An Explorer's Adventures in Tibet Part 18

Toward the end of our journey we had to go round the curve of a sand-hill, the track between this and a large pond at its foot being very narrow. At this point I saw in front of me a soldier posted in ambush, with his matchlock ready to fire. The pony sank deep in the sand, and could not travel fast, which, I suppose, was the reason why that spot had been selected. The man fired as I pa.s.sed only a few paces from him; but, as luck would have it, this second attempt also left me untouched.

Getting clear of the soft sand, and finding harder ground, we resumed our headlong career. Several arrows were shot at me from behind. Some pa.s.sed very near, but not one struck me. Thus, after an interminable ride full of incident and excitement, near sunset we arrived at our destination.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE RIDE ON A SPIKED SADDLE]

On the crown of a hill stood a fortress and large Lamasery. At its foot, in front of a large structure, the Pombo's gaudy tent had been pitched.

The name of this place, as far as I could afterward ascertain, was Namj Lacce Galshio or Gyatsho.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 12: A form of torture which consists in placing the legs upon two parallel logs of wood. They are then fractured by a heavy blow struck with a mallet.]

CHAPTER XXI

THE EXECUTIONER

Two or three men tore me roughly off the saddle. The pain in my spine caused by the spikes was intense. I asked for a moment's rest. My captors refused to let me stop, and, roughly thrusting me forward, said I would be beheaded in an instant. All the people round jeered and made signs to me that my head would be cut off. Insults of all kinds were showered upon me by the crowd of Lamas and soldiers. I was hustled to the execution-ground, which lay to the left front of the tent. On the ground was a long log of wood in the shape of a prism. Upon the sharp edge of this I was made to stand. Several men held me by the body while four or five others, using their combined strength, stretched my legs wide apart. Fixed in this painful position, the Tibetans securely tied my feet to the log of wood with cords of yak-hair. Several men were made to pull these cords, and they were so tight that they cut into my skin and flesh in several places round my ankles and on my feet. Many of the cuts were as much as three inches long.[13]

When I was thus firmly bound, the man Nerba, whom I have mentioned before as having fired a shot at me, came forward, and then, going behind me, seized me by the hair of my head. My hair was long, as it had not been cut for more than five months.

The sight before me was impressive. By the Pombo's tent stood in a row the most villanous brutes I have ever set eyes upon. One, a powerful, repulsive individual, held in his hand a great k.n.o.bbed mallet used for fracturing bones; another carried a bow and arrows; a third held a big two-handed sword; others made a display of various ghastly instruments of torture. The crowd, thirsting for my blood, formed up in a semicircle, leaving room for me to see the parade of the torture implements that awaited me. As my eyes roamed from one figure to the other, the several Lamas shook their various implements to show that they were preparing for action.

A group of three Lamas stood at the entrance of the tent. They were the musicians. One held a gigantic horn, which, when blown, emitted hoa.r.s.e, thundering sounds. His companions had one a drum, the other cymbals.

Another fellow some distance away continually sounded a huge gong. From the moment I was made to dismount the deafening sounds of the diabolical music echoed all through the valley, and added horror to the scene.

An iron bar with a handle of wood bound in red cloth was being made red-hot in a brazier. The Pombo, who had placed something in his mouth in order to produce artificial foaming at the lips, and thus show his fury, worked himself into a frenzy. A Lama handed him the implement of torture (the _taram_), now red-hot. The Pombo seized it by the handle.

"_Ngaghi kiu meh taxon!_" (We will burn out your eyes!) cried a chorus of Lamas.

The Pombo strode up to me, brandishing the ghastly implement. He seemed reluctant, but the Lamas around him urged him on, lifting the man's arm toward me.

"You have come to this country to see" (alluding to what I had stated the previous day--_viz._, that I was a traveller and pilgrim, and had only come to see the country). "This, then, is the punishment for you!"

and with these dreadful words the Pombo raised his arm and placed the red-hot iron bar parallel to, and about an inch or two from, my eyeb.a.l.l.s, and all but touching my nose.

Instinctively I kept my eyes closed, but the heat was so intense that it seemed as if my eyes, the left one especially, were being desiccated and my nose scorched.

Though the time seemed interminable, I do not think that the heated bar was before my eyes actually longer than thirty seconds or so. Yet it was quite long enough, for, when I lifted my aching eyelids, I saw everything as in a red mist. My left eye was frightfully painful, and every few seconds it seemed as if something in front of it obscured its vision. With the right eye I could still see fairly well, except that everything, as I have said, looked red instead of its usual color. The hot iron was then thrown down, and was frizzling on the wet ground a few paces from me.

My position was not enviable, as I stood with my legs wide apart, with my back, hands, and legs bleeding, and my sight injured. This amid the deafening, maddening noise of the gong, drum, cymbals, and horn; insulted, spat upon by the crowd, and with Nerba holding me so tight by my hair that he tore handfuls of it from my scalp. All I could do was to remain calm and composed, and to await with apparent unconcern the preparations for the next sufferings to be inflicted upon me.

"_Miumta nani sehko!_" (Kill him with a rifle!) shouted a hoa.r.s.e voice.

A matchlock was now being loaded by a soldier, and such was the quant.i.ty of gunpowder they placed in the barrel that it made sure whoever fired it would have his head blown off. It was with a certain amount of satisfaction that I saw it handed over to the Pombo. That official placed the side of the weapon against my forehead with the muzzle pointing skyward. Then a soldier, leaning down, applied fire to the fusee. Eventually there was a loud report, which gave my head a severe shock. The overloaded matchlock flew clean out of the Pombo's hand, much to everybody's surprise. I forced myself to laugh. The tantalizing failure of every attempt they made to hurt me drove the crowd to the highest pitch of fury.

"_Ta kossaton, ta kossaton!_" (Kill him, kill him!) exclaimed fierce voices all around me. "_Ngala mangbo shidak majidan!_" (We cannot frighten him!) "_Ta kossaton, ta kossaton!_" (Kill him, kill him!) The whole valley resounded with these ferocious cries.

A huge two-handed sword was now handed to the Pombo, who drew it out of its sheath.

"Kill him, kill him!" shouted the mob once more, urging on the executioner, who seemed quite reluctant to come forward.

I seized this moment to say that they might kill me if they wished, but that, if I died to-day, they would all die to-morrow--an undeniable fact, for we are all bound to die some day. This seemed to cool them for a moment; but the excitement in the crowd was too great, and at last they succeeded in working the Pombo into a pa.s.sion. His face became quite unrecognizable, such was his excitement. He behaved like a madman.

At this point a Lama approached and slipped something into the mouth of the executioner, who foamed at the lips. A Lama held his sword, while he turned up one sleeve of his coat to have his arm free, and the Lamas turned up the other for him. Then he strode toward me with slow, ponderous steps, swinging the shiny, sharp blade from side to side, with his bare arms outstretched.

The man Nerba, who was still holding me by the hair, was told to make me bend my neck. I resisted with what little strength I had left, determined to keep my head erect and my forehead high. They might kill me, true enough, they might hack me to pieces if they chose, but never until I had lost my last atom of strength would these ruffians make me stoop before them. I might perish, but it would be looking down upon the Pombo and his countrymen.

The executioner, now close to me, held the sword with his nervous hands, lifting it high above his shoulder. He then brought it down to my neck, which he touched with the blade, to measure the distance as it were, for a clean, effective stroke. Then, drawing back a step, he quickly raised the sword again and struck a blow at me with all his might. The sword pa.s.sed unpleasantly close to my neck under my chin, but did not touch me. I did not flinch nor speak. My indifference impressed him almost to the point of frightening him. He seemed disinclined to continue his diabolical performance; but the impatience and turbulence of the crowd were at their highest. The Lamas nearer him gesticulated like madmen and urged him on again.

Apparently against his will, the executioner went through the same performance on the other side of my head. This time the blade pa.s.sed so near that the point cannot have been more than half an inch or so from my neck.

Everything pointed toward my end being near; but, strange to say, I had a feeling all the time that something would happen and my life would be spared. As the chances of escape, however, seemed very meagre, I felt sorry that I should have to die without seeing my dear parents and relatives again. They would probably never know where and how I had died. After my trying experiences, sufferings, and excitement since entering Tibet, I did not, perhaps, realize my peril so much as I should have done had I, for instance, been dragged from my comfortable London quarters direct on to the execution-ground.

Naturally the scene was one that I am not likely to forget, and I must say for the Tibetans that the whole affair was picturesquely carried out. Even the ghastliest ceremonies may have their artistic side, and this particular one, performed with extra pomp and flourish, was really impressive.

It appears that the unpleasant sword exercise is sometimes gone through in Tibet previous to actually cutting off the head, so as to make the victim suffer mentally as much as possible before the final blow is given. It is also done in order to display the wonderful skill of the executioner in handling the big sword. I was not aware of this at the time, and only learned it some weeks after. It is usually at the third stroke that the victim is actually beheaded.

The Lamas were still clamoring for my head, but the Pombo made a firm stand this time, and declined to go on with the execution. They collected round him and seemed very angry. They shouted and yelled and gesticulated in the wildest fashion, and still the Pombo kept his eyes fixed upon me in a half-respectful, half-frightened manner, and refused to move.

An excited consultation followed, during which, in the midst of this scene of barbarity, my coolie Mansing arrived. He had fallen off his bare-back pony many times, and had been left far behind. The man who held my hair now relinquished his grasp, while another pushed me violently from in front, causing me to fall heavily backward, and putting a painful strain on all the tendons of my legs. Mansing, bruised and aching all over, was brought forward and tied by his legs to the same log of wood to which I was fastened. They informed me that they would kill my coolie first. One brutal Lama seized him roughly by the throat. I was pushed up in a sitting posture. A cloth was thrown over my head and face, so that I could not see what they were doing. I heard poor Mansing groan pitifully, then there was a dead silence. I called him, but received no answer, so I concluded that he had been killed. I was left in this terrible suspense for over a quarter of an hour, when at last they removed the cloth from over my head, and I saw my coolie lying before me, bound to the log and almost unconscious, but, thank G.o.d, still alive. He told me that, when I had called him, a Lama had placed his hand upon his mouth to prevent him from answering, while, with the other hand, the Lama had squeezed his neck so tightly as to nearly strangle him. Mansing's coolness and bravery during these terrible trials were really marvellous.

We were told that our execution was only postponed till the next day, in order that we might be tortured until the time came for us to be put to death.

A number of Lamas and soldiers stood round jeering at us. I seized this opportunity to hail a swaggering Lama and ask him for some refreshment.

"_Orcheh, orcheh nga dappa tugu duh, chuen deh, dang, yak, guram, tcha, tsamba pin!_" (I am very hungry; please give me some rice, yak meat, _ghur_, tea, and oatmeal!) I asked, in my best Tibetan.

"_Hum murr, Maharaja!_" (I want b.u.t.ter, your Majesty!) put in Mansing, half in Hindustani and half in the Tibetan language.

This natural application for food seemed to afford intense amus.e.m.e.nt to our torturers. They formed a ring round us, and laughed at our appeal, while Mansing and I, both of us famished, were left bound in a most painful position.

The day had now waned. Our torturers did not fail to constantly remind us that the following day our heads would be severed from our bodies. I told them that it would cause us no pain, for if they gave us no food we should probably be dead from starvation by then.

Whether they realized that this might be the case, or whether some other reason moved them, I cannot say. Several Lamas, who had been most brutal, including one who had the previous day taken part in Chanden Sing's flogging, now became quite polite and treated us with a surprising amount of deference. Two Lamas were dispatched to the monastery, and returned after some time with bags of _tsamba_ and a large _raksang_ of boiling tea. I have hardly ever enjoyed a meal more, though the Lamas stuffed the food down my throat with their unwashed fingers so fast that they nearly choked me.

"Eat, eat as much as you can," said they, grimly, "for it may be your last meal."

And eat I did, and washed the _tsamba_ down with quant.i.ties of b.u.t.tered tea, which they poured into my mouth carelessly out of the _raksang_.

Mansing, whose religion did not allow him to eat food touched by people of a different caste, was eventually permitted to lick the meal out of the wooden bowl. I myself was none too proud to take the food in any way it might be offered, and when my humble "_Orcheh, orcheh tchuen mangbo terokchi!_" (Please give me some more!) met with the disapproval of the Lamas, and brought out the everlasting negative, "_Middu, middu_" I was still too hungry to waste any of the precious food given us. Upon application the Tibetans revolved the wooden bowl round and round my mouth, and I licked it as clean as if it had never been used.

After all the excitement of the day, we were beginning to feel a little better. It was a great relief to be treated less roughly, were it only for a few moments, when, small as it was, the improvement in our condition was checked.

A Lama came from the monastery and gave orders right and left. The place was again in commotion. We were pounced upon and roughly seized. My legs were quickly untied, a number of men holding me down the while. Again they lifted me until I stood upright on the cutting edge of the prismatic log; two men seized one leg and two the other, and stretched them apart as far as they could possibly go. Then rope after rope was wound round my feet and ankles, and I was made fast as before to the log.