Chapter 17 - Moving Slopes and the Riddle of the Horses' Hoofs

After a day of well-deserved rest near the camp-fire, that kept us comfortable, even though it was raining, the sun broke through again, and I started out to explore the northern end of the lake. Having been absent for a whole day, the sun seemed to be hotter than ever and the cloudless sky even more intensely blue (if that were possible!) --- a perfect day for painting.

So I set out, as lightly clad as possible, and with no other burden than my sketching materials. I had had a good breakfast, so that I could dispense with provisions for the excursion, and since my riding-boots were being repaired by my companions, I wore my Indian sandals. It was a wonderful feeling to move so light and carefree through the sunny landscape and the clear crisp air into pathless, untrodden regions, with a feast of colours spread out before me. The wonder of the lake fascinated me as on the first day, and my idea was to move along the eastern shore as far north as possible, in order to get a full view of the great expanse of water and the southern snow mountains along which we had travelled the previous days.

Skirting a promontory I --- for the first time --- sighted a group of kyang, a kind of wild horse which are extremely shy and elusive and move about with the graceful gait of deer. They resemble zebras in size and shape, but not in colour; their heads are bigger than those of horses, in proportion to their body; their coat is light brown, like that of a deer, and their belly is white, which makes them more graceful and slim-looking. They are creatures of wide spaces; they perish in captivity; because they cannot endure the loss of their freedom and refuse to take food gathered by human hands. Thus nobody cries to catch or to domesticate them, nor are they hunted for their meat, since the killing of animals goes against the Buddhist code of morality.

Hunting is not regarded as a sport in Tibet, but a crime, and whenever the slaughter of domestic animals becomes necessary due to scarcity of food during the winter, the herdsman prays for forgiveness from the animals and performs rites for their rebirth in a better state of life. Killing even the lowliest creature is always regarded as an evil and therefore avoided as far as humanly possible under the difficult circumstances of life in Tibet, where fruit and vegetables are almost unknown (except for the fertile, carefully irrigated valleys of Eastern and Central Tibet) and where tsampa (roasted barley flour) is the only staple food. fishing is regarded as particularly offensive, because fish being small (at least as known in Tibet), a great number have to be killed to make a proper meal, and the same holds good for birds. Birds, hares, marmots and other small creatures are therefore exceptionally fearless of human beings, and I remember a case when a hare remained quietly in its lair until I touched it, while birds often walked into our tent to inspect the interior, and lit-tie, marmot-like `tailless rats' popped in and out of the ground to see what was going on in the camp that suddenly had sprung up in their peaceful territory.

But the kyang always kept at a respectable distance from human beings, being shy by nature and perhaps being warned by the sight of humans riding on horseback. I was thrilled to see them here for the first time, and crouching behind a boulder, I observed them for a while before proceeding on my way. In the extensive grasslands around Manasarovar and in many parts of the Chang-Thang they move about in enormous herds of hundreds of animals, and it is a grand sight to see such a herd galloping over the wide undulated plains of the highland.

Skirting the promontory, I descended into an open plain, the greater part of which was covered with a snow-white encrustation, consisting of magnesium crystals and hiding a swamp, reminding me of the treacherous cliotts or salt-lakes of the Sahara into which one can walk for a good distance before reaching the actual water, and where people are suddenly swallowed by the muddy ground that unexpectedly gives way under their feet.

I made a wide detour around this swamp and climbed over a range of low hills which still separated me from the shore of the lake. The shore proved to be a boulder-strewn narrow ledge of rock that fell perpendicularly into the lake. There was no place to walk between the boulders. They were so tightly packed that one had to jump from boulder to boulder in order to avoid getting one's feet wedged between them. But I was fresh and eager to get on, and so in spite of these obstacles I covered a good distance along the shore, and the more I proceeded, the more magnificent was the view.

But finally the boulders gave way to a steep, smooth-looking slope of about forty-five degrees that ended abruptly where the ledge broke off into the waters of the lake. I confidently stepped upon the slope, thinking that my troubles would be over, but hardly had I put my feet upon it than the whole slope started to move downwards, being a mixture of sand and rubble in a state of exact and precarious balance, which on the slightest provocation would turn into a landslide. There was not much time to think, as I was moving inexorably nearer to the precipice and to a plunge into the icy waters of the lake, which would probably have frozen me before I could have swum ashore --- apart from the fact that the shore consisted of a sheer rock-face with nothing to hold on to, in order to pull oneself out of the water. I did the only thing that was possible, namely to keep running and jumping forward as quickly as I could before being caught in the momentum of the landslide that rumbled behind me like a pursuing mountain demon hard on my heels. By keeping a diagonal, slightly upward, course, I managed to keep on the level and to reach firm ground on the other side of the moving slopes.

Even the boulder-strewn ledge appeared to me now as a welcome road. At least I could move in safety and at my own pace. But while taking a little rest among the boulders I made a strange discovery: innumerable hoofs of horses were stuck between the boulders and rock debris between them, and not a single one of them was turned upside-down. It looked as if a whole horse caravan or a herd of horses had been literally swept off their feet, leaving only their hoofs behind. But how was this possible? Could an avalanche have done it? But no, there were no snow-peaks above, nor such high mountains in which avalanches could form, quite apart from the fact that in these parts of Tibet snowfall is negligible. Even if a blizzard of unimaginable force could have killed a whole herd of horses and swept away their bodies, their skeletons would certainly be seen in the clear water of the lake, which was so transparent that one could see every pebble on the bottom for a considerable distance right below the place of the catastrophe. But not even a splinter of a bone was visible either in the water or among the stones and boulders! Even if wolves or birds of prey might have devoured the carcasses they could not have done this without leaving a trace. They would have left the skulls or at least the teeth behind! And why should all the hoofs stand upright just broken off at the fetlock? What horror could have caused a whole herd of swift-moving horses to perish in this mysterious fashion?

Whatever it was, I had no time to worry about it, especially as I was eager to find a vantage-point from where I could get an adequate picture of this part of the lake against the snow mountains. So I pushed on until I came to a lovely, almost circular, bay, bordered by a dazzling white beach, against which the water looked like a smooth green-blue opal. On the opposite side of the bay a rocky spur jutted into the lake, providing just the type of vantage-point I had been looking for. But, as so often in Tibet, I underestimated the distance, and though I walked at a good speed, it took me a considerable time before I reached the other side of the bay. While I was painting, big thunder-clouds were rising over the glaciers, but I was too absorbed in my work to pay much attention to them, except as a welcome addition to my composition.

By the time I had finished my painting, the sun had been swallowed by the rising thunder-clouds, and in the gathering darkness I suddenly realised that it was not only due to the clouds that the light was failing, but because the sun was setting, I hurried back along the beach of the bay, but, by the time I had reached the other side, lightning and thunder rolled overhead, the air grew chilly, and the daylight was fading fast.

And then I remembered the moving slopes and the horses that had perished mysteriously just before reaching them. The danger of the moving slopes must have stopped them in their course, while night and storm prevented them from turning back and they were frozen to death. Or were there dangers, even worse than that, of which I knew nothing? The complete disappearance of even their skulls and skeletons down to the tiniest bone could not be explained by the presence of carnivorous animals, for even wolves would not swallow everything, and why should they, when they could gorge themselves on the flesh of a whole herd of horses?

The rough nature of the ground had already convinced me that even before the landslide, which had caused the moving slopes, had occurred, this shore could not have been a possible caravan route; moreover the presence of smaller hoofs showed that there were young ones among the horses, which would not have been included in a caravan unless it was one of people fleeing before an enemy. Whatever it was, I had no time to lose. I had to get over the moving slopes before it was completely dark.

Fortunately, the thunder-clouds disappeared as quickly as they had come. The sky was still overcast, but no rain fell and the clouds began to separate. With the last, faintest trace of daylight I reached the moving slopes, and though I was not able to see more than the general outlines of the ground over which I passed, I managed to get across with a supreme effort. I felt like resting and sat down for a short while, to recover my breach, but then I was worried by the thought of wolves and other unseen dangers, especially the danger of falling asleep and exposing myself to the cold of the night with not even a blanket to protect me and no chance to regain my warmth once the chill would have penetrated my body. I was so lightly clad that only movement could keep me warm, and so up I jumped, conscious that it now was a matter of life and death.

I had not eaten anything since the morning, not had I had a drop of water since leaving camp; and now hunger and thirst began to assail me --- especially the latter. What an irony of fate: to have miles and miles of clear water right at my feet and not to be able to find even a drop to quench my thirst. The temptation to take shelter in one of the caves which I had noticed on my way was counteracted by the fear that wolves might lurk in them, and as I had neither matches nor anything that could have served to make a fire, the thought was quickly dismissed. The greatest temptation, however, was the urge to sit down and to rest, and only the thought that once I sat down I would never get up again gave me the determination to move on as long as my legs would support me.

It was no longer possible to pick my way between the boulders that covered the ground for uncounted miles ahead of me; night had completely overtaken me; and yet to my amazement I jumped from boulder to boulder without ever slipping or missing a foothold, in spite of wearing only a pair of flimsy sandals on my bare feet. And then I realised that a strange force had taken over, a consciousness that was no more guided by my eyes or my brain. My limbs moved as in a trance, with an uncanny knowledge of their own, though their movement seemed almost mechanical, I noticed things only like in a dream, somewhat detached. Even my own body had become distant, quasi-detached from my will-power. I was like an arrow that unfailingly pursued its course by the force of its initial impetus, and the only thing I knew was that on no condition must I break the spell that had seized me.

It was only later that I realised what had happened: that unwittingly and under the stress of circumstance and acute danger I had become a lung gom pa, a trance walker, who, oblivious of all obstacles and fatigue, moves on towards his contemplated aim, hardly touching the ground, which might give a distant observer the impression that the lung gom pa was borne by the air (lung), merely skimming the surface of the earth.

One false step or a single slip on these boulders would have sufficed to break or to sprain a foot but I never missed a step. I moved on with the certainty of a sleep-walker --- though far from being asleep. I do not know how many miles of this boulder-strewn territory I traversed; I only know that finally I found myself on the pass over the low hills with the plain and the magnesium swamp before me, and that by that time a star in the direction of the snow range was visible, so that I could take it as a guiding point in the otherwise featureless expanse before me. I did not dare to divert from this direction and still under the influence of the `spell', I went right across the swamp without ever breaking through.

But where was the camp? Surely I could not be very far from it, and a camp-fire could easily be seen even from one or two miles distance. I climbed one of the low shrub-covered hillocks, but nowhere could I see even the smallest glow. Surely my companions would not have allowed the fire to go out or even left the camp in search of me or for any other reason? And what other reason could there be, unless they had been attacked by robbers? They certainly could not have made away with my belongings, leaving me stranded in the wilderness without food and proper clothing and blankets, though nobody in the world could have held them responsible, I simply had walked into the wilderness and never returned! But no, this was nonsense! How could I ever think such a thing! I felt ashamed that such a thought could invade my mind, but being in a state of utter exhaustion I was not able to control my fear. It was more likely that I had missed the direction, and in that case it was best to walk on until I reached the stream and then to follow it up until I reached the camp-site.

Fortunately the direction which I had taken proved to be correct, and when I was almost despairing of ever reaching camp I suddenly saw the glow of the fire in a depression below me. I tried to shout, but my throat was too parched and my voice did not carry far enough to be heard. But the joy of being saved gave me new strength, and a few minutes later I walked into the camp and sank down by the fire, while my companions, happy to have me back, busied themselves around me to give me food and drink. I felt like a lost son come home and never did I enjoy a camp-fire and the company of human beings more than on this memorable night.

Until the present day I have been unable to find a solution to the mystery of the horses hoofs, though I have told this experience to many people and asked their opinion about it. But for the other, more personal, experience I found a satisfactory explanation when I learned more about the psychic phenomena of lung gom pa of which I found the first description in Alexandra David-Neel's book, and further evidence, when many years later I visited (together with Li Gotami) one of the main training centres of this yogic art not far from Shigatse in a side valley of the Nyang-chu, the famous monastery of Nyang-tö Kyi-phug.