Seven Years in Tibet Read online

  So we had to start climbing again, and soon found ourselves in thick forests of rhododendrons that seemed so completely deserted that we could hope for a quiet day and a chance of a long sleep. But some cowherds came in sight, and we had to move camp and bid farewell to the prospect of a good day’s rest.

  During the following nights, we marched through comparatively unpopulated country. We learned soon enough, to our sorrow, the reason for the absence of human beings. There was practically no water. We suffered so much from thirst that on one occasion I made a bad mistake, which might have had disastrous consequences. Coming across a small pool, I threw myself down and without taking any precautions began to drink the water in mighty gulps. The results were awful. It turned out that this was one of those pools in which water buffaloes are accustomed to wallow in the hot weather, and which contain more mire than water. I had a violent attack of coughing followed by vomiting, and it was long before I recovered from my horrid refreshment.

  Soon after this incident, we were so overcome by thirst that we simply could not go on and had to lie down, although it was long before dawn. When morning came, I climbed down the steep slope alone in search of water, which I found. The next three days and nights were a little better; our path lay through dry fir woods that were so lonely that we seldom met Indians in them, and ran very little risk of discovery.

  On the twelfth day of our flight, a great moment came. We found ourselves on the banks of the Ganges. The most pious Hindu could not have been more deeply moved by the sight of the sacred stream than we were. We could now follow the Pilgrims’ Road up the Ganges to its source—and that would greatly lessen the fatigues of our journey, or so we imagined. We decided that, having got so far and so safely by our system of night travel, we would not risk a change, so we continued to lie up by day and move only by night.

  In the meantime we were desperately short of provisions. Our food was practically exhausted, but although poor Marchese was nothing but skin and bones, he did not give in. I, fortunately, was still feeling comparatively fresh and had a good reserve of strength.

  All our hopes were centered on the tea and provision stores that were to be found everywhere along the Pilgrims’ Road. Some of them remained open late into the night, and one could recognize them by their dull glimmering oil lamps. After attending to my makeup, I walked into the first of these stores that we came to and was driven out with cries of abuse. They clearly took me for a thief. Unpleasant as the experience was, it had one advantage; it was evident that my disguise was convincing.

  Arriving at the next store, I walked in holding my money as ostentatiously as possible in my hand. That made a good impression. Then I told the storekeeper that I had to buy provisions for ten people, in order to lend plausibility to an offer to purchase forty pounds of meal, sugar, and onions.

  The shop people took more interest in examining my paper money than in my person, and so after a while I was able to leave the shop with a heavy load of provisions. The next day was a happy one. At last we had enough to eat, and the Pilgrims’ Road seemed to us, after our long treks across country, a mere promenade.

  But our contentment was short-lived. At our next halt we were disturbed by men in search of wood. They found Marchese lying half-naked because of the great heat. He had grown so thin that one could count his ribs, and he looked very sick indeed. We were, of course, objects of suspicion, as we were not in the usual pilgrims’ roadhouses. The Indians invited us to their farmhouse, but that we didn’t want to do, and used Marchese’s ill health as an excuse for not going with them. They went away then, but soon were back, and it was now clear that they took us for fugitives. They tried to blackmail us by saying that there was an Englishman in the neighborhood with eight soldiers looking for a couple of escaped prisoners, and that he had promised them a reward for any information they could give him. But they promised to say nothing if we gave them money. I stood firm and insisted that I was a doctor from Kashmir, in proof of which I showed them my medicine chest.

  Whether as a result of Marchese’s completely genuine groans or of my playacting, the Indians vanished again. We spent the next night in continual fear of their return and expected them to come back with an official. However, we were not molested.

  With things as they were, the days did little to restore our strength, and indeed they laid a greater strain on us than the nights. Not, of course, muscular but nervous strain, as we were in a state of continuous tension. By midday our water bottles were generally empty, and the remainder of the day seemed never-ending. Every evening Marchese marched heroically forward, and in spite of exhaustion caused by loss of weight he could carry on till midnight. After that he had to have two hours’ sleep to enable him to march a stage farther. Toward morning we bivouacked, and from our shelter could look down on the great Pilgrims’ Road with its almost unbroken stream of pilgrims. Strangely garbed as they often were, we envied them. Lucky devils! They had no cause to hide from anyone. We had heard in the camp that something like sixty thousand pilgrims came this way during the summer months, and we readily believed it.

  OUR NEXT MARCH was a long one, but toward midnight we reached Uttar Kashi, the temple town. We soon lost our bearings in the narrow streets, so Marchese sat down with the packs in a dark corner, and I set off alone to try and find the way. Through the open doors of the temples, one could see lamps burning before the staring idols, and I had often to leap into the shadow to avoid being noticed by monks passing from one holy place to another. It took me more than an hour before I at last found the Pilgrims’ Road again, stretching away on the other side of the town. I knew from the numerous travel books I had read that we should now have to cross the so-called “Inner Frontier.” This line runs parallel to the true frontier at a distance of something between 60 and 120 miles. Everyone traversing this region, with the exception of normal residents, is supposed to have a pass. As we had none, we had to take particular care to avoid police posts and patrols.

  The valley up which our way led us became less and less inhabited as we progressed. In the daytime we had no trouble in finding suitable shelters, and I could often leave my hiding place and go in search of water. Once I even made a small fire and cooked some porridge—the first hot meal we had eaten for a fortnight.

  We had already reached a height of nearly 7,000 feet and during the night we often passed camps of Bhutia, the Tibetan traders who in summer carry on their business in southern Tibet and in winter come across into India. Many of them live during the hot weather in little villages situated above the 10,000-foot level, where they grow barley. These camps had a very disagreeable feature in the shape of the powerful and savage Tibetan dogs—a shaggy-coated, middle-sized breed—which we now encountered for the first time.

  One night we arrived at one of these Bhutia villages, which are inhabited only in summer. It looked very homelike with its shingle- and stone-covered roofs. But behind it an unpleasant surprise was awaiting us in the shape of a swiftly running stream that had overflowed its banks and turned the adjacent ground into a swamp. It was absolutely impossible to cross it. At last we gave up trying to find a way over, and determined to wait till day and observe the ground from a shelter, for we could not believe that the Pilgrims’ Road broke off short at this point. To our utmost astonishment, we observed next morning that the procession of pilgrims continued on their way and crossed the water at precisely the spot at which we had spent hours of the night vainly trying to get over. Unfortunately we could not see how they managed it, as trees interrupted our sight of the actual place. But something else equally inexplicable occurred. We observed that later on in the morning the stream of pilgrims stopped. Next evening we tried again to cross at the same place and again found that it was impossible. At last it dawned on me that we had in front of us a brook, fed by melted snow and ice, which carried its highest head of water from noon till late into the night. Early in the morning the water level would be lowest.

  It turned out to be as I had g
uessed. When in the first gray of dawn we stood beside the stream, we saw a primitive bridge of half-submerged tree trunks. Balancing ourselves carefully we got across to the other side. Unfortunately there were other streams which we had to cross in the same laborious manner. I had just crossed the last of these when Marchese slipped and fell into the water—luckily on top of the trunks, or he would otherwise have been carried away by the torrent. Wet to the skin and completely exhausted, he could not be induced to go on. I urged him to move at least into cover, but he just spread out his wet things to dry and started to light a fire. Then for the first time I began to regret that I had not listened to his repeated requests to leave him behind and carry on alone. I had always insisted that since we had escaped together we should stay together.

  As we were arguing, an Indian stood before us, who after a glance at the various objects of obviously European origin spread out on the ground began to ask us questions. Only then did Marchese realize what danger we were in. He quickly put his things together, but we had hardly gone a couple of steps when we were stopped by another Indian, a distinguished-looking fellow, leading a section of ten strapping soldiers. In perfect English he asked for our passes. We pretended not to understand and said we were pilgrims from Kashmir. He thought this over for a moment and then found a solution which spelled finis to our hopes of escape. There were, he said, two Kashmiris in the neighboring house. If we could make them understand us, we could go on our way. What devilish ill luck had brought two Kashmiris into the neighborhood at just that moment? I had used this alibi only because it was the most unlikely thing to find Kashmiris in this region.

  The two men of whom he spoke were flood-damage experts who had been called in from Kashmir. As soon as we stood before them we realized that the moment of our unmasking had come. As we had agreed to do in such a case, I began to speak to Marchese in French. Immediately the Indian broke in, speaking also in French, and told us to open our packs. When he saw my English-Tibetan grammar, he said we might just as well say who we were. We then admitted that we were escaped prisoners but did not give away our nationality.

  Soon after, we were sitting in a comfortable room drinking tea, but all the same I felt bitterly disappointed. This was the eighteenth day of our flight, and all our privations and efforts had gone for nothing. The man who had questioned us was the chief of the Forestry Department in the state of Tehri-Garhwal. He had studied forestry in English, French, and German schools and knew all three languages well. It was on account of the flood, the worst catastrophe of the kind in the last hundred years, that he had come on an inspection to this region. He smilingly regretted his presence, adding that as ours had been reported to him, he was obliged to do his duty.

  Today when I think of the chain of circumstances that led to our capture, I cannot help feeling that we were victims of something worse than ordinary ill luck, and that we could not have averted our fate. All the same, I did not for a minute doubt that I would escape again. Marchese, however, was in a condition of such complete exhaustion that he had given up all idea of another attempt. In a very comradely manner, he made over to me the greater part of his money, knowing how short I was. I made good use of an enforced leisure to eat hearty meals, as we had eaten hardly anything for the last few days. The forest officer’s cook kept us continuously supplied with food, half of which I tucked away in my knapsack. Early in the evening, we said we were tired and wanted to sleep. Our bedroom door was locked on the outside, and the forest officer had his bed put on the veranda in front of our window to prevent any attempt at escape that way. However, he was away for a short while, and Marchese and I took the opportunity to start a mock quarrel. Marchese took both parts, so to speak, shouting abuse in a high and then a low key, while I swung myself through the window, rucksack and all, onto the forest officer’s bed, and ran to the end of the veranda. Darkness had fallen, and after waiting a few seconds till the sentries had vanished around the corner of the house, I dropped down twelve feet to the ground below. The soil into which I fell was not hard, and I made little noise; in a moment I was up and over the garden wall and had vanished into the pitch-black forest.

  I was free!

  Everything was quiet. In spite of my excitement, I could not help laughing at the thought that Marchese was still abusing me according to plan, while the forest officer was keeping watch on us from his bed in front of our window.

  However, I had to go on and ran, in my haste, into a flock of sheep. Before I could get back, a sheepdog fastened on to the seat of my trousers and did not let go till he had bitten a piece out. In my terror I dashed away but found that the road I had chosen was too steep for me, and so I had to go back and creep around the sheep till I found another way. Soon after midnight I had to admit that I had again gone wrong. So once more I had to go back a few miles in breathless haste. My aimless wanderings had lost me four hours, and the day was already dawning. Turning a corner I caught sight of a bear about twenty yards away. Luckily he shuffled off without seeming to take any notice of me.

  When it was fully light, I hid myself again, although the country showed no trace of human habitation. I knew that before reaching the Tibetan frontier I should come to a village at the other side of which lay freedom. I marched through the whole of the next night and gradually began to wonder why I had not reached the fateful village. According to my notes, it lay on the far bank of the river and was connected with the near side by a bridge. I wondered if I had not already passed it but consoled myself with the reflection that one could hardly miss a village. So I marched on carefree, even after daylight had come.

  That was my undoing. As I came around a heap of boulders, I found myself right under the houses of a village, in front of which stood a swarm of gesticulating people. The place was wrongly indicated on my map, and as I had twice lost my way during the night, my pursuers had had time to come up with me. I was at once surrounded and summoned to surrender, after which I was led into a house and offered refreshment.

  Here I met for the first time with the real Tibetan nomads, who wander into India with their flocks of sheep and loads of salt and return laden with barley. I was offered Tibetan butter tea with tsampa, the staple food of these people on which later I lived for years. My first contact with it affected my stomach most disagreeably.

  I spent a couple of nights in this village, which was called Nelang, playing vaguely with the idea of another attempt to escape, but I was physically too tired and mentally too despondent to translate my thoughts into action.

  The return journey, in comparison with my previous exertions, seemed a pleasure trip. I did not have to carry a pack and was very well looked after. On the way I met Marchese, who was staying as a guest with the forest officer in his private bungalow. I was invited to join them. And what was my astonishment when a few days later, two other escaped members of our company in the POW camp were brought in—Peter Aufschnaiter, my comrade on the Nanga Parbat Expedition, and a certain Father Calenberg.

  Meanwhile I had begun to occupy my mind with plans for escaping once more. I made friends with an Indian guard who cooked for us and seemed to inspire confidence. I handed him my maps, my compass, and my money, as I knew that we should be searched before being readmitted to the camp, and that it would be impossible to smuggle these things in with us. So I told the Indian that I would come again in the following spring and collect my possessions from him. He was to ask for leave in May and wait for me. This he solemnly promised to do. So now we had to go back to the camp, and it was only my resolve to get free once more that enabled me to endure the bitterness of my disappointment.

  Marchese was still sick and could not walk, so they gave him a horse to ride. We had another agreeable interruption, being entertained on our way by the Maharajah of Tehri-Garhwal, who treated us most hospitably. Then we returned to our barbed-wire entanglements.

  The episode of my flight had left a visible mark on my person, which appeared when on the way back I bathed in a warm spring. There I
found my hair coming out in handfuls. It appears that the dye I had used for my Indian disguise was deleterious.

  As a result of my involuntary depilation and all the fatigues I had gone through, my comrades in the camp found it hard to recognize me when I arrived.

  2

  Escape

  You made a daring escape. I am sorry I have to give you twenty-eight days,” said the English colonel on our return to the camp. I had enjoyed thirty-eight days of freedom and now had to pass twenty-eight in solitary confinement. It was the regular penalty for breaking out. However, as the English took a sporting view of our bold attempt, I was treated with less than the usual rigor.

  When I had finished my spell of punishment, I heard that Marchese had endured the same fate in another part of the camp. Later on we found opportunities to talk over our experiences. Marchese promised to help me in my next attempt to get loose but would not think of joining me. Without losing any time, I at once began to make new maps and to draw conclusions from the experience of my previous flight. I felt convinced that my next attempt would succeed and was determined to go alone this time.

  Busy with my preparations, I found the winter passing swiftly, and by the time the next “escape season” came around I was well equipped. This time I wanted to start earlier, so as to get through the village of Nelang while it was still uninhabited. I had not counted on getting back the kit I had left with the Indian, so I supplied myself afresh with the things I most needed. A touching proof of comradeship was the generosity of my companions, who, hard up as many of them were, spent their money freely in contributing to my outfit.

  I was not the only POW who wanted to get away. My two best friends, Rolf Magener and Heins von Have, also were engaged in preparing to escape. Both spoke fluent English, and they aimed to work their way through India to the Burma front. Von Have already had escaped two years before with a companion and almost had reached Burma, but was caught just before the frontier. During a second attempt, his friend had a fatal accident. Three or four other internees, it was said, planned to escape. Finally the whole seven of us got together and decided to make a simultaneous breakout on the grounds that successive individual attempts increased the vigilance of the guards, and made it more and more difficult to get away as time went on. If the mass escape succeeded, each of us, once out of the camp, could follow his own route. Peter Aufschnaiter, who this time had as his partner Bruno Treipel, from Salzburg, and two fellows from Berlin, Hans Kopp and Sattler, wished, like me, to escape to Tibet.