Book 1 - Chapter 27

Our faithful Ladakis had intended to go with us to the most distant parts. In Khotan they soon became somewhat depressed. They wandered through the bazaars; they complained that the people pulled their braids; they grieved because of the Chinese officials. They assured us that the Chinese Taotai would order them beaten. They said that the Taotai himself had killed a man. At last the whole sack-garbed crowd of Ladakis came; they smiled, they shifted about, they crowded close to one another, they repeated what goodyum-kusho

(mistress) and

yab-kusho

(great gentleman), we were; and finally with tears they begged us to let them go home. They hinted that if we would go further on our way at once they would remain with us, but that in Khotan it was impossible to live. They left us very touchingly, hurrying through the snowy passes. Although it was only the beginning of November they were held back in Sanju where the crossing had become impassable. We then appreciated the advice we had had, to start as early as possible, because just after our passage, there started a continuous blizzard and the severest frosts.

We did not even consider their statement that it was impossible to live in Khotan; but soon we were convinced that our simple friends, who had valiantly gone through all the skeletons of Karakorum, had become saddened in Khotan, not without cause.

The strangest symptoms began. Not only did they not want to give us a suitable house, but they assured us that we would have to live at the bazaar where it would be more convenient for the Taotai to

watch

us. When we ourselves made an effort to find a suitable house in the outskirts, there was a mass of obstacles which we had to overcome fearlessly ourselves. Our well-wisher, Kudai Berdi Bai, and the Afghanistan Aksakal helped us greatly to procure the house, but the Amban permitted us to make an agreement only

for one month.

He signified through this that we were undesirable tenants, yet neither would he permit us to leave. The permission to sketch was

not

given. A repulsive Bek was stationed to watch us. Finally there came a new Amban and the affair became still more complicated.

The Taotai’s child became ill. They asked E.I. to come and help. The cure was successful and all three officials came seemingly to thank us. But their conduct was outrageous. They laughed, gesticulated, spat and said that our passport was altogether

unauthentic.

They proposed to insult Mr. Cheng-lo (the Chinese Ambassador in Paris) for giving out such a passport. Everything, verily, assumed ugly proportions. But these were flowers—the berries appeared the next day.

The Amban came and said that a telegram had been received from Urumchi, from the governor of the province, with the demand to expel our Expedition, and precisely through Sanju. This meant a return through a path closed by snow in winter.

Of course we were already accustomed to the hypocrisy of the officials of Khotan, and we did not doubt that there was no telegram and that the whole story was a fraud. “However,” added the tempestuous Amban, “if you will personally ask Mr. Taotai maybe he will show some clemency.” One should note that the officials did not permit any of our telegrams to pass, and we had to search for an opportunity to send telegrams to New York, Peking and Paris, by roundabout ways through the consulate in Kashgar. Besides this, the Amban pointed out that the officials had the complete right to take away all my artist’s equipment.

The next day the Taotai changed his anger into clemency. And

on account

of the cure of his son by E.I., he notified us that he would not expel us by way of Sanju. But his clemency, because of the cure of his son, quickly evaporated and the officials threatened to search our house. Finally on December 29th the search took place. Our arms, three guns and three revolvers, were sealed and taken away. They said that in Kashgar we might receive them back. The permits from the British officials to carry arms were not even taken into consideration. When the enormous case was brought into the room for the packing of the arms, even the Chinese stepped back, murmuring “a coffin.” E.I. added “This is the coffin of such type of officials.” It would seem that the inventions of oppression were already exhausted, but ignorance prompted one more “game.” They notified us that our American papers did not interest officials and demanded pre-war passports. With this, the “wise” officials of Republican China demanded nothing less than the old imperial passports. Quite accidentally we had with us an old passport and the Certificate of the Swedish Order of the Northern Star. The “buffalos” copied this and the other one, and pretended to send it somewhere.

The demand for a pre-war passport after nine years of Chinese revolution showed us that the officials of Khotan are not only ill-qualified, but that they are limitlessly ignorant; and to remain here would be even dangerous. We plan to go immediately to Kashgar and Urumchi in order to find a more sensible administration. My dear friends, if you want to try out your cold-bloodedness and patience, go to the city of Khotan. Here Taotai Ma, and Amban Chang Fu, will teach you with all their medieval resourcefulness. Before our departure, we heard a rumor in the bazaar that serious trouble was brewing for the Taotai. It is rumored that he received the position of the Taotai and the star from the governor of the province, for the murder which he himself executed of the military governor of Kashgar last year; however, it is revealed that the murder was accomplished not by him alone but also by the soldiers. Now one may believe that all murderers must become Taotais.

The details of the murder are medieval. The captured man was crucified and after two days of crucifixion the present commander of Khotan shot at him at such close range that the blood spurted upon the victor. At the same time his soldiers were also shooting with him.

I am writing with sorrow for the Chinese. I can imagine how the best Chinese will blush for such contemporaries! Let us recall the tales of Sven Hedin, how Chinese officials searched his trunks for Russian soldiers; how Filchner gave his signed waiver to the Amban that he had no claims against them for robbery; how badly Prjevalsky fared in Khotan; how Kosloff was forced to enter the court of the Amban with twenty Cossacks to quell the lawlessness. It is sad to realize and to see that the new order of the state has not yet changed its gloomy medievalism. Let the Amban get along without the aid of a handkerchief for his nose—that is not important. But let the Amban at least know something.

During the search of our things, the Amban recalled several times that the Russians at the frontier of Manchuria

broke his teapot;

all his petty rancor revealed itself in this information. And another very heinous crime did the Russians do; think only, they vaccinated the wife of the Taotai from Aksu!—This felony is related with rancor. During the search of our things, E.I. indignantly said to the Amban, who ordered that the yakhtan containing her own things be opened: “Look, Amban, there is my corset.” And so the wife of the Taotai from Aksu was avenged! Our Chinaman is indignant and shocked. While he, a Chinese officer and diplomat, with a literary reputation, stood by, they usurped and carried away our arms! They deprived the Expedition of its means of defense. He says: “This is the work of robbers.” Local Moslems come, advise and warn and try to show sympathy. One can imagine what these quiet, cowed people, who have lost their identities, have to bear. One can imagine how much the Chinese intellectuals, students and youths have to stand, they who are so sensitive to the grime of license.

It is necessary to find ways to depart. We must go, in spite of the frost. The camels are ready. The old Chinese whispers: “Tell the escorting soldiers, if they have guns, to go in front and not in the rear—Chinese shoot from behind.” The banner of the Expedition is ready. It will be carried in front. Tzung sewed it; red with yellow and the inscription in black: “Lo, an American Art Officer.”

The Amban does not know anything about art. The Bek—of Mongolian descent—instructs him politely by means of the following ancient legend: “In olden times in Kucha lived a celebrated painter. Once, as a deposit against a loan, he brought his painting representing a head of cabbage and a butterfly and asked three thousand

sar

(equivalent to two thousand seven hundred dollars). A boy, who was taking the place of the owner, gave him the requested loan. The owner returned. He was indignant that for a cabbage and. a butterfly, one should give so much money. He chased away the boy and considered the money lost. Winter came and on the appointed day the artist brought the money and asked to have the painting back. They took out the painting and the owner, to his terror, saw that the butterfly had disappeared from the picture. The artist demanded his complete picture as described. The owner was upset. The painter said, ‘So you have unjustly thrown out the boy. But now only he can help you.’ The owner called the boy. The boy for three days kept the picture near the fire and the butterfly appeared again. Then the boy said: ‘You have not appreciated the artist, but he is so perfect that his colors have all the qualities of nature. The butterflies appear in the warm summer-time. For the winter they disappear. The same happens also in the painting. Only the warmth of the fire recalled the butterfly to life in winter as well. So perfect is this painter.’ And the owner was ashamed and adopted the boy and made him rich for his wisdom.” So does the Bek teach the Amban, but even the Buddha said in the Sutras: “The greatest crime is ignorance.”

Among the Moslems, news has spread about the destruction of Damascus. The Moslems are indignant. Precisely by harming the sanctuaries and by pillage will this breach be most easily defined forever. In Paris they cannot even imagine how quickly through the depths of Asia fly bird-messengers. However, the flow of Moslem thought deserves great attention. One Moslem asked us why Muntazar, Messiah, Maitreya, all start with the same letter M. Is this not the very same

manifestation?

They also asked about Buddhism. They listened very attentively to the statement of Buddha being also a man, but being great through his supreme knowledge; of Buddha reverencing womankind; of Buddha having himself shown the manifestation of Maitreya. One day Kalmucks came from Karashahr. They came to make obeisance before Buddhist objects which we possess. Kalmucks know that here Buddha passed going northward. It is interesting to notice that Sir Charles Bell in his last book about Tibet points out that Buddha might have been of Mongolian descent. Nepal is populated by Mongoloids and the tribe of Sakya might have been sprung from them. Then, especially interesting is the direction of Buddha northward. All signs, all that remains, must be examined anew. The gigantic image of Maitreya, on the rock near Maulbeck, is often mentioned and described. It does not occur to one that the whole huge rock ought to be investigated from all sides. But when we were already in Khotan quite accidentally we heard about a Chinese inscription on the reverse side of the rock. It was an immeasurable pity to have lost this possibility; because a Chinese was with us. And then, what could this unexpected language have meant? One can expect Sanskrit, Pali, Tibetan and even Mongolian! But why did a Chinese hand write upon the rock of Maitreya? Monuments should always be approached with an open mind.

The antiques in Khotan are really exhausted. During the two months, outside of two or three fragments, and a dozen imitations, nothing was brought to us. And the occupation of seeking for treasure has ceased. And the tales breathe of old communications already described by Sir Aurel Stein. Yotkan—meaning the site of old Khotan—is really populated by peaceful Sarts and covered by Moslem cemeteries. Just as Italian antiquarians often refer to the name of Bode, here also now they are continually speaking about Sir John Marshall or about Sir Aurel Stein. There have not remained any ancient objects in daily use. Life is congealed as happens before a wave of new constructions.

Why, in point of fact, is Khotan considered a commercial center of Chinese Turkestan? We do not see the nerve of this commerce. We live on a big road branching to Aksu, Kucha and Tun-huang, to the Province Kansu and into the depths of China. But seldom do the bells of camels sound. Seldom does one hear the call of the donkeys. By such steps the rotations of industry are not being created. The rug industry has deteriorated considerably, it is now conventional and without life. Properly speaking the Khotan designs have completely degenerated. The jade has disappeared. And another characteristic pointed out by ancient authors has disappeared: singing has ceased, and has been replaced by fierce screams. In contrast with such singing, that of the Ladakis is full of rhythm and freshness. When a people has ceased to sing, it means that they are greatly depressed.

It is strange to think that this is the very same Khotan to which Fa-hsien in the fourth century of our era dedicated the exalted description: “This country thrives happily. The people are rich. They are all Buddhists and find joy in music. There are more than ten thousand members of communes and they almost all belong to Mahayana. They all live and derive their support from the commune. The villages are spread on big expanses and before the door of each house a small pagoda (Suburghan) is raised. They all are very hospitable and provide the guests with everything that is necessary. The ruler of the country placed us in Gomati, which belongs to Mahayana. At the beating of gongs all members of the commune gather for a meal. All sit in harmonious order and keep silence, and do not clatter with the dishes. . . . Some of us went on to Kashgar.” . . To what extent can reality be changed! The present evidence does not relate contemporary Khotan with its past, just as the Appian Way or the Road to Ostia do not lead to the present Roman Rome.

It is a pity that Fa-hsien did not travel further than Kashgar in what is now Russian Turkestan, because everywhere there and even in Persia are traces of Buddhism, not at all discovered yet. And Bokhara is nothing else than

Vihara,

the distorted name of a Buddhist monastery. George successfully discovered this philological transformation in Paris and Pelliot absolutely agreed with him. Pamir, Afghanistan, Persia—everywhere are traces of those flowerings of culture, when as chronicles say: “The art was incomparable, and a work of art and a book were the best gifts.”

Tsung had a dream. We three, E.I., George and I, with sabers, slashed Yang-tu-t’u. Tsung comes running to tell it and laughs: “A very good dream. Now all the victory will be yours, and Tu-t’u will fare badly.” Tzi Han Chen interprets this dream and also smiles broadly with pleasure that, if only in a dream, Tu-t’u fared badly. Tsung emphasizes the importance of the dream: “If Tu-t’u treats the great guests badly things will fare badly with him and he will not live.” So in far-away Khotan is rendered a verdict against Tu-t’u in Urumchi: “More than a year he will not live.” We speak to the Sart about this decision. He laughs. “You have already replaced Kerim-Bek, evidently the truth will assert itself with Tu-t’u.” Although Tu-t’u makes fun of the Peking government he himself is sitting in a furnace of hatred. Who will sit in his place? The Khotan robber, Ma, or Aksu or the one from Kuldja with his Manchurians? Any enterprising troops can easily take Sinkiang.

The pilgrims are passing on their way bringing new messages. In Urga a place for the Temple of Shambhala will be set. When the image of Rigden-japo will reach Urga, then will flash the first light of the New Era—truth. Then will the true renaissance of Mongolia begin. In Kucha, in the bazaars, recently two arriving lamas distributed images and a prayer of Shambhala. Here, also, the nuclei of revivified Buddhism have found shelter. The celebrated Suburghan near Khotan must be the place of one of the manifestations of the New Era. Khotan is the path of Buddha. Burkhan Bulat is near Khotan. The magnets of the ways are planted “as truly as under the stone of Ghum lies the prophecy about the New Era.”

The Maitreya Series comprises seven parts: 1. “Shambhala Approaches.” 2. “The Steed of Happiness.” 3. “The Strongholds of the Walls,” 4. “The Banner of the Future.” 5. “The Power of the Caves.” 6. “The Whispers of the Desert.” 7. “Maitreya the Conqueror.”