, to partake of the

food, and the grave headmen, in their dark blue and green *chapans*, formed a

semicircle before us. The *darogha* handed us the large red visiting card of the

Guma *amban*. His master had ordered him to accompany the expedition to Khotan

and to see that we should be properly received by all local authorities along the

southern caravan route. This *darogha* was a soldier of the local garrison, a

Turki by nationality, with the old-fashioned uniform of the Chinese imperial troops—a

broad black blouse with huge red characters: on his chest "*Hsin-chiang seng*" or the "New Dominion," and on the back, "Guma."

After an hour's halt, we continued our march down the gradually sloping valley.

Poplar and apricot groves were everywhere. Barley and cornfields covered the open

plains. Numerous irrigation ditches carried the water to the fields, and the whole

landscape presented a scene of a thriving agricultural oasis. The first village was

situated in a heavy grove of poplars, willows, and fruit trees. A neat and gaily dressed

crowd of women and men awaited our arrival. A large and shady *bagh* or garden

was reserved for our camp. We pitched our tents under the shady trees, and for the first

time in several weeks walked over soft, grassy soil. An inquisitive crowd of villagers

moved about the tents, but with dignity, and no one ventured to look inside. We

presented the friendly headman with a wrist watch and the old man beamed with

satisfaction. He at once reciprocated by sending us huge watermelons, peaches, and

pears.

**October 10, 1925** [Sanju](/#m=9/37.18449/78.45702&l=Gs&p=206/o)

October 11. Soon after leaving the Sanju Bazaar we ascended a vast plateau and before us

opened the wide gravel expanse of the southern border of the Taklamakan—boundless and

burning hot. A well-beaten track, trodden by thousands of caravan animals, led

northeast. The plain seemed absolutely deserted except for a lonely horseman who

suddenly appeared in the distance. He dismounted, fettered his horse, and spread on the

burning sand of the desert a white felt and some melons. He proved to be a poor

traveler, who thought it to be his duty to welcome travelers from foreign lands. We

alighted from our horses and partook of his melons—a pleasant refreshment in the burning

heat of midday. In return we presented our unknown host with a hunting knife.

We rode for the whole afternoon across sandy and gravel plains. A faint dusty outline of

low barren hills to the south, indicated the great mountain system of the K'un-lun.

At sunset, we reached the dusty, filthy village of Zanguya. The vicinity of the great

caravan highway was at once noticeable. Gone were the neat village hovels of upper Sanju

and the clean dresses of its inhabitants. Everything was dusty at Zanguya and the

population seemed to be poor and scornful. A *dastarkhan* was offered to us and

we pitched our camp in a dusty fruit garden. Omar Khan's horses were in such bad

state, that their owner had to hire camels to carry our baggage to Khotan.

**October 12, 1925** [Pialma](/#m=9/37.28792/79.16016&l=Gs&p=51/o)

Early in the morning of October 13 we left Pialma for Zawa Kurghan. The road from Pialma

to Zawa was a very heavy one and led over belts of sand dunes. For the first two hours

after leaving Pialma, the road led over a vast gravel plain, and in the clear air of the

early dawn the snowy peaks of the K'un-lun were clearly visible. After this brief

stretch of firm road, sand dunes appeared on either side of the trail and the road

became difficult and tiresome for both men and caravan animals.

We passed on the route several families of Chinese soldiers traveling to Yarkend. The

men were on foot with huge packs on their backs, the women and children on small

donkeys.

Before Zawa Kurghan we came upon patches of weathered grass and traces of cultivation.

While crossing the numerous dune belts, we suddenly noticed doves flying eastward. A

two-mile march brought us to a wonderful *mazar* or sanctuary on the Khotan road,

known as Kaptar-Mazar or the "Pigeon's Sanctuary." Thousands of pigeons

live in wooden hovels situated inside an inclosed courtyard. All of them are said to be

the offspring of a pair of doves which miraculously appeared from the heart of Imam

Shahid Padshah, who died here in a battle. These pigeons are said to guide lost

travelers in the desert to a considerable distance beyond the *mazar*. An old man

served as attendant to the pigeons and we bought from him several pounds of grain to

give to them—this is a pious act performed by all travelers along the Khotan route.

Zawa Kurghan is, strictly speaking, the westernmost village of the Khotan Oasis. We

camped in a small garden situated behind a *serai* for travelers. At this stage,

we had the great misfortune to lose our faithful Kong-po dog, Amdong. He perished from

the heat in the burning desert and the Ladaki servant brought in only a lifeless body.

**October 14, 1925** [Khotan](/#m=9/37.11379/79.92416&l=Gs&p=53/o)

Indian traders and an old friend and helper of Sir Aurel Stein.</span>