Seven Years in Tibet. Heinrich Harrer

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СКАЧАТЬ Another time when we stumbled upon some fishermen whom we could not avoid we asked in our broken Hindustani for some trout. Our disguise seemed to be convincing enough as the men sold us the fish without showing mistrust of us—indeed they cooked them for us—while conversing and smoking those small Indian cigarettes which Europeans find so distasteful. Marchese (who before our getaway had been a great smoker) could not resist the temptation of asking for one—but he had barely taken a couple of puffs when he fell unconscious, as if he had been poleaxed! Luckily he soon recovered and we were able to continue our journey.

      Later on we met some peasants carrying butter to the town. We were meanwhile becoming more confident and asked them to sell us some. One of them agreed to do so, but as he ladled the almost melting butter, with his dark, dirty hands, from his pot into ours, we both of us nearly vomited with disgust.

      At last the valley broadened out and our way lay through rice and cornfields. It became more and more difficult to find a good hide-out for the daytime. Once we were discovered during the morning and as the peasants kept asking us all manner of indiscreet questions, we packed up our traps and hurried onwards. We had not yet found a new hiding-place when we met eight men who shouted to us to stop. Our luck seemed at last to have deserted us. They asked us innumerable questions and I kept on giving the same answers, namely that we were pilgrims from a distant province. To our great astonishment we seemed somehow to have stood the test, for after a while they let us go on our way. We could hardly believe that we had done with them, and long after we had moved on we thought we heard pursuing footsteps.

      That day everything seemed to be bewitched and we had constant upsets. Finally we had to come to the discouraging conclusion that we had indeed crossed a watershed, but were still in the valley of the Jumna—which implied that we were at least two days behind our timetable.

      So we had to start climbing again, and soon found ourselves in thick forests of rhododendrons which seemed so completely deserted that we could hope for a quiet day and a chance of a long sleep. But some cow-herds came in sight and we had to move camp and bid farewell to the prospect of a good day’s rest.

      During the following nights we marched through comparatively unpopulated country. We learned soon enough, to our sorrow, the reason for the absence of human beings. There was practically no water. We suffered so much from thirst that on one occasion I made a bad mistake which might have had disastrous consequences. Coming across a small pool I threw myself down and without taking any precautions began to drink the water in mighty gulps. The results were awful. It turned out that this was one of those pools in which water-buffaloes are accustomed to wallow in the hot weather, and which contain more mire than water. I had a violent attack of coughing followed by vomiting, and it was long before I recovered from my horrid refreshment.

      Soon after this incident we were so overcome by thirst that we simply could not go on and had to lie down, although it was long before dawn. When morning came I climbed down the steep slope alone in search of water, which I found. The next three days and nights were a little better—our path lay through dry fir woods which were so lonely that we seldom met Indians in them, and ran very little risk of discovery.

      On the twelfth day of our flight a great moment came. We found ourselves on the banks of the Ganges. The most pious Hindu could not have been more deeply moved by the sight of the sacred stream than we were. We could now follow the pilgrims’ road up the Ganges to its source—and that would greatly lessen the fatigues of our journey, or so we imagined. We decided that, having got so far and so safely by our system of night travel, we would not risk a change, so we continued to lie up by day and move only by night.

      In the meantime we were desperately short of provender. Our food was practically exhausted, but although poor Marchese was nothing but skin and bones, he did not give in. I, fortunately, was still feeling comparatively fresh and had a good reserve of strength.

      All our hopes were centred on the tea and provision stores which were to be found everywhere along the Pilgrims’ Way. Some of them remained open late into the night, and one could recognise them by their dull glimmering oil-lamps. After attending to my make-up, I walked into the first of these stores which we came to and was driven out with cries of abuse. They clearly took me for a thief. Unpleasant as the experience was, it had one advantage; it was evident that my disguise was convincing.

      Arriving at the next store, I walked in holding my money as ostentatiously as possible in my hand. That made a good impression. Then I told the storekeeper that I had to buy provisions for ten people, in order to lend plausibility to an offer to purchase forty pounds of meal, sugar and onions.

      The shop-people took more interest in examining my paper-money than in my person, and so after a while I was able to leave the shop with a heavy load of provisions. The next day was a happy one. At last we had enough to eat and the Pilgrims’ Road seemed to us, after our long treks across country, a mere promenade.

      But our contentment was short-lived. At our next halt we were disturbed by men in search of wood. They found Marchese lying half-naked because of the great heat. He had grown so thin that one could count his ribs, and he looked very sick indeed. We were of course objects of suspicion, as we were not in the usual pilgrims’ roadhouses. The Indians invited us to go to their farmhouse, but that we didn’t want to do, and used Marchese’s ill-health as an excuse for not going with them. They went away then, but soon were back and it was now clear that they took us for fugitives. They tried to blackmail us by saying that there was an Englishman in the neighbourhood with eight soldiers looking for a couple of escaped prisoners, and that he had promised them a reward for any information they could give him. But they promised to say nothing if we gave them money. I stood firm and insisted that I was a doctor from Kashmir, in proof of which I showed them my medicine chest.

      Whether as a result of Marchese’s completely genuine groans or of my play-acting, the Indians vanished again. We spent the next night in continual fear of their return and expected them to come back with an official. However, we were not molested.

      With things as they were the days did little to restore our strength, and indeed they laid a greater strain on us than the nights. Not, of course, muscular but nervous strain, as we were in a state of continuous tension. By midday our water-bottles were generally empty and the remainder of the day seemed never-ending. Every evening Marchese marched heroically forward, and in spite of exhaustion caused by loss of weight he could carry on till midnight. After that he had to have two hours’ sleep to enable him to march a stage further. Towards morning we bivouacked, and from our shelter could look down on the great Pilgrims’ Road with its almost unbroken stream of pilgrims. Strangely garbed as they often were, we envied them. Lucky devils! They had no cause to hide from anyone. We had heard in the camp that something like 60,000 pilgrims came this way during the summer months and we readily believed it.

      Our next march was a long one but towards midnight we reached Uttar Kashi, the temple town. We soon lost our bearings in the narrow streets, so Marchese sat down with the packs in a dark corner and I set off alone to try and find the way. Through the open doors of the temples one could see lamps burning before the staring idols, and I had often to leap into the shadow to avoid being noticed by monks passing from one holy place to another. It took me more than an hour before I at last found the Pilgrims’ Road again, stretching away on the other side of the town. I knew from the numerous travel books I had read that we should now have to cross the so-called “Inner Line.” This line runs parallel to the true frontier at a distance of something between 60 and 120 miles. Everyone traversing this region, with the exception of normal residents, is supposed to have a pass. As we had none we had to take particular care to avoid police posts and patrols.

      The valley up which our way led us became less and less inhabited as we progressed. In the daytime we had no trouble in finding suitable shelters, and I could often leave my hiding-place and go in search of water. Once I even made a small fire and cooked some porridge—the first hot meal we had eaten for a fortnight.

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