Читать книгу Three Years in Tibet - Ekai Kawaguchi - Страница 29

Table of Contents

I had now walked about six miles to the north-west after the singular proceedings which I described in the last chapter, and I emerged upon a well-trodden road, which on consulting my store of information I was able to identify as the path that, deviating from the Tibetan national high-way, led to lake Mānasarovara. The discovery was as unexpected as it was pleasing, for I was now within a pilgrim-frequented zone. A few more steps, indeed, brought me in sight of a dark tent, standing on the banks of a large river, named Gaṅgā by the Tibetans, where my appeal for a night’s lodging was cheerfully granted. I found the occupants of the tent to consist of three men and two women, the men being brothers, one of the women the wife of the eldest brother, and the other a daughter of another of the brothers. My first inclination on being received into the tent was to feel easy in mind, for I had been told that parties comprising women, even in Tibetan wilds, seldom commit murder. But when I was informed that these people were from Dam Gya-sho, I thought I was rather hasty in feeling so secure, for that country, like the neighboring one of Kham, is noted for its production of professional robbers and murderers. I had heard before that they had even such a saying in that country as: “No murder, no food; no pilgrimage, no absolution. On! onward on your pilgrimage, killing men and visiting temples, killing men and visiting temples!” Even women of that country, I had been told, think no more of committing homicide than of killing a sheep. These reflexions did not bring much cheer to my heart; but what could I do, since I was now in their hands? I could only bide my time. Fortunately, they did not butcher me that night.

Early on August 3rd, that is to say, on the morning of the following day, I proceeded in a north-westerly direction along the great stream, with my newly-made companions, for such had the occupants of the tent become, as they were heading for the same temporary destination as myself. This river, I ascertained, had its rise in one of the snowy peaks that I saw to the south-east, and emptied its waters into Lake Mānasarovara. I judged it to be about two hundred and fifty yards wide and fairly deep. Following the stream for about three and three-quarters miles and then making an ascent, we came to a clear, bubbling spring, which went by the name of Chumik Gaṅgā or the source of the Gaṅgā, and we drank deep of the sacred water. Then we continued our climb, now facing north, and arrived at another spring, which was welling up in a most picturesque way from under an immense slab of white marble. The natives call it Chumik thong-ga Rangchung, or the fountain of joy, and it really made one’s heart glad to look at the crystal-like water gushing up in all its purity. Both these springs are regarded by the Hinḍūs, as by the Tibetans, as forming the sources of the sacred Gaṅgā, and are both looked up to with religious reverence.

After leaving the springs, we proceeded north-west again, and came once more to the river Gaṅgā, which we forded at the point where it was at its broadest in that vicinity, and passed the night on its banks. We had travelled only about nine miles that day. From the place of our bivouac I saw to the north-west a great snow-clad mountain: it was the Kang Rinpoche of Tibet, the Mount Kailāsa of the Hinḍū. Its ancient name was Kang Tise. As far as my knowledge goes, it is the most ideal of the snow-peaks of all the Himālayas. It inspired me with the profoundest feelings of pure reverence, and I looked up to it as a ‘natural maṇdala,’ the mansion of a Buḍḍha and Boḍhisaṭṭvas. Filled with soul-stirring thoughts and fancies I addressed myself to this sacred pillar of nature, confessed my sins, and performed to it the obeisance of one hundred and eight bows. I also took out the manuscript of my ‘twenty-six desires,’ and pledged their accomplishment to the Buḍḍha. I then considered myself the luckiest of men, to have thus been enabled to worship such a holy emblem of Buḍḍha’s power, and to vow such vows in its sacred presence, and I mused:

Whate’er my sufferings here and dangers dire,

Whate’er befalls me on my onward march,

All, all, I feel, is for the common good

For others treading on Salvation’s path.

The sight of my performance of these devotional practices must have been a matter of wonder and mystery to my companions. They had been watching me like gaping and astonished children, and were all intensely curious to know why I had bowed so many times, and read out such strange Chinese sentences. I was glad to explain to them the general meaning of my conduct and they seemed to be deeply struck with its significance. They said that they had never known that the Chinese Lamas were men of such Boḍhisaṭṭvic mind! The upshot was that they asked me to preach to them that night, a request to which I was very glad to accede. The preaching which followed, which I purposely made as simple and as appealing to the heart as possible, seemed to affect them profoundly, and to make the best possible impression on them; so much so that they even shed tears of joy. The preaching over, they said in all sincerity that they were glad of my companionship, and even offered to regard me as their guest during the two months which they intended to spend in pilgrimage to and round the Kang Rinpoche. They thought that their pilgrimage over such holy ground, while serving such a holy man as I now was to them, would absolve them completely from their sins. Imagine the state of my mind then! These were of the people who took other men’s lives with the same equanimity with which they cut their vegetables; yet, touched now by the light of Buḍḍhism, their minds had softened. I blessed the power of Buḍḍhism more than ever, and could not hold back my tears as my companions shed theirs.