THE GATES OF THIBET. A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF BRITISH BHOOTAN & INDEPENDENT SIKKHIM. CHAPTER I. HIMALAYAN SCENERY. The Start-Wealth and population of the Himalayas-Darjeeling our Starting point-Macaulay's Lay of Lachen-Jore Bungalow-Himalayan scenery-Tea in the Darjeeling District-The road to Pashok-Rungaroon Valley, forest and farm-The Ticca-Costumes of the peasantry-A Poojah day in Pashok Village. LES GRANDS SOMMETS. Ils ne rapportent rien et ne sont pas utiles Indescribably magnificent, indeed, are the Sikkhim Himalayas, the land of snows, of lovely forests, of warm and fertile valleys, roaring torrents and peaceful lakes ; but they have more than the barren beauty attributed to lofty summits by the French poet. There are mines of health for dwellers in the plains enfeebled by hard work and summer heat; Eh, and mines of wealth too, unopened as yet or undeveloped in the rich and fertile soil of the valleys and hill sides, hidden in the flanks of picturesque mountains; mines of pleasure, in their glorious scenery, mines of knowledge and learning, in the quaint religions and ancient folk-lore of its sparse but very mixed and interesting population of Thibetans or Bhootyas as the Buddhist descendants of Thibetans are called, a race of herculean strength and muscle; of Hindu Nepalese settlers, enduring and industrious cultivators, who take up and till the flower of the land; of picturesque, good looking but superstitious and lazy Lepchas, the original inhabitants of the Province,—all merry, peace-loving, honest and hospitable races, making up, with the sprinkling of Marwaree and Mahomedan traders, Christian missionaries of different nationalities, English, French, Scotch, Scandinavians, sitting as it were at the gates of the promised land of Thibet, with a few officials and European merchants and with the English soldiers at Gnatong and the native garrison at Guntok, as varied a collection of men as the most fastidious of comparative ethnologists could desire; treasures of delight also in the study of its gorgeous flora, of its fauna and of its gloriously glittering insect world. It was to have a glimpse at all these, to inhale the health-restoring, bracing mountain breezes that two weary workers from Calcutta selected Sikkhim as the object of a too short Poojah trip, for a first salaam, as to one of them, a last farewell, as to the other, to the snowy summits of Kinchanjunga, Everest and if possible Chumulharhi itself from the portals of the Jeylap. We wanted to touch at least, if we could not yet explore, that wondrous land of mystery which no white man can enter at presentthe land of the Lamas. The results have so surpassed our dreams of enjoyment, that it would be selfish were we not to tell what we have seen, and raise a desire in others to enjoy what we have enjoyed, to study further the halfhidden treasures which we could only glance or guess at, and to help in the development and progress, in the opening up, I should say, of one of the most favoured provinces in Her Majesty's dominions. up Of the wonderful little steam tramway which takes the traveller from the plains there have been many descriptions. Every one has heard of the social delights of the Capua of Bengal, of the glorious views of the snows to be had occasionally from the pleasure capital of the Himalayas, of Senchul, and the distant sight of Everest which one may get, if the Clerk of the weather permits. I shall say nothing therefore of Darjeeling, our starting point, or of a very pleasant preliminary pic-nic to Senchul and Tiger Hill, but plunge at once in medias res and take the reader with me: To breathe the air of Sikkhim free, These lines came so naturally and appropriately to the tip of my pen from Colman Macaulay's Lay of Lachen, that I could not help quoting them as a tribute to the memory of one who knew and loved Sikkhim and knew its people well, and who, had he lived and had his way, would, long ere this, have opened the Sikkhim gates of Thibet for friendly, political and commercial intercourse and enterprize to India and to the World. It was a lovely day when we started from Darjeeling, on good hill ponies, with our little caravan of servants and coolies for luggage and provisions. The snows had been visible in the early morning after several days of almost incessant rain, and all the mechanism of light and shade, of rolling mist, skipping clouds and sunshine was at play, which makes Darjeeling look so beautiful from the Jellapahar road, while a gorgeous rainbow, omen of the perfect weather we were to enjoy in our 18 days ramble, enriched the sky and formed an irridescent archway of varied hues, fitting portal to the fairy land that lay beyond. A few short gallops soon brought us to Jore Bungalow and the picturesque valley of the Rungaroon, dotted with many coloured patches of cultivation, potatoe fields, market farms, and the tea gardens and planters' bungalows, which of late years have so altered and improved the scenery in the Darjeeling District-all inlaid in the darker foliage of the forest. Some years ago, as one crept up to Darjeeling before the tramway was constructed and even for a few years after, one would notice, as a striking point of difference between the Alps and the Himalayas, the monotonous grandeur of the latter. The eye missed the coquettish villages and their church steeples, the farm yards, the flocks and their shepherds, the winding paths, the thousand and one features in short which make of Switzerland and the Tyrol an ever varying series of pretty pictures. The difference in the latitude, the greater elevation of the snow line, account for much of this, but the paucity of inhabitants and the want of cultivation, for a good deal more. Now the smiling tea-gardens, with their grass-bordered reservoirs, their quaintly perched up coolie lines and factory buildings, with attendant bazaars, have done much to cure this once wild and dull uniformity. In the Darjeeling hill district alone there are now 85 gardens and the area under tea cultivation exceeds 30,000 acres, yielding tea at an average rate of 240 lbs. per acre. The district has grown not only rich but picturesque in the extreme. The distance between Darjeeling and Pashok, our first halting place, is about 16 miles, and from Jore Bungalow the road almost continuously descends, with many windings, from an elevation of 7,000 feet above sea level to a little more than 3,000, but, the gradients are well managed, and, so easy is the descent, that it is possible to ride the whole way without taxing the ponies' knees over much. The road now plunged into the cool shades of the Rungaroon forest with its lofty mossclad trees, its wealth of orchids and pretty undergrowth of ferns. We passed the flocks of the Rungaroon sheep and cattle farm, and, at a sharp turning of the road where the forest was thickest, we caught a glimpse of a red pheasant, but it was a glimpse and nothing more. As we found out afterwards, game in the Himalayan forests carefully avoid the beaten paths of man, however solitary they may look, and it is impossible to get any sport unless one gets at the more secluded spots with time enough at one's disposal to seek and wait for game. The road was a broad, well-kept one, an ideal road in fact for a good canter, and our syces were soon left a long way behind. Then came the puzzle at one or two cross-roads to know which one to take. A little waiting, however, for a stray way-farer, in spots lovely enough to render all impatience impossible and to rest our ponies, solved the difficulty; the right path was shown to us and we went our way merrily. We met afterwards at Pashok the Forest Officer who had himself noticed the want of one or two sign posts to indicate the way and they will be all there for the benefit of those who follow us. Coming out again into the open we found ourselves among tea bushes and passed files of gaily clad Nepalese evidently on pleasure bent, for this was one of the great days of the Poojah and their objective was the recreation ground of the factory, where swings, merry-go-rounds and other amusements had been set up by the Manager. It keeps the people near their work, he told us afterwards, and creates a good understanding with the villages around. A good many of the women wore the Ticca, not a mere dab of red or yellow paint put on above the nose by a brahmin as in Bengal, but an emblem of filial allegiance and family affection. It consists of a number of grains of rice glued all over the forehead by the heads of families or clans, and long journeys are made at this time of the year by the Nepalese settlers in Darjeeling, Bhootan and Sikkhim, to their ancestral homes in Nepal, to receive, from the hands of the chiefs of their tribe or family, the Ticca and their blessing. The rice is allowed to remain until it drops off of its own accord, and, as ablutions and soap are not popular institutions, a considerable time often elapses before the visible signs of this interesting family function can disappear altogether. Mountaineers, as a rule, have an eye for the picturesque in their own costumes, and we were struck, on reaching the scene of the festivities, at the display of more than ordinary affluence rich woollen striped materials, in all sorts of gaudy hues for skirts, gaily coloured velvets for jackets and bodices, silken kerchiefs and long necklets of gold and silver coins, seemed to be the order of the day among the women, every thing bright, shining and new, speaking volumes for the remunerative character of coolie labour on the hill gardens. The day was a genial and bright one, the back-ground of hills and lofty mountains displayed every shade of the brightest green, and the festive scene and gay costumes brought back to the mind some of those pretty representations of Italian villages on the drop scenes of our theatres. I say on the drop scenes of our theatres, because, in sunny Italy, the poor peasants do not, as a matter of fact, enjoy so much of the good things of life as the mountaineers of Pashok. There were no beggars, no signs of poverty or want or overwork, discernible, such as are to be met with everywhere in these hard |