It was difficult to realize that to-day was January 1 on the Tibetan frontier. The temperature was 51 in the shade and the sun shone in a glorious blue sky. The day was a public holiday and the streets were thronged with students, school children, and those working in public offices. Shops were open, and business was going on as usual, and apart from a few flags flying from several public buildings, no one would have known that we had entered the 27th year of the Chinese Republic, Last year there was considerable bunting all over the city and practically every door had its flag flying, and there was some feasting all over the town. This year, these things were noticeable by their absence. The Tibetan nomads bumped their way through the crowds with their heavy sheepskins packed full of things to eat and otherwise: New Year ta them has very little significance and can take place any day; there is a good supply of strong Chinese whisky. In their calculations, material, not time, makes the New Year.: However, they were: interested in the crowded streets and the continual throngs that passed to and fro. New Year to the nomad and the lama means neither a change of dress nor occupation.
Last year the local inhabitants scrubbed their doors and stuck up their new gods and wished for brighter days. This year, this old time New Year performance is apparently being' delayed till the old calendar, which has still another four weeks to go. The coast being more or less closed to traffic has somewhat'affected trade along the border. There is, however, considerable merchandise entering and leaving the city. Tea for the Tibetan market has come in in enormous quantities and whatever happens in the days to come ma and the nomad will be under no go "dry." The yak gives the butter; the Chinese garden gi a; and as long as he has these two ingredients, which his wooden churn turns into 2 thick pea-soup like substance, known as butter-tea, the world may be a topsy-tury place before it will distress or embarrass the woolly nomad. ea. a One of the questions agitating the frontier at the present time is the report that the body of the Panchen Lama, who died at Jekundo at the end of November or the beginning of December, is now on its way to Tachienlu What is actually taking place and how the body is being carried is only dimly guessed at hele in Tachienlu. Apparently there is an enormous retinue of lamas and followers and one report says the demand for ula is something like 2,500 animals. This seems hardly possible, yet the demand made by the Ambans on their way into Lhasa was something like 3,000 animals. One report has it that the body of the Panchen may be brought no further than Kanze, ten days west of Tachienlu, and that, whatever burial rites are {o be performed, should be carried out there. Ultimately the body will be taken to Lhasa for burial; in the meantime the Panchen's large following want to hang on to it as ing as possible and make out of it as much as possible; and further negotiations have to be carried out with the Lhasa government u to its entry into Tibet.
The body has already been embalmed, and 1 understand has gone through other processes ensuring it from further decay. It is now nearing Kanze, where there is a very large lamasery belonging to the Yellow Sect with something like 2,000 resident lamas. The decision as to any further procedure now rests with the Chinese Government. Should Tai Chi-tao represent the government at the burial rites, the body may be brought here or the Chinese official may proceed to Kanze. The large following of this Grand Lama will create a problem wherever it is. If the Panchen could be quietly buried just where he died, and his enormous gang of retainers politely dismissed, the situation would be greatly improved. But this is not easy. The Panchén's large band of followers maintain that His Highness must be buried with all the honours befitting an Incarnation of "O-ba-meh"—Boundless Light—and it looks as if they are quite prepared to hang on to the sacred body till this is done. To have buried the Panchen where he died at Jekundo, or from there carried the body to Drashe Lhumbo, in Dzang, would have been a very simple business, and then someone could have invited the bunch of retainers, who have been ith the big lama for years, to devote their energies and their remaining years to catching wild yak on the windy plateaux of northern principle stoutly until they have captured all three birds.
At present this strange procession, probably one of the strangest ever seen on the high plateaux of Central Asia, is slowly making its way towards the lama city of Kanze. On arrival there, I understand, everything will be finally arranged. Should the body be brought to Tachienlu it will entail enormous expense and trouble and on arrival here and after the long series of burial rites, it will again be carried back to the Tibetan frontier, now marked by the Yangtze, and from there carried to Drashe Lhumbo, the Panchen's own lamasery in Dzang. All this reminds one of the workmen who tear up Nanking Road simply to lay it down again. The Panchen, poor fellow, has absolutely no say in all this performance. His wish would undoubtedly be for a quiet, religious burial somewhere in the Land of the Lamas, as the last twelve years of his unfortunate life have been anything but happy. His large following, however, has to live, and one way of living according to them, is to carry this body as long as possible across Central Asia, Tai Chi-tao may have other words and other plans, so the border will patiently await his arrival. In the meantime the lamaseries in Tachienlu and along the frontier are awaiting orders from on high when to begin their religious performances and blow their trumpets. A Panchen only dies once in 50 years, so the lamas of Kham are prepared to do their bit. But what of the Panchen's Incarnation? Where is he and when shall he make his appearance? The Dalai died in December, 1933, and his Incarnation remains one of the mysteries of the Land of Mystery.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.