The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (16 page)

The Shramana Ekai Kawaguchi photographed in 1909. From
Three Years in Tibet,
Madras, 1909.

It was only nine o’clock in the morning when I reached the Chema-yungdung-gi-chu, and I found ice quite thick still along its banks. I waited till the ice began to melt, and I finished the
noon-meal before making a plunge into the water, not forgetting of course the anointing process. My intention was to make my sheep carry their shares of the luggage across the river; but to this
proposal they strenuously objected, probably knowing instinctively the depth of the water. In the end I gave in, relieved the animals of their burden, and, leaving the luggage behind, I led them
into the water by their ropes. I tucked up my clothes high, but the water proved to be much deeper than I had judged; it came up to my shoulders, and all the clothing I had on became wet through.
The sheep proved good swimmers, and we managed to get to the other side without any accident; of course they might have been washed down and drowned, but for the assistance I gave them by means of
the ropes. Once on the bank, I tied one end of the ropes to a large boulder, and after taking off all my clothing to get dry I, stark naked, made a second plunge and returned for my luggage. The
second crossing was comparatively easy. After a rest of about half an hour, and a thorough anointing for the second time, I made all my baggage into one bundle to be balanced on my head. With that
acrobatic equipment, I entered the stream for a third time. All went well, until, in mid-stream, I lost my foothold, treading on a slippery stone in the bottom, and, what with the weight of the
luggage on my head, and more or less exhaustion after the repeated wadings, I fell down into the water, while the bundle slid off my head. I had no time even to bring my staff into service; all I
could do was to take firm hold of my luggage, and try to swim with one hand; for I was being fast carried down into deep waters. The thought then occurred to me that, if I tried to save my luggage,
I might lose my life. But a second thought made it plain to me that to lose my luggage would mean surer death, because my route lay for ten days, at least, over an uninhabited tract of wilderness,
and thus it was wiser to cling to it while life lasted. And cling to my luggage I did, but I was rapidly losing the power of moving my free swimming arm, and, in only one hundred yards down the
swift stream, I should be washed into one of the lakes, whence I might never be able to get to dry land. I should have said that the river, at the point where I was crossing it, was a hundred and
eighty yards wide, more or less. I had now had quite a course of ice and water – all involuntarily certainly – and a feeling of numbness was quickly coming over me. I began to think
that it might be just as well to be drowned then as to die of starvation afterwards. In fact, I had spoken my last desire: “O ye! All the Buddhas of the ten quarters, as well as the highest
Teacher of this world, Buddha Sh
kyamuni! I am not able to accomplish my desires and to return the kindness of my parents, friends, followers and
specially the favors of all the Buddhas, in this life; but I desire that I be born again, in order to requite the favors which I have already received from all.” At that moment, with a
thrill, I felt that the end of one of my staves had touched something hard. In an instant courage returned to me, and on trying to stand up I found that the water was only up to my breast. I was at
that time about forty yards from the bank I had started for. Feeble as I was, with recovered strength I finally managed to reach the “shore of salvation”. As for the luggage, heavy with
the soaking water, it was impossible for me to rebalance it on my head, and I pulled it along after me in the water; but when I at last got upon the bank, it taxed all my remaining energy to drag
it out after me. Arrived on the bank, I found that I had been carried more than two hundred and fifty yards down the stream from the point whence I started to cross it, and I saw my sheep leisurely
grazing, perfectly unconscious of their master’s sad plight. I had no strength, then, even to crawl up to where my sheep were. My fingers were stiff and immovable, and I rubbed the regions
over my heart and lungs with closed fists. After an hour’s exercise of this kind, I more or less recovered the circulation of blood in my limbs, and I was just able partially to undo my
baggage and to take out hotan – hotan, my life-saving hotan, which Mrs. Ichibei Watanabe of Osaka gave me, when bidding me farewell. A dose of hotan sent me into a fit of convulsions, which
lasted for nearly three hours. It was now past five o’clock, and the sun was going down. The convulsions had almost left me. I then made two bundles of my luggage, and in two crawling trips I
carried them to where I had left my sheep grazing. It was then that I thought of an ancient method of torture, called
Oiishi,
which consisted in making a suspect carry on his back an
extremely heavy load – so rackingly heavy I then felt to be the weight of my divided luggage. That evening I had neither courage nor energy to make any fire, and I passed the night wrapped up
in my half-wet
tuk-tuk.
The luggage having been done up in hides and skins, the water had not penetrated much into it, and I was thus able to go to sleep dressed, and protected in partially
dry apparel.

The sun shone out brightly the next morning, and I dried my clothing and the collection I then had of the sacred Scriptures. The latter I still have in my possession, and every
time I take them out, I cannot help wondering how my life was spared when those things got wet. By one o’clock in the afternoon I was ready to proceed, although I had not half recovered from
the effect of my experience of the day before, and my things were far from being dry. Consequently even my own share of the luggage proved heavier than before, while circumstances compelled me to
relieve my sheep of a part of theirs. To make things worse, I had managed to get a painful cut on one of my feet during my last effort to cross the Chema-yungdung-gi-chu, and altogether it was an
inauspicious start which I made on that afternoon. After all, however, a step forward meant a step nearer to my destination, and with that philosophical reasoning I dragged myself onward. In that
way I had proceeded for about five miles, when, to increase my difficulties, snow began to fall thick and fast. When I had arrived near a small pond and stopped to bivouac for the night, fire and
tea were entirely out of the question, for the elements were now engaged in a fearful strife – the dazzling lightning, the deafening thunder, the shrieking wind and the blinding blizzard were
at war all at once. That which I had managed to dry tolerably the day before became thoroughly wet again, and the whole of the following morning was spent in repeating the process of the preceding
morning. No fire was obtainable even then, and consequently no tea; so I allayed my hunger with some raisins before resuming my journey shortly after noon. And little I dreamt of the danger that
was in store for me that afternoon and the day following.

I was still heading for the north-west, and in order to adhere to that course I must now climb a snow-clad peak towering into the sky; I saw no way of avoiding the task, and encouraged by an
uncertain hope – still a hope – of emerging upon or near Kang Rinpoche, or in the neighborhood of Mount Kail
sa, I began the ascent of
that great hill, which I afterward ascertained to be a peak called Kon Gyu-i Kangri, that rises twenty-two thousand six hundred and fifty feet above sea-level. By five o’clock in the
afternoon I had made an ascent of about ten miles, and then it began to snow and to blow a gale. I thought it dangerous to continue my ascent under these conditions, and turning first north and
then east, I essayed to make a rapid descent. The sun had now gone down, and snow was falling faster than ever. But I had not yet found a shelter and so continued my descent, having made up my mind
to go on until I found a hospitable shelving cliff, or some such haven. It was, however, nothing but snow, snow, everywhere and all around and presently there were twelve inches on the ground. By
and by my sheep refused to proceed further, whether owing to hunger or not I could not tell, though it was plain that they had not fed the whole afternoon, because of the snow. At first I succeeded
in getting them to move on a little as the result of some physical reasoning, but presently even that process of pleading failed. But the prospect of being frozen to death prevented me from
yielding to their not unreasonable obstinacy; and putting all my strength into the ropes I dragged them onward. The poor animals reluctantly obeyed me and walked on for about a hundred yards, at
the end of which, however, they came to a dead stop and began to breathe heavily. Thereupon I felt no little alarm, thinking that the animals might die that night. But what could I do? I knew that
I was many a day’s journey at least from the nearest human habitation. A few more miles either way would not make much difference: so let fate decide. Once in that frame of mind, I took out
my night-coverings and wrapped myself up and, protecting my head with a water-proof coat, I sat myself down between my two sheep, with the determination to pass the night in religious
meditation.

My poor sheep! They crept close to me and lay there in the snow, emitting occasionally their gentle cry, which I thought had never sounded sadder. Nor had I ever felt so lonely as I did then.
Wrapped up in the clumsy manner that I have described, I still managed to smear over my body the clove-oil, which seemed to prevent to some extent the radiation of the heat of the body, and I began
to feel considerably warmer than I had been before. For all that, the cold increased in intensity after mid-night, and I began to feel that my power of sensation was gradually deserting me. I
seemed to be in a trance, and vaguely thought that that must be the feeling of a man on the point of death.

I was now wandering in a dream-land, if I may so describe the mental condition of a man half-way on the road of being frozen to death. Regret, resignation, and the hope of
re-birth took turns in my mind, and then all became a blank. During that blankness I no doubt looked exactly like a dead person. Suddenly I awoke, fancying that somebody, something, was stirring
about me or near me. I opened my eyes, and saw the two sheep shaking themselves; they were shaking snow off their bodies. That was strange, I dreamily thought. I saw the sheep finish shaking off
the snow, and I wanted to shake it off too. But I could not. I was rigid all over. Mechanically I next endeavored to recover the use of my limbs. Presently I became more myself mentally, and I saw
the skies still presenting a dismal and threatening appearance, the immense patches of black, black cloud still fleeing or pursuing, and the sun struggling to force his life-giving rays between the
intervals of the hurrying vapors. On taking out my watch I found that it was then half past ten of what morning I could not tell. Had I slept only one night, or two in the snow? The question was
more than I could just then solve. Nor did I feel that there was any necessity for its instant solution. My immediate desire was for nourishment, and I took some baked flour, helping it down with
snow. I gave some also to my sheep, which, by that time, had learnt to feed themselves on flour when green grass was lacking.