# George Roerich. Trails to the Inmost Asia ## II. From Leh to Khotan. The Great Karakorum Route --- <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 19, 1925** [Zangskar](/#m=9/34.24398/77.61819&l=Gs&p=329/o) *Through: dGon-pa* September 19, 1925 — a memorable day in the annals of the expedition! A fine autumn morning with a light breeze from the mountains, wonderfully cool and refreshing. A large crowd of local inhabitants gathered to see us start. The crossing of the Khardong Pass, the first mountain pass on the Turkestan route, is usually effected on yaks, which have to be hired from local peasants. The summit of the pass is covered by a glacier and the pack horses have usually a bad time on it. When pack yaks are employed, the pack horses and mules of the caravans are driven empty across the pass. This is the usual custom of the country, no doubt prompted by many years of experience. We decided to follow it and had ordered yaks several days in advance. For some reason or other, only half of the required forty yaks appeared in the early morning at the dak bungalow. We were obliged to wait the whole of the morning and a considerable portion of the afternoon, before all the woolly beasts reached the bungalow's compound. As is customary, there was much hustle and shouting, the local Ladak headman using his cane rather freely. <p> At last, about four o'clock in the afternoon, the long caravan column left the dak bungalow and filled the narrow road, which passes at the foot of the Leh Palace and leads to <a id="t4p-328-N1"></a><span text4placeid:328> the small village of dGon-pa, </span> and farther into the mountains. A large crowd followed us on foot, wishing us a successful journey. <a id="t4p-156-N1"></a><span text4placeid:156> We rode past the barley fields and the Zangskar Convent, whose white walls are an outstanding feature on the plain north of Leh. </span> </p> 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. <p> <a id="t4p-329-N1"></a><span text4placeid:329> For three hours we climbed the mountain. With each step, the country became more and more barren. The verdant gardens and fields of Ladak lay behind; and ahead of us towered the rugged mountains, their crests covered with glaciers and snow. Large bowlders hung over the mountain slopes, and we crossed vast masses of débris carried down the towering heights. </span> Our caravan of pack horses under Nazar Bai and Omar Khan went ahead, with orders to wait for us at the northern side of the Khardong La in the small hamlet of Khalsar. </p> <p> <a id="t4p-329-N2"></a><span text4placeid:329> We camped for the night on a stony promontory, close to a ruined stone hut. A piercing 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. </span> In complete darkness we began unloading and our inexperienced camp men had some difficulties in putting up the tents. The night was bitterly cold and the wind blew continuously, abating only toward dawn. </p> <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 20, 1925** [Khalsar](/#m=9/34.49336/77.71176&l=Gs&p=42/o) *Through: Khardong L* <p> The fine morning of September 20 was a distinct contrast to the previous dismal evening. 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. <a id="t4p-41-N1"></a><span text4placeid:41> The yaks are wonderful climbers, and many travelers have spoken highly of these beasts 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. </span> On many a turn we noticed frozen drops of blood—signs of passing caravans. Men and 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. </p> <a id="t4p-41-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:41 --> The descent was steep and slippery. A glacier lay along the northern slope. We all had 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. <a id="t4p-42-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:42 --> We had to walk a considerable distance down the pass. Far in the distance, a tiny green 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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 21, 1925** [Tirit](/#m=9/34.53803/77.64609&l=Gs&p=43/o) Next day, September 21, we continued our march along the Shayok Valley. The country was gorgeous in its coloring—flaming yellow and red sandstone rocks and granites rose above the bright green spots of the valley bottom. <p> <a id="t4p-330-N1"></a><span text4placeid:330> Three miles above Khalsar, we crossed a suspension bridge </span> , and <a id="t4p-43-N1"></a><span text4placeid:43> rode as far as the picturesque village of Tirit. Here our headman Lön-po possessed an estate and a large and comfortable country house. He was very anxious to accord us hospitality and made us stay for the night. </span> The upper rooms of the house were clean and bright. The walls were gaily decorated with 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. </p> <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 22, 1925** [Panamik](/#m=9/34.79013/77.53316&l=Gs&p=44/o) *Through: Sandoling* We were anxious to reach Panamik, the last settlement on the Karakorum route, and rose early on September 22, before dawn had aroused the mountains, still hidden by a night-veil. Soon after Tirit the road turned into the valley of Nubra and led past numerous farmsteads, hamlets, and monasteries. It was lively with the sound of caravan bells: strings of horses and donkeys wearily moved toward Ladak. They were accompanied by dusty drivers, with their faces blackened by the winds and gales of the uplands. Days of hard traveling were behind them and they were hurrying to Leh to enjoy a much-needed rest. <a id="t4p-157-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:157 --> On our way we visited the interesting monastery of Sandoling, which is only seldom mentioned in books on Ladak. The trail crossed the dry bed of a torrent, strewn with bowlders that once were swept from the mountain side. The assembly hall of the monastery contained a large image of Maitreya and fine large painted banners representing the same bodhisattva. The convent possesses the finest collection of religious banners which we had seen in Ladak. The head lama of the monastery was absent and the young novices were slow and lazy in the discharge of their religious duties. <a id="t4p-44-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:44 --> We reached Panamik in the evening and pitched our camp in a grove of trees on the banks of a small brook, which suddenly rose and flooded the banks, endangering our camp. <a id="t4p-44-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:44 --> In Panamik we learned that twosahibs were stopping in the village. Shortly after, they came to see us, and proved to be two missionaries from the Swedish Mission in Kashgar. One of them, Rev. Mr. Germanson, told us of the difficulties on the road. The conditions in Kashgar were not altogether peaceful and the city was still agitated after the coup d'état of Captain Ma and the assassination of the all-powerful G.O.C. of Kashgar, the dreaded Ma Fu-hsin. <a id="t4p-44-N3"></a><!-- text4placeid:44 --> In the neighborhood of Panamik there were several chapels and a small Red sect monastery. Rock-cut images were said to exist higher up the valley, but we lacked the time to make a side excursion. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 23, 1925** [The foot of Karaul-davan](/#m=9/34.91624/77.47348&l=Gs&p=331/o) <a id="t4p-331-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:331 --> The next stage, on September 23, brought us to the foot of the Karaul-davan, a small pass with avalanche-swept stone slopes. The day's route followed along the left bank of the Nubra River and we could see distant villages on the right bank of the stream. An interesting corner of Ladak is this Nubra Valley. We camped on the edge of a plateau strewn with bowlders and much detritus. A Ladak caravan with yaks, bound for Kokyar and Yarkend, was camping beside us. Yak caravans are well suited for the mountain route of Karakorum, and their only drawback is the shortness of their daily stages. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 24, 1925** *Through: Karaul-davan* <p> <a id="t4p-45-N1"></a><span text4placeid:45> Long before dawn we heard the loud cries of "Long, long, long!"—"Arise, arise, 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. </span> Our caravan had also to pay its toll. The fine Badakhshani stallion belonging to Omar 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. <a id="t4p-45-N2"></a><span text4placeid:45> The descent from the pass is short and gradual, but the further route along the valley 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. </span> One of our sheep, driven along with the caravan, was carried away by the current, and could not be rescued. <a id="t4p-332-N1"></a><span text4placeid:332> Utterly exhausted, we camped on a level patch of land. It was our intention to reach 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. </span> </p> <a id="t4p-332-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:332 --> The camp was a very dismal one. In addition to the wind, wet snow drifted in the air; and the dark slopes of the mountains, rising on all sides of the small valley where we camped, made a dreary impression on us all. Our Chinese interpreter smoked his pipe, repeating wistfully: "Aya, Aya, such a road, such a road! Nowhere in Tibet did I see such roads." In the evening two of our pack horses ate some poisonous grass and succumbed during the night. Their loads had to be distributed on the remaining animals. We warned the caravan men to be more careful and to tie the animals up wherever there was danger of poisonous grass. <a id="b4p-333-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:333 --> **September 25, 1925** [The foot of Sasser Pass](/#m=9/35.03037/77.68952&l=Gs&p=333/o) 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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 26, 1925** *Through: Sasser Pass* <a id="t4p-46-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:46 --> By ten o'clock the caravan began to ascend the pass. For an hour the sun lighted the 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. <a id="t4p-46-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:46 --> The summit of the Sasser Pass was covered by huge glaciers. To cross, one has to ride 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. <p> <a id="t4p-46-N3"></a><span text4placeid:46> Finally, we reached the northern edge of the glacier, and began the long-awaited descent. A barren black mountain country stretched northward. A long, gradual decline leads to the Sasser Serai, a miserable looking blockhouse with several stone inclosures. </span> Quite unexpectedly, we saw some large Bactrian camels grazing on the scant shrubs that covered the almost bare slopes. These hardy animals belonged to one of our caravan-bashis, Omar Khan, and were grazing here until a caravan of horses should bring loads to be carried to Turkestan. Camels carry loads across the Karakorum as far as the Sasser Serai. Here they have to stop, because the slippery glacier cap of the pass is impracticable for them. Some of our Ladakis had never seen camels before and there were endless exclamations of "A-tsi tindre," or "O such ones!"—a common Tibetan exclamation of surprise. Many of our riding horses, especially those from Zangskar and Ladak, snorted and turned backward. </p> <a id="t4p-158-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:158 --> We continued our descent until we again reached the Shayok Valley, where the river carried its waters across a gravel-covered mountain plain. The weather suddenly brightened and the sandrocks of the valley burst into flame in the rays of the setting sun. A wonderful scene indeed, after the arctic severity of the snowbound pass! A small party of Yarkend pilgrims to Mecca went by our camp on their way back to Turkestan. They traveled with only a few pack horses and all the men were on horseback. Two women with black veils that hid their faces were riding behind the party. They crossed the river and disappeared in the sandy hills on the other side. A few days afterward we found two dead horses—a trace of their rapid passage. <a id="b4p-334-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:334 --> **September 27, 1925** September 27, 1925. The night was cold and the river was covered with a thin crust of ice. After some search along the bank, we found a fording place and with loud shouts urged our horses to enter the water. The thin ice cut the horses' legs and they plunged into the cold water very unwillingly. It reached up to the stirrups. Our caravan drivers, who always went on foot, were carried across on riding horses, seated behind the rider. Once across the river, we hurried our horses to warm them after the cold bath. Beyond the gravel bottom of the river valley lay rocky hills. The route led through a narrow canyon of crystalline rocks. At the bottom of the canyon flowed a tiny stream that lost itself in the gravel plain before reaching the river. The narrow trail along the bank was blocked here and there by horse carcasses and, what was worse, by huge carcasses of camels with horribly swollen bellies, that filled the path completely. The Turkestan caravaneers are accustomed to cut the throats of dying animals with large knives, thus ending their agony. Our caravan animals snorted, and the frozen carcasses had to be removed from the trail. We came out of the canyon into a region of undulating hills of black earth with very marshy ground. Small pools of water stood in the shallow depressions between the hills. The country gradually rose and we soon emerged on a broad upland plain. Snowy mountains rose on either side of it. We camped near a small brook of fresh water. The air was frosty and the pools and small depressions were all covered by a thin crust of ice. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 28, 1925** September 28. An intensely cold night made us shiver in our sleeping bags. The early morning hours were indescribable in their solemn beauty. The surrounding snowy peaks stood in sharp dazzling outline against the opal sky of sunrise. Our caravan, in several columns, made its way across the upland plain—Nazar Bai always ahead, Omar Khan moving slowly in the rear. The vast expanse of the plain was soon behind us and the track led into a red sandstone gorge with flat gravel bottom. A mighty stream had once flowed down the gorge, and the rocks on the mountain slopes bore numerous traces of its action. In this gorge we saw our first Tibetan gazelles, light-footed animals that dashed across the trail to disappear again in the distance. <a id="t4p-335-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:335 --> For the greater part of the day, we followed gravel-covered valley bottoms. On all sides rose crystalline rocks. The march was a very long one—almost ten hours, but over fairly level ground. After sunset we camped on the bank of a tiny stream which carried its silver water into the gravel-covered valley. Immediately north of the camp rose the Dapsang Pass, and behind it the vast upland known as the Plain of Dapsang. Completely fatigued, we were glad to find ourselves in our tents. I was about to crawl into my bag, when suddenly my nose detected a slight smell of putrid flesh. From where could it come? A search revealed the fact that while I was busy with our riding horses, distributing the forage for the night, our camp men had pitched my tent on a bloodstained spot on which lay the remains of a horse carcass devoured by wolves. I had to move my tent with the help of our night guard to another spot. Such cases happen only too often on the Karakorum route. The caravans are in the habit of camping always on one and the same spots, which are marked by numerous carcasses. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 29, 1925** <a id="t4p-159-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:159 --> We moved off very early in order to cross the Dapsang Pass and cover as much as possible 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. <a id="t4p-159-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:159 --> The Dapsang Plain was a vast undulating upland plain, rising to a great altitude. On the 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. <a id="t4p-336-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:336 --> Our caravan-bashi, Nazar Bai, hoped to reach the Karakorum Pass the same day and 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. <a id="t4p-336-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:336 --> We had intended to travel by the Kokyar route to Yarkend and then to Khotan. Nazar Bai 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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 30, 1925** [Baksum-Bulak](/#m=9/35.73551/77.92061&l=Gs&p=197/o) *Through: Karakorum Pass, Balti-brangsa* September 30. A blizzard had been blowing from early morning and the mountain summits were hidden behind a thick white mist. The ascent to the great Karakorum Pass (18,694 feet) was very gradual and the pass itself was more like a low ridge on the surrounding high upland. The cold was so intense that we had to cover our faces to protect them from the biting wind and the icy particles that drifted in the air and cut the skin. Mrs. Roerich always found a particular charm in this wild mountain scenery. She stood the journey wonderfully well, and our Chinese interpreter daily wondered at her courage and endurance. One of our pack horses suddenly collapsed at the very summit. Well-fed animals often perish on mountain trails. It is always advisable not to feed the horses the day before crossing a high pass. This is the universal custom throughout higher Asia. The same rule applies to men. Less food and drink makes the crossing of a high mountain pass easier and less dangerous. <p> We descended from the pass into a broad valley watered by a tiny stream. A small camel caravan journeyed by toward the pass. They were pilgrims to distant Mecca. A rider in a large, heavy sheepskin coat, led the column. He bowed low in his saddle, greeting our party. A gray-bearded man sat on one of the camels, and several women mounted on other caravan animals peered out from their heavy veils. <a id="t4p-48-N1"></a><span text4placeid:48> We continued our journey to a place called Balti-brangsa, a place of ten used as a camp by passing caravans and covered with carcasses and bones. We made only a brief halt and then started again in order to reach Baksum-Bulak. Balti-brangsa was situated at the foot of a low ridge, south of a shallow depression in the surrounding upland plain; the lowest point of the depression was occupied by a small lake. </span> </p> <p> A strong northwest wind was driving the clouds, and the ground was covered by several inches of snow that had fallen the night before. <a id="t4p-197-N1"></a><span text4placeid:197>Late in the afternoon we reached Baksum-Bulak and camped on a level gravel plain. The surrounding mountains were all buried under snow, and an impenetrable mist made it 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 of men who went about their daily occupations with a remarkable sense of duty.</span> </p> <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 1, 1925** [Aktag](/#m=9/35.97365/78.02845&l=Gs&p=198/o) <p> The next march brought us across a series of upland plains covered here and there by 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. <a id="t4p-198-N1"></a><span text4placeid:198>After an eight hours' march we reached the junction of the Kokyar and Sanju routes. It is a vast gravel plain bordered on the north by a mighty snow mountain. Behind this 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 sunset, when its force abated a little.</span> </p> <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 2, 1925** *Through: Suget Pass* <p> October 2. Nazar Bai was eager to cross the Suget Pass (17,000 feet) the same day and to reach the Chinese frontier outposts of Suget Karaul as quickly as possible. <a id="t4p-49-N1"></a><span text4placeid:49> We broke camp very early, about six o'clock in the morning, and plunged into the mountains across the plain. For several hours we followed the course of a small rivulet that flowed from the pass and disappeared in the gravel plain southwest of the massive eminence. The ascent to the pass was very gradual. The southern slope was free from snow. The landscape presented a succession of ridges, along the edge of which wound the path. The summit of the pass was broad and flat, covered with numerous bowlders. To the east and west rose great snowy peaks towering to a height of some 20,000 feet. Before we had reached the summit of the pass, a violent cold wind accompanied by a snow blizzard greeted us. The surrounding mountains disappeared behind a thick veil of mist, and one could only dimly see the men moving immediately ahead. On reaching the northern slope, we found it blocked by snow several feet deep. A trading caravan on mules was stranded on the edge, its drivers uncertain what next to attempt. </span> There could not be any question about returning to the southern side of the pass; we had to find a path down the snow-covered slope. After a brief consultation it was decided to unload the mules and send them down to find a suitable trail for the rest of the caravan. The hardy animals acquitted themselves of their task splendidly. Belly-deep in snow, they descended the steep slope and reached the narrow gorge at the foot of the pass. They were followed by our loaded caravan animals and ourselves. The air resounded with cries of "Hosh, hosh!" and "Kabhardah, kabhardah!" Horses stumbled, men crept behind them, holding on to the tails of the animals. Sometimes the moving column would send a huge block of snow down the slope. When we reached the foot of the pass and looked up, we saw the whole mountain side covered by a dark crawling string of pack animals and men. We were fortunate not to lose any of our animals or men during this dangerous crossing. Preoccupied with the difficulties of the trail, we had no time to admire the severe mountain panorama that opened before us. Dark, almost black, jagged peaks, rimmed with sparkling snow, stood out in sharp contrast to the dismal gray sky. The wind was raging in the gorge at the foot of the pass, dispersing the snow in fantastic designs on the mountain slopes. "By the grace of God, we came down," shouted our Moslem caravan drivers, when we had reached the stony bottom. </p> <p> Soon complete darkness enveloped the weathered rocks of the gorge. Nazar Bai rode ahead in search of a suitable grazing ground for the night, and his broad-shouldered figure mounted on his swift raven steed disappeared into the darkness. <a id="t4p-337-N1"></a><span text4placeid:337> We continued marching until a very late hour. The men were murmuring and the animals were tired after the fatiguing struggle across the pass. My watch showed nine o'clock, then ten o'clock. Still no traces of Nazar Bai. The murmurs among the caravan drivers became louder. Was the old Nazar Bai mad to make men and animals march for more than twelve hours? It was getting impossible to ride because of the darkness. Myself and one of our syces went ahead of the caravan to find the trail. We went on foot, leading our horses behind us. Suddenly we found ourselves in water. </span> </p> 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. <a id="b4p-199-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:199 --> **October 3, 1925** [Karaul-Surget](/#m=9/36.34655/78.02556&l=Gs&p=199/o) October 3. We started somewhat later than usual. Our pack animals had wandered far down the stream in the night and had to be brought back. The trail led down a sandrock gorge into a vast broad plain in which the Chinese outpost of Suget Karaul was situated. Northward rose a high snowy range—a western branch of the K'un-lun. On the northwest a broad gorge leading into the mountains left a passage open toward the Sanju Pass. It was refreshing to see shrubs along the banks of the stream. Numerous ducks and snipes along the banks were the first signs of animal life after sixteen days of barren country. The region has a scant population of Kirghiz whose chief occupation is cattle breeding. Agriculture is said to exist along the foot of the snowy range north of the valley. The only agricultural produce is barley, which seldom ripens and is mostly used as straw for caravan animals. After two hours' march, we were in view of the mud-built Chinese fort, a square courtyard surrounded by several brick hovels. A figure appeared outside the gates and rushed back inside the fort. We were apparently noticed. Our Chinese interpreter hurried ahead to announce our arrival. The officer commanding the fort gave us a very hearty reception. His staff consisted of a Turki interpreter and some twenty militia, mobilized from among the local Kirghiz. During our visit to the fort, the personnel of the fort garrison was absent in the mountains and the population of the fort consisted of the Chinese frontier officer, the interpreter and his wife. Besides us, another Yarkendi caravan was camping in the fort courtyard. After the usual formalities were over and our passports had been examined, the frontier officer dispatched a rider to Sanju and farther to Guma, announcing our arrival and ordering the local population along the route to keep everything ready for our coming. We decided to stay but one day at the fort and to continue the journey the following day. Late into the night large camp fires illumined the fort walls and burly figures of men were squatting round them, telling each other fresh news from Yarkend, Leh, and Kashmir. Here was the true Asia of the caravans, in which even the most prosaic news assumes the shape of heroic legends, that are told and retold along the great trade routes. <a id="b4p-200-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:200 --> **October 4, 1925** [Shahidullah](/#m=9/36.41297/77.98875&l=Gs&p=200/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*. <a id="b4p-201-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:201 --> **October 5, 1925** 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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 6, 1925** [The foot of Sanju Pass](/#m=9/36.65906/78.23372&l=Gs&p=203/o) <p> October 6. <a id="t4p-203-N1"></a><span text4placeid:203>We continued our march down the Karakash River. The country suddenly became again more deserted and the rugged sandstone cliffs pressed on both sides of the river gorge. We passed a large Kirghiz cemetery—stately mazars of an unmistakably Iranian style of architecture, and ordinary stone tombs, in front of which stood long poles with black horse and yak tails attached to them, a characteristic feature of Mohammedan tombs in Chinese Turkestan.</span> </p> 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. <p> <a id="t4p-203-N2"></a><span text4placeid:203> A heavy stone trail led to the foot of the Sanju Pass. The river gorge narrowed considerably, the trail running along the river for some distance and then turning into a side valley. At the head of this valley lay a small inclosed spot covered by colossal bowlders and detritus—the foot of the Sanju Pass. We pitched our tents as best we could, but had to spend the night head downward. In the evening a storm brought a light, wet snow on the pass, which drifted about our tents. The yaks which had to carry our baggage across the pass arrived late at night and their black mass almost smashed our camp.</span> Their Kirghiz drivers were unaware of its exact situation, and drove the herd of pack yaks straight into it, tearing tent ropes and tents. We all had to protect our tents from the advancing beasts which, frightened, dashed through the camp and had to be caught on the mountain side. </p> <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 7, 1925** *Through: Sanju Pass* <p> October 7. <a id="t4p-50-N1"></a><span text4placeid:50> The empty pack horses left the camp before dawn, in order to cross the pass before the yak caravan. They were followed by our party, which also rode on yaks. The ascent to the pass was very steep and in several places the trail was covered by a thin crust of slippery ice. The trail went by a zigzag route. In winter the pass must be terrible, for snow and stone avalanches sweep down its steep, jagged slope. It took fully three hours to reach the summit. The trail passed amid sharp rocky crags, and at the very summit there was a broad and deep crevasse, over which the animals had to jump. At this place, one of our followers fell from his yak and bruised his leg. </span> </p> <a id="t4p-204-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:204 --> The descent was gradual and led into a broad valley girded by grass-covered rolling hills. This was a typical nomad highland, here and there covered by Kirghiz *qishlaq* 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 *ail* 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. <a id="b4p-338-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:338 --> **October 8, 1925** 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. <a id="b4p-205-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:205 --> **October 9, 1925** 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. <a id="b4p-206-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:206 --> **October 10, 1925** [Sanju](/#m=9/37.18449/78.45702&l=Gs&p=206/o) October 10. Next morning we marched off, across a thickly populated country. The river flowed in several channels that had cut broad and deep courses in the soft loess of the country. Along these water channels was a dense population and cultivated fields and orchards. Above the river were low hilly spurs that stretched into the immensity of the desert region, north of the oasis. On the ride through the shady villages we were much impressed by the relative well-being of the population. There were neither Chinese officials nor tradesmen in the roadside hamlets. Outside the hospitable village, another *dastarkhan* awaited us. This time it was offered by the former Andijan *aqsaqal* or elder, who had lost his post on account of political changes in his native country. His peaches were luscious and we thoroughly enjoyed the coolness of his garden house. The owner himself was a tall man, cleanly dressed and of quiet, pleasing manner. He told us that the Roosevelt Expedition had passed this way *en route* for Yarkend and Kashgar. A cavalcade of *begs* and headmen accompanied us on our way for a considerable stretch. Our horses, after yesterday's feast on fresh lucern and grain, had completely changed their mood and pranced on the sandy road, raising clouds of suffocating dust. A ride of several hours brought us to the large bazaar of Sanju. This place is a large village with several Chinese shops, in which sit the pale sons of the great Far Eastern country. The heat was very oppressive and the bazaar streets were canopied with mats, that prevented the sun rays from penetrating inside and darkened the streets. A *dastarkhan* was offered on a square level place in the very heart of the settlement. We would have preferred a garden outside the village but had to accept the offered accommodations. A loud jingling of bells announced the arrival of the local Chinese custom official—a pale young man in a blue silken coat and black skullcap. He dismounted from a prancing iron-gray steed, seated himself in front of our tents and chatted for a considerable time, while he continuously smoked cigarettes. Our Chinese interpreter, true to the old traditions of imperial China, considering him ill-mannered, whispered to me "Look at his manners!" The officer inquired about our journey and strongly advised us to go to Kashgar first. The *Tao-t'ai* of Kashgar, he said, was a pleasant man with wide experience in European matters; Khotan was indeed a wonderful place, but the new Governor Ma was a troublesome man whom it was better to avoid. We fully appreciated the advice of this friendly young man only after our conflict with the universally feared Ma Shao-wu of Khotan. The official invited us for a dinner at his *yamen* and took his leave. Professor Roerich and Mrs. Roerich preferred the quiet of our camp and I had to go alone with our interpreter, Mr. Ts'ai. The distance was a very short one but our interpreter insisted that we should ride. And so we rode at good speed the five hundred yards that separated our camp from the poor *yamen*. Such is etiquette! At the dinner I questioned the official about possible ruined cities in the vicinity of Sanju. According to him, all relics had been taken by European explorers and for several years nothing had appeared on the market. We might find some clay images at Zanguya, our next stage, but nothing substantial. The profession of *Taklamanchis* or treasure seekers in the sands of the Taklamakan Desert was becoming rare and only few people continued to occupy themselves with excavations in its sandy dunes. The official related the story of Dr. Le Coq's explorations at Kashgar, where his assistant penetrated the cave temple of Utsh-Murghan on a rope. Stories about European explorers are a common topic of conversation at dinner parties. It was getting late and we hurried back to our camp to make preparations for tomorrow's journey. <a id="b4p-207-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:207 --> **October 11, 1925** [Zanguya](/#m=9/37.35706/78.79567&l=Gs&p=207/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. <a id="b4p-51-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:51 --> **October 12, 1925** [Pialma](/#m=9/37.28792/79.16016&l=Gs&p=51/o) October 12. The morning was a very hot one and the long and trying march to Pialma was ahead of us. Former travelers have written much about the fatigues of the desert journey to the ancient Kingdom of Jade. On our way we were joined by a Chinese captain journeying on leave to distant Lan-chou in Kansu. He was accompanied by only one servant and his baggage was packed in huge saddlebags—always a great nuisance in caravans, for they cause terrible sores on the horses and yaks. The captain talked on different topics: of the walled-up library of Tun-huang, of fabulous palaces near Aksu, of General Anenkov and his Cossacks, and of Tibetan tribes near Sining-fu. Tired of conversation we kept silent and our new acquaintance started to sing some Chinese ballads. But what songs! Shrill, incongruous sounds, wild exclamations filled the air of the desert. Horses snorted, and my gray tried persistently to get away from the howling rider. I have heard Chinese songs and even learned to appreciate some of the religious tunes of old China, but such a song was a merciless parody on the musical art of the country. Even Ts'ai, the Chinese interpreter, shook his head and seemed depressed. He afterward admitted that the singing captain disgusted him. We marched for ten hours and the burning sun shone pitilessly on the desert road. Late in the evening we entered the large oasis and village of Pialma and camped in a garden reserved for our use. <a id="b4p-52-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:52 --> **October 13, 1925** [Zawa Kurghan](/#m=9/37.21693/79.63097&l=Gs&p=52/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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 14, 1925** [Khotan](/#m=9/37.11379/79.92416&l=Gs&p=53/o) October 14. The road from Zawa to Khotan goes alongside arable land. Everywhere are seen villages, farmsteads, and *mazars*. We passed several bazaars with Chinese gates, surmounted by Chinese inscriptions eulogizing the work of former city magistrates of Khotan. Dusty lanes of poplars led to the town itself. We rode through the gate of the Chinese city or Han-ch'eng, and at once our small party was surrounded by a dense crowd of Chinese soldiers and traders, who ran after our horses crying and shouting. Soldiers with red and yellow shoulder straps were everywhere, and we were greatly surprised to find such a number of them in the bazaars, but the Ma Ta-jen was said to be a great admirer of the martial art. <p> <a id="t4p-53-N1"></a><span text4placeid:53> A petty official from the yamen of the Governor met us on the way and led into a dusty garden with Chinese pavilions, which once belonged to a former city magistrate who had collected a big fortune during his tenure of office. The place was small and dusty, and was, moreover, situated in the very center of the evil-smelling Chinese city. We expressed our desire to camp in another place and were at once conducted to the clean garden of Badruddin Khan, the Afghan aqsaqal of the Indian traders and an old friend and helper of Sir Aurel Stein.</span> The old *aqsaqal* and his numerous family had chairs and tea arranged for us, and we were glad to meet people who could tell us something about the antiquities of Khotan and new sites discovered in its neighborhood. Badruddin Khan had a small collection of antiquities at his home and he promised to show it to us some day. </p> We camped in the garden, but a dense crowd of some three hundred Chinese and Turkis hindered the pitching of the tents. Everyone came to see our Tibetan mastiff, Tumbal. In order to bring the dog alive across the burning desert, we had him chained in a dandy, and four of our Ladakis carried the dog to the town. The entry of the black animal into the Khotan bazaar, sitting erect in his dandy, created a tremendous uproar among the bazaar population. Women screamed and shops were closed. Everyone was certain that the foreigners had brought with them a large black bear. The Governor even sent his private secretary with his visiting card to inquire about the animal. A huge crowd pressed from every side and neither our pack horses with baggage nor our men could enter the compound. I accordingly sent our *ya-yeh* to the officer commanding the Khotan garrison to send two or three soldiers to keep the crowd away from the garden. These duly appeared, armed with old Mauser rifles, but their efforts proved vain. The crowd doubled in number and new contingents of infantry soldiers were pouring in through the narrow gate of the garden wall. Our young Ladaki *bashi* suddenly got the brilliant idea of shouting loudly, "The dog has broken its chain!" This had a magical effect. The crowd left the compound in a wild stampede. In an instant everyone was gone, even the secretary of the Governor, although we wished him to stay. We tried to get hold of the two soldiers who were sent by the officer commanding the garrison Khotan but the men had fled with the crowd and had left their rifles standing at the garden gate. We had to post two of our Ladakis in order to prevent a further intrusion. Our first night in Khotan was by no means pleasant. The air was sticky, and the smells that permeated the city added greatly to its discomforts.
