An interview—Peace or war?—Gifts and the scarf of friendship—The Kata—The end of a friendly visit.
AFTER hesitating a little, four officers signalled to us that they wished
to approach.
"You are a great king!" shouted one at the top of his voice, "and we want
to lay these presents at your feet," and he pointed to some small bags
which the other three men were carrying. "Gelbo! Chakzal! Chakzal!" ("We salute you, king!")
I felt anything but regal after the wretched night we had spent, but I
wished to treat the natives with due deference and politeness whenever it
was possible.
I said that four men might approach, but the bulk of the party was to
withdraw to a spot about two hundred yards away. This they immediately
did, a matter of some surprise to me after the warlike attitude they had
assumed at first. They laid their matchlocks down in the humblest
fashion, and duly replaced their swords in their sheaths. The four
officers approached, and when quite close to us, threw the bags on the
ground and opened them to show us their contents. There was tsamba, flour, chura (a kind of cheese), guram (sweet paste), butter, and dried fruit. The officers were most profuse in their humble salutations. They had removed their caps and thrown them on the ground, and they kept their tongues sticking out of their mouths until I begged them to draw them in. They professed to be the subordinates of the Tokchim Tarjum, who had despatched them to inquire after my health, and who wished me to look upon him as my best friend. Well aware of the difficulties we must encounter in travelling through such an inhospitable country, the Tarjum, they said, wished me to accept the gifts they now laid before me, and with these they handed me a Kata, or "the scarf of love and friendship," a long piece of thin silklike gauze, the end of which had been cut into a fringe. In Tibet these Katas accompany every gift, and no caller ever goes about without one, which instantly on arrival he produces for presentation to his host. The high Lamas sell them to devotees, and one or more of these scarves is presented to those who leave a satisfactory oblation after visiting a lamasery and temple. If a verbal message is sent to a friend, a Kata is sent with it, and among officials and Lamas small pieces of this silk gauze are enclosed even in letters. Not to give or send a Kata to an honoured visitor is considered a breach of good manners and is equivalent to a slight.
I hastened to express my thanks for the Tarjum's kindness, and I handed
the messengers a sum in silver of three times the value of the articles
presented. The men seemed very pleasant and friendly, and we chatted for
some time. Much to my annoyance, poor Mansing, bewildered at the sight of
so much food, could no longer resist the pangs of hunger and, caring
little for the breach of etiquette and likely consequences, proceeded to
fill his mouth with handfuls of flour, cheese and butter. This led the
Tibetans to suspect that we must be starving, and with their usual
shrewdness they determined to take advantage of it.
"The Tarjum," said the oldest of the messengers, "wishes you to come back
and be his guest, when he will feed you and your men, and you will then
go back to your country."
"Thank you," I replied; "we do not want the Tarjum's food, nor do we wish
to go back. I am greatly obliged for his kindness, but we will continue
our journey."
"Then," angrily said a young and powerful Tibetan, "if you continue your
journey we will take back our gifts."
"And your Kata!" I rejoined, sending first the large ball of butter
flying into his chest, and after it the small bags of flour, tsamba, cheese, fruit, &c., a minute earlier prettily laid out before us.
This unexpected bombardment quite upset the Tibetans, who, with powdered
coats, hair and faces, scampered away as best they could, while Chanden
Sing, always as quick as lightning when it was a case of hitting, pounded
away with the butt of his rifle at the roundest part of one ambassador's
body, as in his clumsy clothes he attempted to get up and run.
Mansing, the philosopher of our party, interrupted in his feed but not
put out, nor concerned in what was going on, picked up the fruit and
cheese and pieces of butter scattered all over the place, mumbling that
it was a shame to throw away good food in such a reckless fashion.