CHAPTER IV
INTERVIEW WITH THE TASHI LAMA
H a r d ly had we entered the compound when representatives
of the Tashi Lama, the fort, and the town
appeared, bringing in maunds and maunds of grain,
suttoo and flour, and bales of ghi, butter and sugar,
and of course the “ salaamy sheep.” These were placed
in rows in front of the tents, and even in the tents
themselves. The crush of animals, baggage, servants,
soldiers, officials, loafers, and beggars was simply appalling,
but after a few words had been exchanged and
the officials dismissed, the very officious but for once
useful policemen cleared the compound and drove the
intruders out of the one and only door. We all dined
that night in a handsome room in the upper storey of
the house, and afterwards watched the fine illuminations
of the Tashi Lhumpo. The mass of buildings was lit
up from end to end by countless little lamps, this day
being the anniversary of the death of the first Tashi
Lama. Our arrival coinciding with this event was
looked upon by the superstitious Tibetans as a good
omen.
Early the following morning we strolled into the
bazaar to see if we could purchase in the open market
any of the many things required. This was only
accomplished with the greatest difficulty, for the place
was densely packed, and as the people crowded round,
it was only with great efforts that even the noisy
policemen could force a passage. A few purchases
were, however, made, and we then wended our way to
the shops situated in the town itself. The bazaar,
which has from time immemorial been held at this
spot, consists of rows of booths, situated in the shade
of the walls of the Chinese enclosure and to the
south of the fort. Every imaginable article is here
offered for sale, including a fair amount of Indian and
European goods, such as coloured cloths and cheap
cutlery. Our visit to the shops was not attended with
much success, for the houses were found closed and
the proprietors away. The people standing near told
us that the owners were absent, and that they had
nothing to sell; the fact of the case was, the people
were afraid to sell. However, the news from the
bazaar came trickling through that we had paid for
everything we had bought, and paid liberally. At
length, a Nepal trader, bolder than the rest, opened his
shop; two rolls of cloth were quickly purchased—at a
high price—and without much bargaining, and this had
the epect of bringing back the other merchants at once.
Now that the shops were open, the display of goods
was decidedly disappointing, and it was not until the
third day, and on the eve of departure, that anything
of value or importance was brought for sale, and then
it was too late, for our hands were so full of work
that no time could be spent in bargaining. If we had
had leisure, many most interesting things might have
been bought, such as red lacquer, great turquoises, gold
and silver ornaments, cloissonne and old china, all of
which were, as a rule, produced with great stealth and
secrecy from the inner folds of the loose cloaks the
Tibetans invariably wear.
Twenty tailors appeared on the afternoon of the
first day, and, seated in a ring, started on making