Books: Himalayan Journals (Complete)

J >> J. D. Hooker >> Himalayan Journals (Complete)

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We proceeded east for three days, up the valley, through gloomy
forests of tropical trees below 5000 feet; and ascended to oaks and
magnolias at 6000 feet. The path was soon obstructed, and we had to
tear and cut our way, from 6000 to 10,000 feet, which took two days'
very hard work. Ticks swarmed in the small bamboo jungle, and my body
was covered with these loathsome insects, which got into my bed and
hair, and even attached themselves to my eyelids during the night,
when the constant annoyance and irritation completely banished sleep.
In the daytime they penetrated my trousers, piercing to my body in
many places, so that I repeatedly took off as many as twelve at one
time. It is indeed marvellous how so large an insect can painlessly
insert a stout barbed proboscis, which requires great force to
extract it, and causes severe smarting in the operation. What the
ticks feed upon in these humid forests is a perfect mystery to me,
for from 6000 to 9000 feet they literally swarmed, where there was
neither path nor animal life. They were, however, more tolerable than
a commoner species of parasite, which I found it impossible to escape
from, all classes of mountaineers being infested with it.

On the 14th, after an arduous ascent through the pathless jungle, we
camped at 9,300 feet on a narrow spur, in a dense forest, amongst
immense loose blocks of gneiss. The weather was foggy and rainy, and
the wind cold. I ate the last supply of animal food, a miserable
starved pullet, with rice and Chili vinegar; my tea, sugar, and all
other superfluities having been long before exhausted.

On the following morning, we crossed the Islumbo pass over Singalelah
into Sikkim, the elevation being 11,000 feet. Above our camp the
trees were few and stunted, and we quickly emerged from the forest on
a rocky and grassy ridge, covered with withered _Saxifrages,
Umbelliferae, Parnassia, Hypericum,_ etc. There were no pines on
either side of the pass; a very remarkable peculiarity of the damp
mountains of Sikkim, which I have elsewhere had occasion to notice:
we had left _Pinus longifolia_ (a far from common tree in these
valleys) at 3000 feet in the Tawa three days before, and ascended to
11,000 feet without passing a coniferous tree of any kind, except a
few yews, at 9000 feet, covered with red berries.

The top of the pass was broad, grassy, and bushy with dwarf Bamboo,
Rose, and Berberry, in great abundance, covered with mosses and
lichens: it had been raining hard all the morning, and the vegetation
was coated with ice: a dense fog obscured everything, and a violent
south-east wind blew over the pass in our teeth. I collected some
very curious and beautiful mosses, putting these frozen treasures
into my box, in the form of exquisitely beautiful glass ornaments,
or mosses frosted with silver.

A few stones marked the boundary between Nepal and Sikkim, where I
halted for half an hour, and hung up my instruments: the temperature
was 32 degrees.

We descended rapidly, proceeding eastward down the broad valley of
the Kulhait river, an affluent of the Great Rungeet; and as it had
begun to sleet and snow hard, we continued until we reached 6,400
feet before camping.

On the following day we proceeded down the valley, and reached
habitations at 4000 feet: passing many villages and much cultivation,
we crossed the river, and ascended by 7 p.m., to the village of
Lingcham, just below the convent of Changachelling, very tired and
hungry. Bad weather had set in, and it was pitch dark and raining
hard when we arrived; but the Kajee, or head man, had sent out a
party with torches to conduct us, and he gave us a most hospitable
reception, honoured us with a salute of musketry, and brought
abundance of milk, eggs, fowls, plantains, and Murwa beer. Plenty of
news was awaiting me here, and a messenger with letters was three
marches further north, at Yoksun, waiting my expected return over the
Kanglanamo pass. Dr. Campbell, I was told, had left Dorjiling; and
was _en route_ to meet the Rajah at Bhomsong on the Teesta river,
where no European had ever yet been; and as the Sikkim authorities
had for sixteen years steadily rejected every overture for a friendly
interview, and even refused to allow the agent of the
Governor-General to enter their dominions, it was evident that grave
doings were pending. I knew that Dr. Campbell had long used every
exertion to bring the Sikkim Rajah to a friendly conference, without
having to force his way into the country for the purpose, but in
vain. It will hardly be believed that though this chief's dominions
were redeemed by us from the Nepalese and given back to him; though
we had bound ourselves by a treaty to support him on his throne, and
to defend him against the Nepalese on the west, the Bhutan people on
the east, and the Tibetans on the north; and though the terms of the
treaty stipulated for free intercourse, mutual protection, and
friendship; the Sikkim authorities had hitherto been allowed to
obstruct all intercourse, and in every way to treat the
Governor-General's agent and the East India Company with contempt.
An affectation of timidity, mistrust, and ignorance was assumed for
the purpose of deception, and as a cloak for every insult and
resistance to the terms of our treaty, and it was quoted by the
Government in answer to every remonstrance on the part of their
resident agent at Dorjiling.

On the following morning the Kajee waited on me with a magnificent
present of a calf, a kid, fowls, eggs, rice, oranges, plantains,
egg-apples, Indian corn, yams, onions, tomatos, parsley, fennel,
turmeric, rancid butter, milk, and, lastly, a coolie-load of
fermenting millet-seeds, wherewith to make the favourite Murwa beer.
In the evening two lads arrived from Dorjiling, who had been sent a
week beforehand by my kind and thoughtful friend, Mr. Hodgson, with
provisions and money.

The valley of the Kulhait is one o£ the finest in Sikkim, and it is
accordingly the site of two of the oldest and richest conventual
establishments. Its length is sixteen miles, from the Islumbo pass to
the Great Rungeet, for ten of which it is inhabited, the villages
being invariably on long meridional spurs that project north and
south from either flank; they are about 2000 feet above the river,
and from 4,500 to 5000 feet above the sea. Except where these spurs
project, the flanks of the valley are very steep, the mountains
rising to 7000 or 8000 feet.

Looking from any spur, up or down the valley, five or six others
might be seen on each side of the river, at very nearly the same
average level, all presenting great uniformity of contour, namely, a
gentle slope towards the centre of the valley, and then an abrupt
descent to the river. They were about a quarter of a mile broad at
the widest, and often narrower, and a mile or so long; some parts of
their surfaces and sides were quite flat, and occasionally occupied
by marshes or ponds. Cultivation is almost confined to these spurs,
and is carried on both on their summits and steep flanks; between
every two is a very steep gulley and water-course. The timber has
long since been either wholly or partially cleared from the tops,
but, to a great extent, still clothes their flanks and the
intervening gorges. I have been particular in describing these spurs,
because it is impossible to survey them without ascribing their
comparative uniformity of level to the action of water. Similar ones
are characteristic features of the valleys of Sikkim between 2000 and
8000 feet, and are rendered conspicuous by being always sites for
villages and cultivation: the soil is a vegetable mould, over a deep
stratum of red clay.

I am far from supposing that any geologically recent action of the
sea has levelled these spurs; but as the great chain of the Himalaya
has risen from the ocean, and as every part of it has been subjected
to sea-action, it is quite conceivable that intervals of rest during
the periods of elevation or submergence would effect their levelling.
In a mountain mass so tumbled as is that of Sikkim, any level
surface, or approach to it, demands study; and when, as in the
Kulhait valley, we find several similar spurs with comparatively flat
tops, to occupy about the same level, it is necessary to look for
some levelling cause. The action of denudation is still progressing
with astonishing rapidity, under an annual fall of from 100 to 150
inches of rain; but its tendency is to obliterate all such phenomena,
and to give sharp, rugged outlines to these spurs, in spite of the
conservative effects of vegetation.

The weather at Lingcham was gloomy, cold, and damp, with much rain
and fog, and the mean temperature (45.25 degrees) was cold for the
elevation (4,860 feet): 52.5 degrees was the highest temperature
observed, and 39 degrees the lowest.

A letter from Dr. Campbell reached me three days after my arrival,
begging me to cross the country to the Teesta river, and meet him at
Bhomsong, on its west bank, where he was awaiting my arrival.
I therefore left on the 20th of December, accompanied by my friend
the Kajee, who was going to pay his respects to the Rajah. He was
constantly followed by a lad, carrying a bamboo of Murwa beer slung
round his neck, with which he kept himself always groggy. His dress
was thoroughly Lepcha, and highly picturesque, consisting of a very
broad-brimmed round-crowned bamboo-platted hat, scarlet jacket, and
blue-striped cloth shirt, bare feet, long knife, bow and quiver,
rings and earrings, and a long pigtail. He spoke no Hindoostanee, but
was very communicative through my interpreters.

Leaving the Lingcham spur, we passed steep cliffs of mica and schist,
covered with brushwood and long grass, about 1000 feet above which
the Changachelling convent is perched. Crossing a torrent, we came to
the next village, on the spur of Kurziuk, where I was met by a
deputation of women, sent by the Lamas of Changachelling, bearing
enormous loads of oranges, rice, milk, butter, ghee, and the
everflowing Murwa beer.

The villagers had erected a shady bower for me to rest under, of
leaves and branches, and had fitted up a little bamboo stage, on
which to squat cross-legged as they do, or to hang my legs from, if I
preferred: after conducting me to this, the parties advanced and
piled their cumbrous presents on the ground, bowed, and retired; they
were succeeded by the beer-carrier, who plunged a clean drinking-tube
to the bottom of the steaming bamboo jug (described in Chapter VII),
and held it to my mouth, then placing it by my side, he bowed and
withdrew. Nothing can be more fascinating than the simple manners of
these kind people, who really love hospitality for its own sake, and
make the stranger feel himself welcome. Just now too, the Durbar had
ordered every attention to be paid me; and I hardly passed a village
however small, without receiving a present, or a cottage, where beer
was not offered. This I found a most grateful beverage; and of the
occasional rests under leafy screens during a hot day's march, and
sips at the bamboo jug, I shall ever retain a grateful remembrance.
Happily the liquor is very weak, and except by swilling, as my friend
the Kajee did, it would be impossible to get fuddled by it.

At Kurziuk I was met by a most respectable Lepcha, who, as a sort of
compliment, sent his son to escort us to the next village and spur of
Pemiongchi, to reach which we crossed another gorge, of which the
situation and features were quite similar to those of Kurziuk
and Lingcham.

The Pemiongchi and Changachelling convents and temples stand a few
miles apart, on the ridge forming the north flank of the Kulhait
valley; and as they will be described hereafter, I now only allude to
the village, which is fully 1000 feet below the convent, and large
and populous.

At Pemiongchi a superior Lama met me with another overwhelming
present: he was a most jolly fat monk, shaven and girdled, and
dressed in a scarlet gown: my Lepchas kotowed to him, and he blessed
them by the laying on of hands.

Illustration--PEMIONGCHI GOOMPA AND CHAITS.

There is a marsh on this spur, full of the common English _Acorus
Calamus,_ or sweet-flag, whose roots being very aromatic, are used in
griping disorders of men and cattle. Hence we descended suddenly to
the Great Rungeet, which we reached at its junction with the Kulhait:
the path was very steep and slippery, owing to micaceous rocks, and
led along the side of an enormous Mendong,* [This remarkable
structure, called the Kaysing Mendong, is 200 yards long, 10 feet
high, and 6 or 8 feet broad: it is built of flat, slaty stones, and
both faces are covered with inscribed slates, of which there are
upwards of 700, and the inscriptions, chiefly "Om Mani," etc., are in
both the Uchen and Lencha Ranja characters of Tibet. A tall stone,
nine feet high, covered also with inscriptions, terminates it at the
lower end.] which ran down the hill for several hundred yards, and
had a large chait at each end, with several smaller ones at
intervals. Throughout its length were innumerable inscriptions of "Om
Mani Padmi om," with well carved figures of Boodh in his many
incarnations, besides Lamas, etc. At the lower end was a great flat
area, on which are burnt the bodies of Sikkim people of consequence:
the poorer people are buried, the richer burned, and their ashes
scattered or interred, but not in graves proper, of which there are
none. Nor are there any signs of Lepcha interment throughout Sikkim;
though chaits are erected to the memory of the departed, they have no
necessary connection with the remains, and generally none at all.
Corpses in Sikkim are never cut to pieces and thrown into lakes, or
exposed on hills for the kites and crows to devour, as is the case
in Tibet.

We passed some curious masses of crumpled chlorite slate, presenting
deep canals or furrows, along which a demon once drained all the
water from the Pemiongchi spur, to the great annoyance of the
villagers: the Lamas, however, on choosing this as a site for their
temples, easily confounded the machinations of the evil spirit, who,
in the eyes of the simple Lepchas, was answerable for all
the mischief.

I crossed the Great Rungeet at 1840 feet above the sea, where its bed
was twenty yards in width; a rude bridge, composed of two culms of
bamboo and a handrail, conducted me to the other side, where we
camped (on the east bank) in a thick tropical jungle. In the evening
I walked down the banks of the river, which flowed in a deep gorge,
cumbered with enormous boulders of granite, clay-slate, and
mica-slate; the rocks _in situ_ were all of the latter description,
highly inclined, and much dislocated. Some of the boulders were fully
ten feet in diameter, permeated and altered very much by granite
veins which had evidently been injected when molten, and had taken up
angular masses of the chlorite which remained, as it were, suspended
in the veins.

It is not so easy to account for the present position of these blocks
of granite, a rock not common at elevations below 10,000 feet.
They have been transported from a considerable distance in the
interior of the lofty valley to the north, and have descended not
less than 8000 feet, and travelled fully fifteen miles in a straight
line, or perhaps forty along the river bed. It may be supposed that
moraines have transported them to 8000 feet (the lowest limit of
apparent moraines), and the power of river water carried them
further; if so, the rivers must have been of much greater volume
formerly than they are now.

Our camp was on a gravel flat, like those of the Nepal valleys, about
sixty feet above the river; its temperature was 52 degrees, which
felt cool when bathing.

From the river we proceeded west, following a steep and clayey ascent
up the end of a very long spur, from the lofty mountain range called
Mungbreu, dividing the Great Rungeet from the Teesta. We ascended by
a narrow path, accomplishing 2,500 feet in an hour and a quarter,
walking slowly but steadily, without resting; this I always found a
heavy pull in a hot climate.

At about 4000 feet above the sea, the spur became more open and flat,
like those of the Kulhait valley, with alternate slopes and
comparative flats: from this elevation the view north, south, and
west, was very fine; below us flowed the river, and a few miles up it
was the conical wooded hill of Tassiding, rising abruptly from a fork
of the deep river gorge, crowned with its curious temples and
mendongs, and bristling with chaits: on it is the oldest monastery in
Sikkim, occupying a singularly picturesque and prominent position.
North of this spur, and similar to it, lay that of Raklang, with the
temple and monastery of the same name, at about this elevation.
In front, looking west, across the Great Rungeet, were the
monasteries of Changachelling and Pemiongchi, perched aloft; and
south of these were the flat-topped spurs of the Kulhait valley, with
their villages, and the great mendong which I had passed on the
previous day, running like a white line down the spur. To the north,
beyond Tassiding, were two other monasteries, Doobdee and Sunnook,
both apparently placed on the lower wooded flanks of Kinchinjunga;
whilst close by was Dholing, the seventh religious establishment now
in sight.

We halted at a good wooden house to refresh ourselves with Murwa
beer, where I saw a woman with cancer in the face, an uncommon
complaint in this country. I here bought a little black puppy, to be
my future companion in Sikkim: he was of a breed between the famous
Tibet mastiff and the common Sikkim hunting-dog, which is a variety
of the sorry race called Pariah in the plains. Being only a few weeks
old, he looked a mere bundle of black fur; and I carried him off, for
he could not walk.

We camped at the village of Lingdam (alt. 5,550 feet), occupying a
flat, and surrounded by extensive pools of water (for this country)
containing _Acorus, Potamogeton,_ and duckweed. Such ponds I have
often met with on these terraces, and they are very remarkable, not
being dammed in by any conspicuous barrier, but simply occupying
depressions in the surface, from which, as I have repeatedly
observed, the land dips rapidly to the valleys below.

This being the high-road from Tumloong or Sikkim Durbar (the capital,
and Rajah's residence) to the numerous monasteries which I had seen,
we passed many Lamas and monks on their way home from Tumloong, where
they had gone to be present at the marriage of the Tupgain Lama, the
eldest son of the Rajah. A dispensation having previously been
procured from Lhassa, this marriage had been effected by the Lamas,
in order to counteract the efforts of the Dewan, who sought to
exercise an undue influence over the Rajah and his family.
The Tupgain Lama having only spiritual authority, and being bound to
celibacy, the temporal authority devolved on the second son, who was
heir apparent of Sikkim; he, however, having died, an illegitimate
son of the Rajah was favoured by the Dewan as heir apparent.
The bride was brought from Tibet, and the marriage party were feasted
for eighteen days at the Rajah's expense. All the Lamas whom I met
were clad in red robes, with girdles, and were shaven, with bare feet
and heads, or mitred; they wore rosaries of onyx, turquoise, quartz,
lapis lazuli, coral, glass, amber, or wood, especially yellow
berberry and sandal-wood: some had staves, and one a trident like an
eel-fork, on a long staff, an emblem of the Hindoo Trinity, called
Trisool Mahadeo, which represents Brahma, Siva, and Vishnu, in
Hindoo; and Boodh, Dhurma, and Sunga, in Boodhist theology. All were
on foot, indeed ponies are seldom used in this country; the Lamas,
however, walked with becoming gravity and indifference to all
around them.

The Kajee waited upon me in the evening; full of importance, having
just received a letter from his Rajah, which he wished to communicate
to me in private; so I accompanied him to a house close by, where he
was a guest, when the secret came out, that his highness was
dreadfully alarmed at my coming with the two Ghorka Sepoys, whom I
accordingly dismissed.

The house was of the usual Bhoteea form, of wood, well built on
posts, one-storied, containing a single apartment hung round with
bows, quivers, shields, baskets of rice, and cornucopias of Indian
corn, the handsomest and most generous looking of all the Cerealia.
The whole party were deep in a carouse on Murwa beer, and I saw the
operation of making it. The millet-seed is moistened, and ferments
for two days: sufficient for a day's allowance is then put into a
vessel of wicker-work, lined with India-rubber to make it
water-tight; and boiling water is poured on it with a ladle of gourd,
from a huge iron cauldron that stands all day over the fire.
The fluid, when quite fresh, tastes like negus of Cape sherry, rather
sour. At this season the whole population are swilling, whether at
home or travelling, and heaps of the red-brown husks are seen by the
side of all the paths.

Illustration--SIKKIM LAMAS WITH PRAYING CYLINDER AND DORJE; THE
LATERAL FIGURES ARE MONKS OR GYLONGS.

CHAPTER XIII.

Raklang pass -- Uses of nettles -- Edible plants -- Lepcha war --
Do-mani stone -- Neongong -- Teesta valley -- Pony, saddle, etc. --
Meet Campbell -- Vegetation and scenery -- Presents -- Visit of Dewan
-- Characters of Rajah and Dewan -- Accounts of Tibet -- Lhassa --
Siling -- Tricks of Dewan -- Walk up Teesta -- Audience of Rajah --
Lamas -- Kajees -- Tchebu Lama, his character and position -- Effects
of interview -- Heir-apparent -- Dewan's house -- Guitar -- Weather
-- Fall of river -- Tibet officers -- Gigantic trees -- Neongong lake
-- Mainom, ascent of -- Vegetation -- Camp on snow -- Silver fire --
View from top -- Kinchin, etc. -- Geology -- Vapours -- Sunset effect
-- Elevation -- Temperature, etc. -- Lamas of Neongong -- Temples --
Religious festival -- Bamboo, flowering -- Recross pass of Raklang --
Numerous temples, villages, etc. -- Domestic animals -- Descent to
Great Rungeet.

On the following morning, after receiving the usual presents from the
Lamas of Dholing, and from a large posse of women belonging to the
village of Barphiung, close by, we ascended the Raklang pass, which
crosses the range dividing the waters of the Teesta from those of the
Great Rungeet. The Kajee still kept beside me, and proved a lively
companion: seeing me continually plucking and noting plants, he gave
me much local information about them. He told me the uses made of the
fibres of the various nettles; some being twisted for bowstrings,
others as a thread for sewing and weaving; while many are eaten raw
and in soups, especially the numerous little succulent species.
The great yellow-flowered _Begonia_ was abundant, and he cut its
juicy stalks to make sauce (as we do apple-sauce) for some pork which
he expected to get at Bhomsong; the taste is acid and very pleasant.
The large succulent fern, called _Botrychium,_* [_Botrychium
Virginicum,_ Linn. This fern is eaten abundantly by the New
Zealanders: its distribution is most remarkable, being found very
rarely indeed in Europe, and in Norway only. It abounds in many parts
of the Southern United States, the Andes of Mexico, etc., in the
Himalaya mountains, Australia, and New Zealand.] grew here
plentifully; it is boiled and eaten, both here and in New Zealand.
Ferns are more commonly used for food than is supposed. In Calcutta
the Hindoos boil young tops of a _Polypodium_ with their shrimp
curries; and both in Sikkim and Nepal the watery tubers of an
_Aspidium_ are abundantly eaten. So also the pulp of one tree-fern
affords food, but only in times of scarcity, as does that of another
species in New Zealand (_Cyathea medullaris_): the pith of all is
composed of a coarse sago, that is to say, of cellular tissue with
starch granules.

A thick forest of Dorjiling vegetation covers the summit, which is
only 6,800 feet above the sea: it is a saddle, connecting the lofty
mountain of Mainom (alt. 11,000 feet) to the north, with Tendong
(alt. 8,663 feet) to the south. Both these mountains are on a range
which is continuous with Kinchinjunga, projecting from it down into
the very heart of Sikkim. A considerable stand was made here by the
Lepchas during the Nepal war in 1787; they defended the pass with
their arrows for some hours, and then retired towards the Teesta,
making a second stand lower down, at a place pointed out to me, where
rocks on either side gave them the same advantages. The Nepalese,
however, advanced to the Teesta, and then retired with little loss.

Unfortunately a thick mist and heavy rain cut off all view of the
Teesta valley, and the mountains of Chola to the eastward; which I
much regretted.

Descending by a very steep, slippery path, we came to a fine mass of
slaty gneiss, thirty feet long and thirteen feet high; not _in situ,_
but lying on the mountain side: on its sloping face was carved in
enormous characters, "Om Mani Padmi om"; of which letters the
top-strokes afford an uncertain footing to the enthusiast who is
willing to purchase a good metempsychosis by walking along the slope,
with his heels or toes in their cavities. A small inscription in one
corner is said to imply that this was the work of a pious monk of
Raklang; and the stone is called "Do-mani," literally, "stone of
prayer."