# Nicholas Roerich. Altai-Himalaya

## XII. Tibet (1927-1928)

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October 6th

Like black spiders with long legs are hidden the black tents of the Tibetans, stretched
upon the longest ropes. The border troops take our passport and suggest that we camp for
two days, until they bring the answer of General Horchichab, that is the chief ruler of
the Province, Hor, and the chief commander of the northern front. What flowery titles!

We camp in the middle of a marshy plain overgrown with thin, prickly weeds. On the
horizon is the lake and dead mountains. I call them dead because this is a veritable
cemetery. Long ago, these were great mountains, perhaps rivals of Everest; now they are
eroded and crumbled into small stones. The deep valleys became filled, forming a hill of
fifteen thousand feet, open to the brutal winds. Before reaching the most significant
sites, before the heavenly Himalayas, one falls into horrible marshes. The horses are
slipping and stumbling among the ugly clumps. There is not a bird, not an animal.

George slumps in his saddle and almost falls off his horse. We rush to him and take him
off. He has almost no heart beat. Two strong doses of digitalis are administered. We rub
his hands. He recovers.

Further ahead Elena Ivanovana begins to feel badly. From the rear guard we are notified
that Lama Malonof fell off his horse and lies unconscious on the road. The doctor
hurries to him. Thus inhospitably does Tibet greet us.

A multi-colored banner with a bent staff. Music—drums and bagpipes. The firing of a
salute. Deep in the tent is the little figure of the General in a vivid yellow khalat.
On his round Chinese cap is a crosslike Ak-dorje of rubies. He makes an ingratiating
speech and again requests us to stay in his camp, if only for two days. Then the General
accompanies us into our camp with banners and music and the motley crowd forming his
suite.

The impression from our visit to Kap-shö-pa is one of insignificance. The banner has
become bent; his sword hangs like a piece of futile theatrical property; under the
precious stones, dirt is accumulated. This is old Chinese stuff which the Chinese
themselves have rejected. It is no longer fit for life and has lost all its former
decorativeness, because the quality of the handiwork is gone, as well as the finesse of
the art. One perceives only mediocrity and ugliness. Probably the General thought that
the impression from his yellow khalat would be very great. But even his closest
bodyguard was ragged and adorned with buttons from three armies—none of these Tibetan;
and in the place where a foreign button was lacking, a safety pin was stuck. The rifles
were of doubtful fitness, but there were plenty of musicians.

Again drums and salutes from the guns. The General, with all this motley crowd,
accompanies us to our tent. At the same time he is curious to examine our things,
proclaiming that “the hands of small people must not touch the belongings of great
people.”

We are told that the General came to settle some uprising among the Horpa. At the same
time he placed a ban on the hunting of the musk deer. It is quite incomprehensible why
one is allowed to kill domestic sheep and yaks, when wolves and foxes and everything
savage are protected. But the population holds to a different opinion and secretly hunts
kulans.

Our Tibetan, Chimpa, is dying. He was useful to us during the encounter with the Panagis
and when the Mongols decided to desert us after Naiji. But when Chimpa reached Tibet he
asserted his real nature and at the crossing to the camp of the General he left us, took
our five camels, our tent and severed relations. This was his gratitude for all our care
during his sickness and for our priceless medicines!

Evidently even a Tibetan cannot withstand the local climate. This is the third death in
our caravan. The Mongolian lama died from pneumonia. The lama from Kharchin died because
of the altitude. Did not the bears sense the presence of a dead body when they crept
closer to the camp the night of his death? And they did not have to wait long. By
morning his corpse was left to them.

The General prepares to depart for Kham. Finally he accepts our gift and disappears. And
the caressing two days are transformed into a cruel five months of encampment in summer
tents, in a frost of sixty Celsius, under whirlwinds and gales, at a height of fifteen
thousand feet. A major and some ragamuffin soldiers are stationed with us. We are
forbidden to speak to the passing caravans. We are forbidden to buy food from the
population. The caravan slowly perishes. Every day there are new corpses near the tents,
and packs of wild dogs noisily divide their new repast. Of 104 caravan animals, ninety
perish. Five men die—three Mongolian lamas and two Tibetans. MalonofFs body becomes
swollen from an attack of his heart and finally he also dies. The wife of the major who
was stationed with us gets sick of pneumonia and dies.

Gryphons and eagles fight with packs of dogs over the prey. My letter to the Dalai Lama
is found torn on the road. The letters to Colonel Bailey, British Resident of Sikhim,
and to the Consul General of the United States in Calcutta are seized. We are forbidden
to return or to move on. In spite of George’s knowledge of the Tibetan language we can
only study Tibetan life in its starkness; but we cannot help our condition. They tell us
that the telegraph between Lhasa and India is destroyed because now Tibet does not need
communication with the “Pellings.” They refuse to take into consideration the doctor’s
certificate about our illness. They say that our passport was lost on the road although
witnesses deny this invention.

Instead of the General’s promised permission to proceed we remain on a plain exposed to
the winds. The Tibetans tell us that the General’s messenger to Lhasa disappeared on the
road. Instead of helping, the Major prevents us from buying food in the neighboring
villages. He forbids communication with the passing caravans and is without any feeling
of compunction in the exchange of Chinese dollars. The doctor is very pessimistic and
prophesies fatal illness because of the increasing frost. N. V. offers to go in disguise
to India, but without knowledge of the language and with his noticeable height, this
would end disastrously.

The entire population of black Horpa, like small Niebelungen, seem full of unrest. They
sleep in a seated posture. They eat raw meat. They are only covered with half-rags—black
from the smoke of the fire—and skins. They whisper, “The entire district is now covered
with snows such as never before. Our yaks and sheep will perish. We shall not have
Tsampa (barley). Our children will die and we shall die. And all this misfortune is
because our government treats great travelers in such an inhuman way.”

The lamas predict that everything will turn out well, and that the messenger with a
propitious answer is already coming, that tomorrow he will arrive. But the days pass.
The frost and gale increase. On the white plain no one is seen. The last horses and
camels are falling. During the night the shivering animals come close to the tents,
pulling the ropes as if they are knocking. And at dawn, we find them dead. And our men,
huddled in sheepskins, pull them a few steps away from the camp. Otherwise the dangerous
wild dogs and gryphons, the grave diggers, would give us no rest. One pack of dogs—about
fifteen—has already attacked me. Every day our fire-arms are at hand. The Major wants to
buy our arms, but in this country one must guard one’s arms.

Again frost and gales. Finally there is an uprising followed by the secession of our
Buryat lamas. They thought that by slander against us they would improve their position.
They were completely unable to obtain work.

And so each day goes by amidst the frozen plain with the dull outlines of the dead
mountains. Then we make a short move from Chunargen to Sharugen in the vicinity of the
Bon-po monastery. Only about two hours of marching and again the same detention. We
requested permission to visit General Kap-shö-pa in his encampment at Kham. We were
told: “Me, me, me,” which means, “No.” We asked to be permitted to pass through Eastern
Tibet again. Again, “Me, me, me.” Everything is “Me, me, me.” At the same time the
General writes us letters about the “drops of clemency which are dripping from the
resplendent fingers of the Dalai Lama.” But weeks go by. And finally the governors of
Nagchu themselves come.

It is quite unprecedented that both governors should at once leave their province and
come personally. They come with black eye glasses, in woolly fur caps. They are noisy.
They are astonished that we gave importance to the Tibetan passport and altogether
conduct themselves unreasonably. One of them is a lama, rumored to have strangled the
Amban of Sining. The other, a sly old Manchurian official. We endure all with great
patience. Now they will transport us to Nagchu but it will be a continuation of the same
detention. They will demand gifts. But somehow, somewhere, we shall move, though perhaps
in the most roundabout way. Some of us hope that our detention will not exceed one
hundred days, but it will be more correct to assume 150 days and several additional days
for delays on the road. Thus we must count the entire detention as lasting half a year.
Of course during this time the Tibetans have afforded us an unusual opportunity to
become acquainted with their life, customs and ethics. Without communications with
governors, generals, dzong pons, officers, elders and lamas, we would not have any
assurance about the reality of Tibet.

The frost at dawn is cruel. As usual, below 70 degrees Celsius. In the morning the
doctor’s cognac is frozen. One can imagine what a frost it is, when the strong wine
becomes frozen. The doctor is pessimistic as before and expects danger. The health of N.
V. and P. K. is bad. Death is predicted for Ochir. Ludmilla and Raya—or as Tibetans call
them, Milla and Raiya—keep well.

What tiresome hills are between Chunargan and Nagchu. The mountains have long since
crumbled and now the heaps of pebbles and stones are eroding. There is not a bush nor a
tree; only high mounds with thorny prickly grass distasteful to the horses. We were told
that on reaching Central Tibet we would be astonished by the change of nature. But
others smile and say that up to the very Himalayas we shall go through a cemetery of
crumbled mountains. Poor Hor-pa. Their teeth are falling out from scurvy. The muscles
are lax. They have less strength than thirteen-year-old Raya. Of course lean raw meat
and a pinch of dirty *tsampa* do not make for health. And how immeasurable is
their suspicion of each other! They do not trust; they are afraid; they constantly
anticipate all sort of misfortune. Mongols, in spite of the sly Dunganese officials, are
veritable freemen compared with Tibetans.

Everywhere are the signs of the cross. The old Mongolian coins of Nestorian khans have a
cross, and over an ancient Buddhist monastery near Peking is a cross. On the seat of the
saddle is also a cross and the reins are also fitted out with a cross. Even upon the
stones of Ladak and Sinkiang are crosses. Nestorians and Manicheans passed broadly
through Asia. On the frescoes of the monasteries are crosses. In the design of the
kaftan, on the beads, on the necklaces, on the amulets—always the very same cross: Not
the swastika with the streams of fire, but of equal arms, the eternal symbol of life. On
the Chinese hats of Tibetan generals glows a ruby, crosslike *dorje.* The steed
of happiness carries its sign. All bronze fibulae, probably from the tombs, are formed
of a cross in a circle.

Everywhere are the same signs of Chintamani. The little pillars of the houses and the
clay-beaten walls are marked by this thrice-powerful image. The mules, the wrought
silver vessels, the military banners, the prayer banners, the wood-cut on the page of a
book are strengthened by the symbol of power.

Compare the present tale with its original source: Now one says: “And great hunger
descended upon earth and people perished and could not longer endure. Then the Blessed
Bodhisattvas sent a shower of rice. There was such excess of food that not only were all
the people fully sustained but they also brought mountains of rice and erected temples
and chortens of it. The temples were of such dimensions that it took several years to
walk around them, and one chief chorten could only be encircled in several days. This
place exists upon an island where the true teaching of the Blessed One formerly
flourished.”

One must understand it thus: Great spiritual hunger descended upon earth. And people
could no longer exist in such dreadful conditions. Then the Great Teacher sent a true
shower of spiritual food. Humanity which was exalted by this benediction erected great
monuments of spiritual achievements. The measurements of these achievements are
unencompassable. The teaching of Shambhala exists in a fortified place. And its power
will soon become manifest.

The monasteries of Bon-po of the Black faith, hostile to Buddha, have a curious
interest. In the Black Faith, which as a Black Mass exactly inverts the ritual of the
Buddhist faith, one sees only denial of Buddha, and denunciation of Buddha and of all
Buddhists as enemies. If the Buddhists encircle the altars from left to right, the
Bon-po takes the opposite direction. If the Swastika of the Buddhist turns in the
direction of the sun, that of the Bon-po must be turned in the opposite direction. They
have invented their own saints and special sacred books. They have invented a special
protector who replaces Buddha; and if you study the biography of this legendary
protector you will be astonished to find the same details and events as in the life of
Buddha; he is also supposed to be of royal family. The Bon-po do not allow Buddhists to
enter their temples, and acknowledge neither the Tashi Lama nor the Dalai Lama. For them
the Dalai Lama is only a civil ruler collecting taxes.

They are very friendly with foreigners because they believe that foreigners have nothing
to do with Buddhism. In the beginning they greeted us heartily and proposed that we
study their books and visit their temples, where we saw many inverted Buddhist symbols.
But when they understood that we were in sympathy with Buddhism, their attitude entirely
changed. You can understand our astonishment in finding such things in a so-called
Buddhist country. As I said, they are numerous and well-to-do and are very
self-assertive. It is not a secret sect and Tibetans told us that now Bon-po is again
increasing. Not only have these people an invented Buddha but they have mysterious
deities of Swastika.

This recalls the prehistoric times, the primitive religion of fire-worship of the Druids
which has here been corrupted into the incomprehensibly strange deities of Swastika.
Instead of the sacred word, Aum, they use the word “A.” In the old occult teaching the
same expression, “A,” is used for Materia Matrix. It would be interesting to study the
origins of Bon-po, as perhaps something of the Druid and old fire-worship would be
found.

One cannot believe any statement. All around us is death. For five months on the main
road to China and Mongolia only three caravans passed. The Tibetan nomads whisper about
the difficult times for Lhasa. Of course under such conditions the country cannot exist.
Finally the governors of Nagchu become satisfied with the gifts, and after receiving the
information that our money is exhausted, decide to send us out by a roundabout way
through Chang-thang to Namru Dzong, Shentsu Dzong, through passes of twenty thousand six
hundred feet not marked on maps, to Saga-Dzong, across the Brahmaputra, to Tingri-Dzong,
Shekar-Dzong, Kampa-Dzong and through Sepo-la to Sikhim. Evidently they have decided to
show us all religions of Tibet so that no doubts should be left in our mind about this
country. It is not an easy way. Nobody has yet crossed from Ulan Bator Khoto to Sikhim.

It is inexplicable why the Dzong-pons, officials of Tibetan Dzongs (fortresses), show
themselves from the most ugly side. The people tell dark tales.

The ruins of old Tibet are interesting: These ancient towers and walls were molded by an
aspiring type of people. Their builders knew about Gessar Khan and about the Ruler of
Shambhala. Here also were the Ashrams of the great Mahatmas. But now there is nothing
left of this.

I recall the stones of the “Tchud”—tombs on Altai. There passed the Goths who penetrated
all Europe with their influence. And here in the Trans-Himalayas we meet the very same
ancient tombs. We find places of ancient shrines which carry one’s thoughts to the
sun-cults of the Druids. The swords of the northern inhabitants of the Trans-Himalayas
might have been taken out of the Goth graves on the South Russian steppes. The fibulae
of Gothic burials—do they not remind you of the buckles of Tibetan tribes. And why was
the site of Lhasa some time ago called Gotha according to missionary chronicles? And
whence the name of the tribe Gotl? Whence, where and how did the forefathers of the
Goths migrate, driven out by glaciers and by the severe moraines? In the crystallized
daily life of the northern Tibetans are there not found the ancient traits of their
departed brothers? It is astonishing; one Hor-pa resembles Moliere. Another would fit
the type of d’Artagnan. The third resembles an Italian corsair. The fourth, with long
strands of hair, is a distortion of a portrait of Hals or Palamedes; and that black and
somber one, with an aquiline nose, is he not the executioner of Philip the Second?

And finally in the district of Doring (meaning the Long Stone) we found a real field of
menhirs such as in Karnak. During the two marches which followed we found three more
small groups of menhirs. For me it was a great joy to see this indubitable sign of
Druidic antiquity.

“Ki-hoho” rings out the call from the camp of Goloks. “Hoihe” answers our camp. And so
the whole night the enemies are mutually warned about the incessant vigilance of our
camp. But of course the Goloks are already informed about our arms and have taken well
into consideration the extent of our military capacity. The verdict was in our favor,
and today we shall see the friendly faces of the dangerous nomads.

The Black Faith of Bon-po is so in keeping with the black tents. Upon long ropes, like
deadly spiders, the tents gleam black in a formless mass. Next to them are black spots:
refuse or corpses. The dryness of the air lessens the ill smell of decomposition. The
piercing wind scatters the dry bones. We recall the widely announced safe-passage of the
Donyer of Urga. How remarkably different is Tibet at a distance. They talk and whisper
about uprisings. . . .

At each encampment the same thing happens: If we camp in the usual village, there is no
trouble in procuring animals. If the Elder lives in the village, then one may be sure of
unpleasant discussions; and if one gets into a dzong or monastery he should be prepared
for a delay. Nothing is prepared, in spite of several *da-yig* letters, which
were sent long since. It appears that the *da-yigs* were not received; that by
mistake they were sent in another direction. It appears that villages where there are
animals are far off, and it will take several days to gather yaks and horses. Finally it
appears that as usual the peasants simply do not listen to Dzong-pon and refuse to
fulfill his order. Sometimes the Dzong-pon suggests that we conduct all negotiations
directly with the peasants and write our own letter to the villages with our own seal.
And the seal must be red. Otherwise we will have to stay near the Dzong for many days.
It sometimes also happens that one Elder suggests to us to arrest another unruly one. He
himself leads us to the latter’s camp and advises us to bind him and deliver him to
Lhasa. Our Torguts have sometimes bound the hands of the Elder tightly behind his back;
then his relations come with tongues sticking out and agree to fulfill the order of the
Dalai Lama. Or it may happen that the governor suggests to us to arrest the local Major
and to take him bound to Lhasa. At such a possible turn of affairs the Major lowers his
tone and becomes more civil.

Before Saga-dzong are two unexpected passes. One is shown on the maps; but the other, a
larger one of more than twenty thousand feet, is not indicated. This road is shown on
the maps only by a faint outline. Evidently no one ever traversed it. There is the other
customary southern road. But the Tibetan government sends us through this unexplored
northern path.

On the way the Elders refuse to give us animals and again, instead of the passport of
the governors, they ask us to send a letter with our seal everywhere. For our wax seal
makes a greater impression.

From the crest of the pass a powerful white chain of snowy giants has appeared. This is
already Nepal and the long-awaited Himalayas, on the other side of the Brahmaputra.

Saga-dzong is also a small impoverished village. They eat the corpses of animals and
they mix tiny pebbles with the barley. The mendangs are defiled by fallen dogs and all
sorts of refuse.

The camp is full of excitement. We are approaching the Brahmaputra, the very one which
has its source in the sacred Manasaravar, Lake of the Great Nagi. There is where the
wise Rig-vedas originated; there one is near the sacred Kailas; there, pilgrims go,
realizing on what a noble highway lie these sites. Already files of pilgrims are
encountered; they are gloomy and ragged, and carry spears.

Amidst rocks and sand, lilac and purple, lies the Brahmaputra. In May the water is not
yet completely risen. The water line on the banks shows to what extent the river rises
in June with the snow thaw and rains. There is still greater reverence for the
Brahmaputra than for the Blue River. The Blue Yangtse-Kyang is the longest river in the
world but the Brahmaputra, son of Brahma, is enveloped by a rich frame-work of legends.
It links the sacred bed of the Ganges with the Himalayas; for Manasaravar is close to
Sutlej and the source of the Great Indus. There also was born Aryavarta.

A Mongolian lama says: “There lived a remarkably versed and scientific Geshe. But he
always walked in the most modest garment. Once the Geshe went to visit his teacher, the
former abbot of a big Labrang. The vain courtiers of the abbot saw the humble visitor
and sent him away. And again came the Geshe and again he was evicted. Then the Geshe
went to a merchant in a bazaar and asked him to lend him a rich garment and the Geshe
put into his girdle several stones which looked like nuggets of Chinese silver. And in
this way he was at once permitted to see his teacher. The Geshe entered, took off his
rich garment, took from out the girdle the stones, and put them all together in a
corner. Then he bowed to the stones and the garment; and only after did he bow to his
teacher.

The other asked, “Am I not your teacher? If so, why do you bow first to the stones and
the garment?”

“It is true,” answered the Geshe that you are my teacher, “but without these things I
could not reach you, and therefore I bow to that which brought me to my reverenced
master.”

Near the Brahmaputra are five monasteries leaning against the rocks of Chatu-gompa. Two
of them are of the Red Sect, and three of Bon-po of the Black Faith. The monasteries of
the Black Faith look far newer and cleaner than those of the Red Sect. Out of the
windows of a big Dukang or Red Monastery, straw sticks out; several lamas of hopelessly
dilapidated appearance sadly stroll about. The Black Believers, on learning that we
sympathize with Buddhism, ask us not even to approach their monasteries.

With astonishment we look at the *sho,* the only copper coin of Tibet in
circulation. We saw neither silver nor gold in the *dzongs* nor in popular use.
Although the minting of the small copper coins is poor, yet how grandiose is the
inscription: “The government is victorious in all directions.” It is astonishing that
the half-sho and the quarter-sho are bigger than the *sho* itself.

Now comes our crossing through the Brahmaputra near the monastery Schitu. There is a
small boat, a ferry, with a carved horse on the prow. It is especially difficult to load
the camels. The current is pretty swift.

Although Tingri-dzong is regarded as a strong fortress it has a pitiful toy-like aspect,
which perhaps had importance previous to the invention of gunpowder. There is no
monastery but only suburgans of the Red Sects with fearful images and stripes as signs
of their allegiance to the Red Sect. We recall the same fearful images on Tantrik
tankas. What can one not see upon them? Magic swords, flayed human skins, fearful images
with projecting teeth, and inverted triangles. The entire synthesis of Black Magic.

Near Tingri-dzong Mount Everest looms up in all its glimmering beauty.

We meet people who knew Sven Hedin. They praise him and regret that he could not speak
Tibetan. They have heard here about Filchner. Some legends are already invented to the
effect that he left three boys on the Blue River, as well as a mouse, a weasel and
prairie dog. How does this originate? Of course, had we not known the language our
entire work would have been immensely difficult. It is fortunate that George’s knowledge
of the language is considered by the Tibetans second only to Sir Charles Bell. The
latter was called “the officer of peace,” because of the way he conducted his
negotiations.

Here is the old monastery Chung-tu, which belongs to the royal monastery Saskya.
Evidently much has transpired within its ancient walls. Here is an umbrella above a
large suburgan—the sign of former royal distinction. And here are crumbled Chinese
walls, memories of conquered Tibet. Here is a long file of ancient
Suburgans—remembrances of the time of a peaceful age. Here are amassed old and new
by-ways and structures.

Another ancient place: Shekar-dzong. When the Tibetans were bold eagles, they were not
afraid of soaring up to the steep rocks to mount their stronghold-sanctuaries upon the
sharp promontories. There is a wealth of decoration on towers, passages and temples. But
now Tibetans have descended to the valley. The chieftains are afraid to live in the
castles and huddle below. Only from afar are the old dzongs of Tibet attractive. The
prices for products are high to the point of absurdity. A sack of twenty-nine pounds of
poor grain, of which five pounds are stones, costs eleven *norsangs* which is
about nine rupees in the dzongs. A little piece of barley sugar is about four or five
rupees. A horse, for two days’ travel, eight rupees; and a pack-yak, four rupees.

Our marches are not of even length. Either they are very short, not exceeding four hours
on horseback. Or, suddenly, they last for nine hours almost at a trot. We hasten toward
Kampa-dzong, the last dzong before the border of Sikhim. But where is the castle? For a
long time we fail to recognize the bulky mass on the distant rock as a castle. Really
this structure is placed so high that it merges into the rock. Dzong pen, the chief of
the castle, is a trifle more friendly than the others.

Far higher than the dzong on the opposite rocks is a monastery, in which now only eight
lamas remain. But in this very monastery is the courtyard mentioned in the “Letters of
the Mahatmas.” There was the school mentioned by the Mahatmas, but now this school does
not exist. But the old people still remember that here was a “religious school.” And
they remember the “tall Azaras” from India.

The last crossing—Sepo-la. This pass is easier than the others. We pass the turquoise
lake, where the river Lachen has its source. The torrents begin as modest streams which,
after two days of travel, seethe and become impassable without a bridge. Here is the
first aroma of the healing Balu, and the first low cedars. Before us are whole forests
of rhododendrons in bloom.

Zoji La, Khardong La, Karaul Devan, Sasser Pass, Dabsang Pass, Karakorum Pass, Suget
Pass, Sanju Pass, Urtu Kashkariin Daban, Ulan Daban, Chahariin Daban, Khentu Pass, Naiji
La, Kukushili Pass, Dungbudra Pass, Tang La, Kamrong La, Tasang La, Lamsi Pass, Naptra
La, Tamaker Pass, Shentsa Pass, Laptse nagri Pass, Tsag La, Lam ling Pass, Pong chen La,
Dong La, Sang mo La, Kyegong La, Tsug chung La, Gya La, Urang La, Sharu La, Galung La,
Sepo La; these are the thirty-five passes, each from fourteen thousand to twenty-one
thousand feet high, which are crossed.

Of all our camels, two crossed the Himalayas. One is from Bulugun (northern Mongolia),
the other from Tsaidam. They will be the first to reach Gangtok, the capital of Sikhim.
We will present them to the Maharajah of Sikhim. Along the entire way from Nagchu to
Gangtok the camels attract crowds of curious onlookers because these “animals” have
never been seen here. From Lhasa to Calcutta, camels are not known. In Thangu, a house
already awaited us: a dak-bungalow and even forgotten magazines of 1927. For more than a
year we existed entirely without news of the outer world.

The fairy tale of the waterfalls! A whole symphony is in the patterned streams. For
several days we descend. Nearby we pass all species of the vegetable world. Finally,
palms appear and near the river pass two leopards, vividly yellow with thick warm black
spots. They appear, greet us cordially and go away. All already is seen: the
black-and-white bears of Chang-thang, antelopes and argali, the stone-like rams with
curved horns; finally the well-decked leopards.

A modest Finnish mission is in La-chen. Kind Miss Kronquist, self-exiled in solitude
among the rocks, relates tales about the avalanches which threaten all Sikhim. Is it
possible that on the southern side of the Himalayas continues the same deadening process
which has crumbled the peaks of Chang-thang? Inspired by the noise of the current of
Lachen which sprang up and became stronger under our very eyes, we recall Imatra and
Finland and the sympathetic Relander and Aksel Gallen-Kallela. Here are the same blue
distances as in Finland.

We make our final calculations regarding the caravan. The American equipment withstood
all trials. The Belber trunks crossed from America for four years through entire Asia,
through all fordings and passes without any damage. The tents from Abercrombie and Fitch
also withstood all gales.

The remaining part of the way to Gangtok was easy. The hospitable house of the British
Resident, Colonel Bailey, greets us. We tell about our trip. The letters to America are
sent off. We are given a trustworthy *sardar* to Darjeeling. We shall make the
entire way from Gangtok in one day. But we will have to change automobiles three times,
because on the Tista the bridge was recently washed away and it is necessary to change.
It means three automobiles and ten miles on horseback in one day—a steep ascent from
Tista through Peshok.

It is necessary to collect and compile all the expedition material. This may take a long
time. George, the Doctor, N. V., and P. K. are also preparing their notes. Our
fellow-travelers will quickly scatter—one to China, one to Italy, one to Australia.
Everywhere they will recall the inexpressible beauty of the Himalayas. Our way led from
the Himalayas, and back to them. Majestic is Karakorum and the icy kingdom of Sasser.
Beautiful is Kunlun. Fantastic is T’ian Shan—celestial mountains. Broad in sweep is
Altai. Decorative is Nan shang. Austere is Angar Dakchin. But all these are only the
preface to the unutterable grandeur of the Himalayas.

In the Himalayas the great Vedanta was crystallized. In the Himalayas Buddha became
exalted in spirit. The very air of the Himalayas is penetrated with spiritual
tension—the true Maitreya Sanga.

Our friend in Sikhim, the lama, tells us that during the winter he had heard that large
detachments of cavalry were standing before Nagchu; such information caused a great deal
of anxiety. This proved to be only one of the rumors current about ourselves. During
these years rumor made me a “French and American King,” “Commander of a Russian Corps,”
and “King of all Buddhists.” I succeeded in dying twice. I succeeded in being
simultaneously in Siberia, America and Tibet. According to the words of Mongols of
Tsaidam I carried on a war with the Amban of Sining. And according to the words of the
Taotai of Khotan I brought a small cannon which would, in ten minutes, destroy entire
Khotan and its one hundred thousand inhabitants. We became accustomed to all this and
now are no longer astonished by “authentic” rumors. The Mongols firmly remember the
“Ameri Khan”: Thus the American has been visualized as a kind of warrior. Fairy tales
about ourselves from Lhasa were related to us, in which we could only identify ourselves
with difficulty.

It is wondrous and strange to pass through the same places where the Mahatmas passed.
Here was the school founded by Them. Two days’ travel from Saga-dzong there was one of
the Ashrams—not far from the Brahmaputra. Here the Mahatma stopped, hastening on an
undeferrable mission. And here stood the modest blue tent. Now when Europe argues about
the existence of the Mahatmas, when the Hindus are significantly silent about Them, many
people in the expanses of Asia not only know the Mahatmas, not only have seen Them, but
know many actual evidences of Their deeds and appearances. Always awaited, the Mahatmas
unexpectedly created in the spaces of Asia a great special existence. When it was
necessary, They manifested themselves. And when necessary, They passed unnoticeably as
ordinary travelers. They do not write Their Names upon the stones, but the hearts of
those who know, guard These Names, stronger than the rocks. Why suspect a fairy tale,
imagination, invention, when in living forms the knowledge of the Mahatmas is impressed?

In haste, moved by idle curiosity, you will not understand even a simple chemical
experiment. Will those, who in futile conversation discuss the question of Mahatmas,
achieve anything? Will their empty curiosity be satisfied? How many people there are who
would love to receive a letter from the Mahatmas! But would it change their lives? It
would provide a moment of astonishment and confusion and then again everything would
return to the old routine, leaving no trace.

Often we are astonished why people who know the Mahatmas are so widely different in
their social positions. But why was Boehme a shoemaker? Are the dimensions of
consciousness measured only by outward distinctions? The works of the Mahatmas and their
instructions to the pupils, are related in a literature which is not nearly as limited
as it seems to those who do not know it.

The average scientist talks about Mahatmas as pure illusion. These are the scientists
who have never seen Mahatmas. But Sir William Crooks or Sir Oliver Lodge would not speak
so. Vivekananda, who was always upholding the rationalism of observation, knew Mahatmas.
Many Hindus know Them. But they safeguard Their Names to such an extent that they are
even ready to deny Their existence in order not to betray, not to reveal.

Not to betray! What a charm is in this understanding of the Guru in the steps of ascent.

But many are knocking at the doors of the great science. Often they do not acknowledge
it, even are angered if someone asks them about it. How many of the younger generation
want sincerely to start correspondence with a Guru! They try to find a real teacher.
Everybody knocks in his own way. And how many of them find disillusionment because they
knock at the wrong door, or they lacked sufficient energy and necessary determination to
receive a true answer.

“What laboratory could analyze those who approach the technical methods of knowledge?”
Yes, verily, it must be a laboratory where labor and perseverance and fearlessness are
the keys to the gates. In a sound rationalism, in a true and fearless materialism grow
the wings of spirit, the wings of consciousness. We are not to be isolated from life—not
destructive, but creative—such is the teaching of the Mahatmas. They speak about the
scientific foundations of existence. They direct one toward the conquest of energy. They
speak of those victories of labor which shall transform life into a constant festival.
Everything suggested by them is not ephemeral and illusory, but real, and pertains to
the most all-embracing study of possibilities, which are suggested to us by life,
without superstition, without prejudice. The true followers of the Mahatmas are not
sectarians or hypocrites. On the contrary they are most vital people; they conquer in
life. Not for long do they go into the mountains to purify themselves by the emanations
of prana. In the darkest places of Tibet they know something about the Mahatmas, they
have some recollections and legends. But for the moment their attention is directed to
the prophecies about the return of the Tashi Lama in his full glory.

Despite all, the straight road—Mongolia, Tsaidam, Tibet and the Himalayas—is crossed:
first on the trail of Ja lama; then in Tsaidam in a new direction, then through the
dzongs of Tibet to the mountain passes of the “abodes of snows.”

There is something of predestination in the dying of old Tibet. The wheel of the law is
turned. The mystery is gone. Tibet has none to guard; and none guards Tibet. The
exclusiveness of its position as guardian of Buddhism no longer belongs to Tibet.
Because Buddhism, according to the Commands of the Blessed One, becomes a universal
possession. There is no need of superstition for the deep teaching. Prejudices are
inimical to the search for truth.

The first image of the Blessed One was received by Tibet from Nepal and China—received
only in the seventh century, more than one thousand years after the Blessed One lived
and taught; received after the time when in India the brilliant literature of the
followers of Buddhism had been already collected. The first image was received only
after the beautiful Viharas, before which the Dukang of Tibet stand as poor younger
brothers, were rising in all parts of Asia. Now, when there begins to be concern about
the revival of true Buddhism, this wave passes by Tibet.

Let us consider the Black Magic of Tibet. Let us recall the revived corpses, the
celebrated Rolang-resurrection—which is nothing but a crude form of vampirism. Let us
recall the wandering spirits who kill and do all manner of evil; and they are often the
spirits of lamas. Let us recall all sorts of obsessions, how, under evil influences,
people are completely changed and temporarily fall into actual insanity. Let us recall
evil conjurations and invocations with which the lamas arm themselves to frighten the
ignorant people. Let us recall the suicidal magic daggers, dark fortune-telling, spells,
were-wolves, entities which have assumed the appearance of animals; and all kinds of
inventions of an evil will. First of all, such dark practices of lamas do not give very
good evidence of their uprightness. Second, the sorcerers of the Coast of Malabar
perform the entire black necromancy much more powerfully. They are known, feared, but no
one worships them and they are not regarded as sacred personages. Malabar “miracles”
antedate Tibetan magic.

Many authors who have written about Tibet have called it the miracle of miracles. But
this title could refer only to old Tibet or is due to the misconception of those
writers, who have been hypnotized by tradition. Truly, one could rightly call a school
founded by Mahatmas a miracle. But for many years such a school has not existed. Now
individual Tibetan lamas possess the power to produce low forms of materialization,
levitation, manifestations of will, clairvoyance and clairaudience. It is the greatest
test of the lamas if when they doubt about you, you demand of them, “Ask your oracle
what I am thinking at present and what intention I have.” Then at once they become
confused.

In the mountains some astonishing manifestations actually occur, but they have nothing
to do with the lamas. We recollect the incident of the remarkable fire in our tent,
which was repeated in Chang-thang. We recall the wave of heat amidst the cruel frosts.
We recall many manifestations of the higher energies. Truly it is remarkable just to
pass through those places where until recently there were Ashrams.

It would be absurd to condemn the entire population of Tibet. The lamas again may become
educated. Again an enlightened government may appear. And people again may become
regenerate. Much of that which appears to us as fallen “has not as yet risen.”

In the teaching of the Blessed One there are practical indications about the whole
routine of life. It is very easy to know and apply them. But now those who have
desecrated the high teaching, must understand that their criminal actions are condemned
and cannot continue.

Tibet bids us farewell with sad news. Our three Torguts, Ochir, Dorje and Manji, forty
miles from Gyantse, were attacked by Tibetans. Two Torguts were killed and the third
wounded. They were robbed of their money and possessions. Hearing this, a well-born
Tibetan says, “Formerly the bandits were in the north of Tibet, but they infest the
entire country now.” Thus speak the good Tibetans with hopeless gestures. And how many
decent Tibetans and learned lamas must suffer because of the present conditions.

There was another story that our Mongols reached Lhasa, but there they were seized and
thrown into the Tibetan jail. Anyhow, our poor Torguts experienced trouble.

Another rumor: Poor Tzering, our Mongol, has suffered greatly. On the way from Nagchu to
Lhasa he was robbed and now is begging in the Lhasa bazaar. Our Buriat lamas already
dream of leaving Tibet. Jangin, Lama, Lama Tashi and Konchok safely reached home in
Sharagolchi, because they returned back from Nagchu at once.

The Tibetans who have come to Sikhim say: “Now comes the year of the dragon. The past
year was the year of the tiger and after that will be the year of the sheep. Will it not
be easier then?”—“According to the prophecy, the Tashi Lama will not return to Tibet
before three years.”—Much is being rumored. We are overtaken by our lama from Kharching.
He thought of remaining in Lhasa ten years but stayed only three months. With him three
other learned lamas from Tashi lhunpo are traveling.

News from Sikhim. The monastery in Ghum is growing. Some new structures are being added.
The walls are covered with frescoes. The monasteries in Kalimpong and Kurseong are also
improving. Geshe Rinpoche is helping everywhere. He erects images of Maitreya. In Ghum
is the same abbot. Our artist, Geshe Lhariba, from Kham, is working as before. All is
friendly and good.

I have been asked, “How shall you speak of Tibet after your experiences?” Truly I shall
praise what is full of light and shall condemn what is obscured in darkness. I shall not
forget that the Tashi Lama has aroused general reverence for himself—he who is the
spiritual ruler of Tibet and of whom only good is heard. Everywhere the Tibetans
themselves say of their country, “The customs of Panchen Rinpoche (Tashi Lama) were far
different.” And they await with eagerness the fulfillment of the prophecy about his
return when he will be the sole head of the Tibet and the true Teaching will again
flourish. Truly, one has the feeling that if the Tashi Lama were now in Tibet again,
things would be different!

Thus we distinguish two Tibets: One is the Tibet of officialdom—of those officials of
whom the Tibetans themselves assert that their hearts are blacker than coal and harder
than stone. These are the ones who reflect so much prejudice and violence and falsehood,
who desecrate art and petrify learning with degeneracy.

But we also discern another Tibet, even though it is smaller in numbers. This is the
Tibet of the few educated lamas and of an even smaller number of enlightened laymen.
This is the Tibet which guards the essence of the Teaching and aspires towards
enlightenment. It is the Tibet of its spiritual leaders.

It is of course not enigmatic which Tibet is closer to our consciousness—the enlightened
ones we value, and may the obscured and corrupt ones disappear in their own darkness!

In letters from America, friends have expressed their regret that the actions of Tibet
have urged the necessity of such strong criticisms. But Truth is not blindness; on the
contrary it must be far-sighted. Moreover, a small and valuable minority may yet produce
greater results than the dying, decomposed majority.

The Himalayas and Sikhim enclose Tibet. Nowhere is there such glimmer, such spiritual
satiety as amidst these precious snows. Nowhere are there such qualifying expressions as
in the speech of Sikhim—to everything is added the word “heroism.” Man-heroes;
women-heroes; rock-heroes; trees-heroes; waterfall-heroes; eagle-heroes. Here to Sikhim
came great hermits because where could one, in two days’ travel, ascend from tropical
vegetation up to eternal snow. All grades of consciousness are here revealed. Friendly
is Sikhim. Friendly is the Maharajah of Sikhim. Friendly is the Resident. Friendly is
Laden La. And again we traverse the sacred valley of Tashi ding, as a trove of mystery
and treasures. This is considered a remarkable place by all Sikhim and Bhutan. And the
fine old abbot of Tashi ding is still alive but has aged and does not descend from his
sacred mountain. And again the proximity of great India.

Again the Hindu sings: “How may I speak of the creator himself, if I know the
incomparable, inexpressible beauty of Himalayas?”

It is told in the prophecies how the new era shall manifest itself: “First will begin an
unprecedented war of all nations. Afterward brother shall rise against brother. Oceans
of blood shall flow. And the people shall cease to understand one another. They shall
forget the meaning of the word, Teacher. But just then shall the Teachers appear and in
all corners of the world shall be heard the true teaching. To this word of truth shall
the people be drawn, but those who are filled with darkness and ignorance shall set
obstacles. As a diamond glows the light on the tower of the Lord of Shambhala. One stone
on his ring is worth more than all the world’s treasure. Even those who by accident help
the Teachings of Shambhala will receive in return a hundredfold. Already many warriors
of the teaching of truth are reincarnated. Only a few years shall elapse before every
one shall hear the mighty steps of the Lord of the New era. And one can already perceive
unusual manifestations and encounter unusual people. Already they open the gates of
knowledge and ripened fruits are falling from the trees.”

Lama Rinpoche knows that on the north side of Kinchenjunga, there lies a cave. Very
narrow is the entrance to it, but it broadens and brings one into a whole city. The high
priest knows many things, and asks not to speak of them until the appointed time. The
consciousness of Geshe is profound. He possesses some clairvoyance. As if emerging from
a trance he talks of the most unexpected actions and persons who are at a great
distance. When we were freezing at Chang-thang and E.I. was ill, he unexpectedly said to
those near him: “How difficult it is for her! How she is suffering!” So we were later
told. Using the old custom of the high lamas, Geshe does not lie down to sleep but rests
in a seated posture. Geshe knows about Shambhala and its complete significance. He takes
care to revive the teachings.

One more image of Shambhala, the Mandala of Shambhala will reveal to those who know some
hints of reality. On the top is Yi-dam as the sign of elemental power, and a figure of
that Tashi Lama who wrote the very secret book the Path of Shambhala. In the center of
the image the snow mountains form a circle. You can recognize three white borders. In
the center is a seeming valley with many edifices. One can distinguish two plans, as
though they were the plans of towers. On the tower is He Himself, Whose Light glows in
the predestined time. Below is the powerful legion leading victorious battle. The
victory of the spirit on the great field of life.

The new era of enlightenment is awaited. Each reaches in his own way. One nearer, one
further; one beautifully, one distortedly; but all are concerned with the same
predestined. It is especially striking to see such consciousness at a time when not the
printed page, but sound itself—the human word—directs the lofty expectation. It is so
precious to hear and to repeat. The Motherland of Gessar Khan, Ladak, knows that the
time of the regeneration has come. Khotan remembers the Signs of Maitreya over the
ancient Stupa. The Kalmucks in Karashar are awaiting the coming manifestation of the
Chalice of Buddha. On Altai the Oirots renounce Shamanism and are singing new chants to
the Awaited White Burkhan. The Messenger of the White Burkhan, Oirot, already rides
throughout the world. The Mongols await the appearance of the Ruler of the World and
prepare the Dukang of Shambhala. On Chang-thang they extol Gessar Khan and whisper about
the hallowed borders of Shambhala. On the Brahmaputra they know about the Ashrams of
Mahatmas and remember the wonderful Azaras. The Jews await the Messiah at the Bridge.
The Moslems await Muntazar. In Isfahan the White Horse is already saddled. The
Christians of Saint Thomas await the great Advent and wear hidden signs. The Hindus know
the Kalki Avatar. And the Chinese at New Year light the fires before the image of Gessar
Khan, ruler of the World. Rigden Japo, the Ruler, is fleeting over the desert, achieving
his predestined path. A blind one may ask, “Is it so? Is there no exaggeration in it?
Perhaps some fragments of survivals are taken as beliefs of the future.”

It means that he who questions has never been in the East. If you once were upon these
sites; if you traversed many thousands of miles; if you yourself have spoken to many
people, then you know the reality of what is related. You shall understand why, of these
sacred matters, one speaks only in the stillness of the evening, in quiet penetrating
tones. Why, if someone enters, do all become silent? But if you say to them that they
may continue the conversation in the presence of the guest your words will be met with a
reverent bow. And it is not you who receives the silent significant bow but the Great
Maitreya Himself.