Laura Lee Hope - "The Bobbsey Twins on Blueberry Island"

G. A. Henty - "Through Three Campaigns"

Frank Preston Stearns - "Cambridge Sketches"

Hurlo Thrumbo (pseudonym) - "The Merry Thought: or the Glass Window and Bog House Miscellany"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

From Pole to Pole

S >> Sven Anders Hedin >> From Pole to Pole




The whole of the next day we remained where we were in order to dry our
things, and the Lama again stained my head down to the neck and in the
ears. The critical moment was approaching.

On August 4 we met a caravan of about a hundred yaks, accompanied by
armed men in tall yellow hats; but they took us for ordinary pilgrims
and did not trouble themselves about us. Then we rode past several
tents, and when we reached the top of the next pass we saw that tents
lay scattered about on the plain like black spots, fourteen together in
one place. We were now on the great highway to Lhasa.

The next day we came to a flat open valley, where there were twelve
tents. Three Tibetans came to our tent there at dusk, and had a long
conversation with the Lama, who was the only one of us who understood
Tibetan. When he came back to us he was quite overcome with fright. One
of the three men, who was a chief, had told him that information had
come from yak-hunters in the north that a large European caravan was on
the way. He had a suspicion that one of us might be a white man, and he
ordered us on no account to move from where we were. In fact, we were
prisoners, and with great anxiety we awaited the morning, when our fate
would be decided. All night a watch was kept round our tent, as we knew
by the fires, and next day we were visited by several parties, both
influential chiefs and ordinary nomads, who warned us, if we valued our
lives, to wait there till the Governor of the Province arrived.

In the meantime they did all they could to frighten us. Troops of
horsemen in close order dashed straight towards our tent, as if they
meant to stamp us into the earth, and so finish us off at once. On they
rushed, the horses' hoofs ringing on the bare ground and the riders
brandishing their swords and lances above their heads and uttering the
wildest shrieks. When they were so near that the mud was splashed on to
the tent, they suddenly opened out to right and left, and returned in
the same wild career to the starting-point. This martial manoeuvre was
repeated several times.

During the following days, however, they behaved in a more peaceful
fashion, and eventually we came to be on quite a friendly footing with
most of our neighbours. They visited us constantly, gave us butter,
milk, and fat, and when it rained crept coolly into our tent, which
became so crowded that we could hardly find room for ourselves. They
informed us that the Dalai Lama had given orders that no harm should be
done to us, and we saw that messengers on horseback rode off daily along
the roads leading to Lhasa and the Governor's village. We did not know
where our seven baggage and riding animals were, but we made it clear to
the Tibetans that, as they had stopped us against our will, they must be
answerable for the safety of our animals and possessions.

On August 9 things at last began to look lively. A whole village of
tents sprang up at some distance from us, and round the new tents
swarmed Tibetans on foot and horseback. A Mongolian interpreter escorted
by some horsemen came to our tent.

"The Governor, Kamba Bombo, is here, and invites you to-day to a feast
in his tent."

"Greet Kamba Bombo," I answered, "but tell him that it is usual first to
pay a visit to the guests one invites."

"You must come," went on the interpreter; "a sheep roasted whole is
placed in the middle of the tent, surrounded by bowls of roasted meal
and tea. He awaits you."

"We do not leave our camp. If Kamba Bombo wishes to see us he can come
here."

"If you will not come with me I cannot be responsible for you to the
Governor. He has ridden day and night to talk with you. I beg you to
come with me."

"If Kamba Bombo has anything to say to us, he is welcome. We ask nothing
from him, only to travel to Lhasa as peaceful pilgrims."

Two hours later the Tibetans came back again in a long dark line of
horsemen, the Governor riding on a large white mule in their midst. His
retinue consisted of officials, priests, and officers in red and blue
cloaks carrying guns, swords, and lances, wearing turbans or
light-coloured hats, and riding on silver-studded saddles.

When they came up, carpets and cushions were spread on the ground, and
on these Kamba Bombo took his seat. I went out to him and invited him
into our poor tent, where he occupied the seat of honour, a maize sack.
He might be forty years old, looked merry and jovial, but also pale and
tired. When he took off his long red cloak and his _bashlik_, he
appeared in a splendid dress of yellow Chinese silk, and his boots were
of green velvet.

The interview began at once, and each of us did his best to talk the
other down. The end of the matter was a clear declaration on his part
that if we tried to move a step in the direction of Lhasa our heads
should be cut off, no matter who we were. We did our best, both that day
and the next, to get this decision altered, but it was no use and we had
to yield to superior force.

So we turned back on the long road through dreary Tibet, and eventually
regained our headquarters in safety.


THE TASHI LAMA

Thus it was that we came back to the little town of Leh, the capital of
Ladak, and again saw the winter caravans which come over the lofty
mountains from Eastern Turkestan on their way with goods to Kashmir.
Then several years passed, but in August, 1906, I was once more in Leh,
having travelled (as has been described) across Europe to
Constantinople, over the Black Sea, through Persia and Baluchistan, then
by rail to Rawalpindi, in a tonga to Kashmir, and lastly on horseback to
Leh. On this occasion the caravan consisted of twenty-seven men and
nearly a hundred mules and horses, besides thirty hired horses, which
were to turn back when the provisions they carried had been consumed.

Our course lay over the lofty mountains in northern Tibet, and for
eighty-one days we did not see a single human being. But when we turned
off to the right and came to more southern districts of the country, we
met with Tibetan hunters and nomads, from whom we purchased tame yaks
and sheep, for the greater part of our animals had perished owing to the
rarefied air, the poor and scanty pasture, and the cold and the wind.
The temperature had on one occasion fallen as low as 40 deg. below zero.

After wandering for about six months we came to the Upper Brahmaputra,
which is the only place where the Tibetans use boats, if indeed they can
be called boats at all. They simply take four yak hides, stretch them
over a framework of thin curved ribs and sew them together, and then the
boat is ready; but it is buoyant and floats lightly on the water. When
we were only a day's journey from Shigatse, the second town of Tibet,
the caravan was ferried across the river. I myself with two of my
servants took my seat in a hide boat, dexterously managed by a Tibetan,
and we drifted down the Brahmaputra at a swinging pace.

A number of other boats were following the same fine waterway. They were
full of pilgrims flocking to the great Lama temple in Shigatse. Two days
later was the New Year of the country, and then the Lamaists celebrate
their greatest festival. Pilgrims stream from far and near to the holy
town. Round their necks they wear small images of their gods or
wonder-working charms written on paper and enclosed in small cases, and
many of them turn small praying mills, which are filled inside with
prayers written on long strips of paper. When the mills revolve all
these prayers ascend up to the ears of the gods--so easy is it to pray
in Tibet! All the time a man can continue his conversation with his
fellow-travellers.

[Illustration: PLATE XI. TASHI-LUNPO.

From a sketch by the Author.]

Many of the pilgrims, however, like all Tibetans, murmur the sacred
formula _Om mane padme hum_ over and over again. These four words
contain the key to all faith and salvation. They signify "O, jewel in
the lotus flower, amen." The jewel is Buddha, and in all images he is
represented as rising up from the petals of a lotus flower. The more
frequently a man repeats these four words, the greater chance has he of
a happy existence when he dies and his soul passes into a new body.

We reached Shigatse and pitched our tents in a garden on the outskirts
of the town. Outside Shigatse stands the great monastery of Tashi-lunpo
(Plate XI.), in which dwell 3800 monks of various grades, from fresh
young novices to old, grey high priests. They all go bareheaded and
bare-armed, and their dress consists of long red sheets wound round the
body. The priest who is head of all is called the Tashi Lama; he is the
primate of this part of Tibet and enjoys the same exalted rank and
dignity as the Dalai Lama in Lhasa. He has a great reputation for
sanctity and learning, and pilgrims stand for hours in a queue only to
receive a word of blessing from him.

This Tashi Lama was then a man of twenty-seven years of age, and had
held the position since he was a small boy. He invited me to the great
festival in the temple on New Year's Day. In the midst of the temple
town is a long court surrounded by verandahs, balconies, and platforms.
Round about are seen the gilded copper roofs over the sanctuaries and
mausoleums where departed high priests repose. Everywhere the people are
tightly packed, and the visitors from far and near are dressed in their
holiday clothes, many-coloured and fine, and decorated with silver
ornaments, coral and turquoise. The Tashi Lama has his seat in a balcony
hung with silken draperies and gold tassels, but the holy countenance
can be seen through a small square opening in the silk.

The festival begins with the entry of the temple musicians. They carry
copper bassoons ten feet long, so heavy that their bells have to rest on
the shoulder of an acolyte. With deep, long-drawn blasts the monks
proclaim the New Year, just as long ago the priests of Israel announced
with trumpet notes the commencement of the year of jubilee. Then follow
cymbals which clash in a slow, ringing measure, and drums which rouse
echoes from the temple walls. The noise is deafening, but it sounds
cheerful and impressive after the deep stillness in the valleys of
Tibet.

After the musicians have taken their places in the court the dancing
monks enter. They are clad in costly garments of Chinese silk, and
bright dragons embroidered in gold flash in the folds as the sunlight
falls on them. The faces of the monks are covered by masks representing
wild animals with open jaws and powerful tusks. The monks execute a slow
circular dance. They believe, and so do all the people, that evil
spirits may be kept at a distance and driven away by this performance.

The next day I was summoned to the Tashi Lama. We passed along narrow
paved lanes between the monastery walls, through narrow gloomy passages,
up staircases of polished wood, and at last reached the highest floor of
the monastery, where the Tashi Lama has his private apartments. I found
him in a simple room, sitting cross-legged in a window recess from which
he can see the temple roofs and the lofty mountains and the sinful town
in the valley. He was beardless, with short-cut brown hair. His
expression was singularly gentle and charming, almost shy. He held out
his hands to me and invited me to take a seat beside him, and then for
several hours we talked about Tibet, Sweden, and this vast, wonderful
world.


WILD ASSES AND YAKS

If I had counted all the wild asses I saw during my travels in Tibet the
number would amount to many, many thousands. Up in the north, in the
very heart of the highland country, and down in the south, hardly a day
passed without our seeing these proud, handsome animals, sometimes
alone, sometimes in couples, and sometimes in herds of several hundred
head.

The Latin name for the wild ass, _Equus kiang_, indicates his close
relationship to the horse, and "kiang" is what he is called by the
people of Tibet. The wild ass is as large as an average mule, with
well-developed ears, and a sharp sense of hearing; his tail is tufted at
the end, and he is reddish-brown in colour, except on the legs and
belly, where he is white. When he scents danger he snorts loudly, throws
up his head, cocks his ears, and expands his nostrils; he is more like a
fine ass than a horse, but when you see him wild and free on the salt
plains of Tibet, the difference between him and an ass seems even
greater than between an ass and a horse. My own horses and mules seemed
sorry jades by the side of the "kiangs" of the desert.

On one occasion my Cossacks caught two small foals which as yet had no
experience of life and the dangers of the desert. They stood tied up
between the tents and made no attempt to escape. We gave them meal mixed
with water, which they supped up eagerly, and we hoped that they would
thrive and stay with us. When I saw how they pined for freedom, however,
I wanted to restore them to the desert and to their mother's care. But
it was too late; the mothers would have nothing to do with them after
they had been in the hands of men, so we had to kill them to save them
from the wolves. Thus strict is the law of the wilderness: a human hand
is enough to break the spell of its freedom.

We cannot travel back to India without having become acquainted with the
huge ox which runs wild over the loftiest mountains of Tibet. He is
called "yak" in Tibetan, and the name has been transferred to most
European languages. He is closely akin to the tame yak, but is larger
and is always of a deep black colour; only when he is old does his head
turn grey. The tame yak, on the other hand, is often white, brown, or
mottled. Common to both are the peculiar form and the abundant wool.
Seen from the side, the yak seems humpbacked. The back slopes down from
the highest point, just over the forelegs, to the root of the tail,
while the neck slopes down still more steeply to the scrag. The animal
is exceedingly heavy, strong and ungainly, and the points of the thick
horns are often worn and cracked in consequence of severe combats
between the bulls.

As the yak lives in a temperature which in winter falls below the
freezing-point of mercury (-40 deg.), he needs a close warm coat and a
protective layer of fat under the hide; and he is, in fact, so well
provided with these that no cold on earth can affect him. When his
breath hangs in clouds of steam round his nostrils he is in his element.
Singular, too, are the fringes of wool a foot long which skirt the lower
parts of his flanks and the upper parts of his forelegs. They may grow
so long as to touch the ground as the yak walks. When he lies down on
the stone-hard, frozen, and pebbly ground, these thick fringes serve as
cushions, and on them he lies soft and warm.

On what do these huge fleshy animals live in a country where, broadly
speaking, nothing grows and where a caravan may perish for want of
fodder? It often happened that we would march for several days together
without seeing a blade of grass. Then we might come to a valley with a
little scanty hard yellow grass, but even if we stayed over a day the
animals could not get nearly enough to eat. Not until we have descended
to about 15,000 feet above sea-level do we find--and then only very
seldom--a few small, miserable bushes; and to reach trees we must
descend another 3000 feet lower. In the home of the wild yaks the ground
is almost everywhere bare and barren, and yet these great beasts roam
about and thrive excellently. They live on mosses and lichens, which
they lick up with the tongue, and for this purpose their tongues are
provided with hard, sharp, horny barbs like a thistle. In the same way
they crop the velvety grass, less than half an inch high, which grows on
the edges of the high alpine brooks, and which is so short that a horse
cannot get hold of it.

On one occasion I made an excursion of several days from the main
caravan, accompanied by only two men. One was an Afghan named Aldat. He
was an expert yak-hunter, and used to sell the hides to merchants of
Eastern Turkestan to be made into saddles and boots. We had encamped
about 600 feet higher than the summit of Mont Blanc, and the air was so
rarefied that if we took even a few steps we suffered from difficulty in
breathing and palpitation of the heart.

When the camp was ready, Aldat came and asked me to look at a large yak
bull grazing on a slope above my tent. As we needed flesh and fat, I
gave him permission to shoot it and to keep the hide. The bull had not
noticed us, for he was to windward, and thought of nothing but the juicy
moss. Water melted from the snow trickled among the stones, the wind
blew cold, and the sky was overcast--true yak weather. With his gun on
his back, Aldat crept up a hollow. At last he pushed himself along on
his elbows and toes, crouching on the ground like a cat prowling after
prey. At a distance of thirty paces he stopped behind a scarcely
perceptible ridge of stones and took careful aim. The yak did not look
up, not suspecting any danger. He had roamed about for fifteen years on
these peaceful heights near the snow-line and had never seen a man. The
shot cracked out and echoed among the mountains. The yak jumped into the
air, took a few uncertain steps, stopped, reeled, tried to keep his
balance, fell, lifted himself, but fell again heavily and helplessly to
the ground, and lay motionless. It was stone dead, and in an hour was
skinned and cut up.

This took place on September 9. On the 23rd of the same month the
relations of the yak bull might have seen from a distance a strange
procession. Some men carried a long object to the edge of a grave which
had just been dug, lowered it into the trench, covered it with a skin
coat, and filled in the grave with stones and earth. Into this simple
mound was thrust a tent pole, with the wild yak's bushy tail fastened to
the top; and the man who slumbered under the hillock was Aldat himself,
the great yak-hunter.




X

INDIA


FROM TIBET TO SIMLA

Right up in Tibet lie the sources of the Sutlej, the largest affluent of
the Indus. With irresistible force it breaks through the Himalayas in
order to get down to the sea, and its valley affords us an excellent
road from the highlands of Tibet to the burning lowlands of India. On
this journey we pass through a succession of belts of elevation, and
find that various animals and plants are peculiar to different heights.
The tiger does not go very high up on the southern flanks of the
Himalayas, but the snow leopard is not afraid of cold. The tame yak
would die if he were brought down to denser strata of air, and Marco
Polo's sheep would waste away on the forest-clothed heights; but wolves,
foxes and hares occur as frequently in India as in Tibet.

The boundaries of the flora are more sharply defined. Below the limit of
eternal snow (13,000 feet) ranunculus and anemones, pedicularis and
primulas are found just as they are in our higher latitudes with
corresponding conditions of temperature. At 12,000 feet lies the limit
of forest, beyond which the birch does not go, but where pine-trees
still thrive. Between 10,000 and 6000 feet are woods of the beautiful
and charming conifer called the Himalayan cedar, which is allied to the
cedar of Lebanon. At 7000 feet the limit of subtropical woods is
crossed, and the oak and the climbing rose are seen. Just below 3500
feet the tropical forest is entered, with acacias, palms, bamboos, and
all the floral wealth of the Indian jungle.

The Sutlej grows bigger and bigger the further we descend, and we ride
on shaking bridges across innumerable tributaries. The atmosphere
becomes denser, and breathing easier. We no longer have a singing in
the ears, or palpitations or headache as on the great heights, and the
cold has been left behind. Even in the early morning the air is warm,
and soon come days when we look back with regret to the cool freshness
up in Tibet. One of my dogs, a great shaggy Tibetan, suffered severely
from the increasing heat, and one fine day he turned right about and
went back to Tibet.

[Illustration: PLATE XII. SIMLA.]

The first town that we come to is called Simla (Plate XII.). It is not
large, having barely 15,000 inhabitants, but it is one of the most
beautiful towns in the world, and one of the most powerful, for in its
cedar groves stands a palace, and in the palace an Imperial throne. The
Emperor is the King of England, whose power over India is entrusted to a
Viceroy. In summer enervating heat prevails over the lowlands of India,
and all Europeans who are not absolutely tied to their posts move up to
the hills. The Viceroy and his staff, the government officials, the
chief officers of the army, civil servants and military men all fly with
their wives up to Simla, where the leaders of society live as gaily as
in London. During this season the number of inhabitants rises to 30,000.

The houses of Simla are built like swallows' nests on steep slopes. The
streets, or rather roads, lie terraced one above another. The whole town
is built on hills surrounded by dizzy precipices. Round about stand
forests dark and dense; but between the cedars are seen far off to the
southwest the plains of the Punjab and the winding course of the Sutlej,
and to the north the masses of the Himalayas with their eternal
snowfields. It is delightful to go up to Simla from the sultriness of
India, and perhaps still more delightful to come down to Simla from the
piercing cold of Tibet.


DELHI AND AGRA

From Simla we go down by train through hundreds of tunnels and round the
sharpest curves, over countless bridges and along dizzy precipices, to
the lowlands of the Punjab. It is exceedingly hot, and we long for a
little breeze from Tibet's snowy mountains.

Time flies by till we reach Delhi, situated on the Jumna, one of the
affluents of the Ganges. Delhi was the capital of the empire of the
Great Moguls,[11] and in the seventeenth century it was the most
magnificent city in the world.

[Illustration: MAP OF INDIA, SHOWING JOURNEY FROM NUSHKI TO LEH (pp.
82-88), AND THE JOURNEY FROM TIBET THROUGH SIMLA, ETC., TO BOMBAY
(pp. 130-142).]

Many proud monuments of this grandeur still remain, notably the splendid
building of pure white marble called the Hall of Private Audience, where
in the open space surrounded by a double colonnade the Great Mogul was
wont to dispense justice and receive envoys. In the sunshine the marble
columns seem to be translucent, and light-blue shadows fall on the
marble floor. The walls and pillars are inlaid with costly stones of
various shapes: lapis-lazuli and malachite, nephrite and agate. In the
throne-room used to stand the famous "Peacock Throne" of the Great
Mogul. The whole throne was covered with thick plates of gold and
studded all over with diamonds. In the year 1749 the Persian king, Nadir
Shah, came to Delhi, defeated the Great Mogul and carried off treasures
to the value of fifty-six million pounds. Among other valuables he
seized was the famous diamond called the "Koh-i-noor," or "Mountain of
Light," now among the British crown jewels. He also carried off the
Peacock Throne, which alone was worth eleven million pounds. It is to
this day in the possession of the Shahs of Persia, but all the diamonds
have been taken out one after another by the successors of Nadir Shah
when they happened to be in difficulties. The gold plates are left,
however, and on the back still glitter the golden peacocks which give
the throne its name.

If we stroll for some hours through the narrow streets and interesting
bazaars of Delhi and push our way among bustling Hindus and Mohammedans,
we can better appreciate the vaulted arches of the Hall of Private
Audience and can also understand the Persian inscription to be read
above the entrance: "If there be an Elysium on earth, it is here."

Farther down the Jumna stands Agra, and here we make another break in
our railway journey eastwards. Agra also was for a time the capital of
the Great Mogul empire, and in the seventeenth century the emperor who
bore the name of Shah Jehan erected here an edifice which is still
regarded as one of the most beautiful in the world (Plate XIII.). It is
called the "Taj Mahal," or "royal palace," and is a mausoleum in memory
of Shah Jehan's favourite wife, Mumtaz, by whose side he himself reposes
in the crypt of the mosque. It is constructed entirely of blocks of
white marble, and took twenty-seven years to build and cost nearly two
million pounds of our money.

The garden which surrounds the sanctuary is entered through a large gate
of red sandstone. In a long pool goldfish dart about under floating
lotus blossoms, and all around is luxuriant verdure, the dwelling-place
of countless singing birds; the air is filled with the odour of jasmine
and roses, and tall, slender cypresses point to heaven.

Straight in front the marble Taj Mahal rises from a terrace, dazzling
white in the sunshine--a summer dream of white clouds turned to stone, a
work of art which only love could conjure out of the rubbish of earth.
The airy cupola, the arched portals, and bright white walls are
reflected in the pool. At each of the four corners of the terrace stands
a tall slender minaret, also of white marble, and in the centre the huge
dome rises to a height of 240 feet. In the great octagonal hall below
the dome, within an enclosure of marble filigree work, stand the
monuments over Shah Jehan and his queen Mumtaz. The actual sarcophagi
are preserved in the vault beneath.

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