Ladakhi Histories: Local And Regional Perspectives (Brill's Tibetan Studies Library)

LADAKHI HISTORIES

BRILL’S TIBETAN STUDIES LIBRARY edited by HENK BLEZER ALEX MCKAY CHARLES RAMBLE VOLUME 9

LADAKHI HISTORIES Local and Regional Perspectives EDITED BY

JOHN BRAY

BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2005

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

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CONTENTS LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS…....…………………………...……..vii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...……………………………………....ix JOHN BRAY—Introduction: Locating Ladakhi History …………....1 PHILIP DENWOOD—Early Connections between Ladakh/Baltistan and Amdo/Kham….……………………………. 31 BETTINA ZEISLER—On the Position of Ladakhi and Balti in the Tibetan Language Family….……….…………………………....41 CHRISTIAN LUCZANITS—The Early Buddhist Heritage of Ladakh Reconsidered ……………………………...…...…………65 ROBERTO VITALI—Some Conjectures on Change and Instability during the One Hundred Years of Darkness in the History of La dwags (1280s-1380s) ………………….……………....97 NEIL HOWARD—Sultan Zain-ul Abidin’s Raid into Ladakh ......125 JIGAR MOHAMMED—Mughal Sources on Medieval Ladakh… 147 PETER SCHWIEGER—Documents on the Early History of He-na-ku, a Petty Chiefdom in Ladakh….………………………....161 NICOLA GRIST—The History of Islam in Suru ……………..….175 TASHI STOBDAN—Gyajung Nagpo…………………………….181 PETER MARCZELL—Dr. James G. Gerard’s Unfulfilled Ambition to Visit Ladakh ………………………………………..183 PETER MARCZELL—Csoma KIJrösi’s Pseudonym… .………….203

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NEIL HOWARD—The Development of the Boundary between the State of Jammu & Kashmir and British India, and its Representation on Maps of the Lingti Plain… ………………...…..217 K. WARIKOO—Political Linkages between Ladakh and Eastern Turkestan under the Dogras during the 19th Century… ….235 JOHN BRAY—Early Protestant Missionary Engagement with the Himalayan Region and Tibet ………………………………….249 CHRISTIAN HEYDE—The Early History of the Moravian Mission in the Western Himalayas: the Life and Work of Wilhelm and Maria Heyde ..............................................................................271 A. H. FRANCKE—Schools in Leh. Translated, with an Introduction by Gabriele Reifenberg ................................................281 POUL PEDERSEN—Prince Peter, Polyandry and Psychoanalysis …………………………………………………293 JANET RIZVI—Trade and Migrant Labour: Inflow of Resources at the Grassroots ………………………………………………...….309 JACQUELINE FEWKES & ABDUL NASIR KHAN— Social Networks and Transnational Trade in early 20th Century Ladakh …………………………………………321 NAWANG TSERING SHAKSPO—The Life and Times of Geshe Ye-shes-don-grup …………………………………………...335 ERBERTO LO BUE—Lives and Works of Traditional Buddhist Artists in 20th Century Ladakh. A Preliminary Account…353 FERNANDA PIRIE—The Impermanence of Power: Village Politics in Ladakh, Tibet and Nepal…………………………..…....379 CONTRIBUTORS. ...……………………………………………. 395 INDEX ........……………………………………………………….399

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Figure 1—Regional map of Ladakh ………………..………...…….…x Figure 2—Local map of Ladakh ……………………………….……....4 Figure 3—Leh palace and the Sunni mosque in 1938...….…………..14 Figure 4—The leader of the Ladakhi lo-phyag mission in 1921 ….…...19 Figure 5—The temple ruin at Basgo ………………………….……...71 Figure 6—Schematic drawing of the distribution of the VajradhÀtu deities in the Basgo ruin ...………………….…...…...71 Figure 7—Left sidewall of the Basgo ruin …………………………….72 Figure 8—Central structures of the monastic complex in Alchi ……..79 Figure 9—Two scenes of the life of the Buddha ……………………...81 Figure 10—Fragments of a former veranda in Lhachuse ………..…...81 Figure 11—Front lintel of a door in Sumda….……………………….82 Figure 12—Bodhisattva image from Alchi.…………………………...83 Figure 13—Sculpture of Jina Amoghasiddhi in Sumda Chen …...…..85 Figure 14—Wall of the Priests’ Chörten in Lamayuru …………….....87 Figure 15—The white-haired priest in the Lamayuru Chörten ……...88 Figure 16—He-na-ku Document 1a ……….………………………..170 Figure 17—He-na-ku Document 1b ………………………………...171 Figure 18—He-na-ku Document 2a.………………………………...172

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Figure19—He-na-ku Document 2b …………………………………173 Figure 20—Csoma KIJrösi’s East India Company passport ………...209 Figure 21—Map of the Lingti Plain and adjacent country ………...224 Figure 22—Jammu & Kashmir boundary pillar erected in 1871 …...225 Figure 23—18th century German children’s hymn translated into Tibetan by Maria Heyde………………………………...…277 Figure 24—The Heydes with their congregation in Kyelang……….279 Figure 25—Thakur Partap Chand’s castle at Kolong ………………296 Figure 26—Crossing the Tsarab chu ………………………………..297 Figure27—Prince Peter and others in Leh, 1938 …………………...298 Figure 28—Telegram from the Khan Archive …….………………..322 Figure 29—Dye boxes ……………………………………….……...324 Figure 30—Household utensils ………………………..………..…...325 Figure 31—Decoration of lantern by Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin, Phiyang monastery …………………………………………………355 Figure 32—KÀlacakra by Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs, Spituk …………...359 Figure 33—Padmasambhava by Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring, Hemis ……363 Figure 34—Attendant of a Great Guardian King by Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus, Likir……………………………………..366 Figure 35—Padma dkar po and sthaviras, by Tshe ring dngos grub ...374 Figure 36—The onpo and the amchi at the head of the dra-lgo during a festival in Photoksar in 1999…………………………...380

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This collection of papers is produced under the auspices of the International Association of Ladakh Studies (IALS). The IALS owes its origins to the resurgence of international academic interest in the region following its re-opening to foreign visitors in 1974. In 1981 Detlef Kantwosky and Reinhard Sander organised the first of what became a series of inter-disciplinary conferences on Recent Research on Ladakh in Konstanz (Germany). The second conference took place in Pau (France, 1985) and the third (Herrnhut, Germany, 1987) led to the formal establishment of the IALS. Subsequent colloquia have taken place in Bristol (UK, 1989), London (1992), Leh (Ladakh, 1993), Bonn (Germany, 1995), Aarhus (Denmark, 1997), Leh (1999), Oxford (UK, 2001) and Leh (2003). The majority of the papers in this volume were first presented at the IALS conferences in 1999, 2001 and 2003, and these have been supplemented by additional contributions from Roberto Vitali, Peter Schwieger, Nicola Grist, Nawang Tsering Shakspo and myself. We owe a special debt of thanks to the Michael Aris Memorial Trust for Tibetan and Himalayan Studies, the British Academy, the Society for South Asian Studies, the Oxford University Committee for South Asian Studies, the Pitt Rivers Museum and the Institute of Social and Cultural Anthropology at the University of Oxford, all of whom provided financial and other support for the Oxford conference in 2001. The Jammu & Kashmir Academy for Art, Culture and Languages generously supported the 2003 conference in Leh. It has been a particular pleasure to work with Brill Academic Publishers in the production of this volume—especially Albert Hoffstädt, Patricia Radder, Daan Vernooij and Alex McKay (in his capacity as series editor). Martijn van Beek and Neil Howard have provided additional advice and support. The map-making department at the Moesgaard Museum/University of Aarhus produced the local and regional maps with efficiency and skill, and we thank the Pitt Rivers Museum for permission to reproduce the photograph from the Charles Bell collection on the cover and in the introductory essay. John Bray, Honorary Secretary IALS, 16th May 2005

Figure 1. Regional map of Ladakh showing India’s contemporary international boundaries and areas disputed with China and Pakistan. Drawn by Ea Rasmussen, Moesgaard Museum/University of Aarhus.

INTRODUCTION: LOCATING LADAKHI HISTORY JOHN BRAY Where exactly is Ladakh (La-dvags1), and how does it fit into the wider history of the Himalayan and Karakoram regions? In contemporary usage the name ‘Ladakh’ tends to be applied in two main senses: it refers to a specific locality in the Indus valley region centring on the town of Leh; and it is also refers to the whole of Leh and Kargil districts, including the Nubra, Shyok, Suru and Zangskar valleys and the Rupshu plateau. This book refers to Ladakh in the second sense, but it should be said at once that the region has been included within a number of political entities in the course of its history, and these have had widely differing geographical boundaries: x From the late 7th or early 8th century until some time after 842 AD it was part of the Tibetan empire. x From the mid-10th century until 1834, Ladakh was an independent kingdom. At its height in the mid-17th century, it extended as far as Rudok, Guge and Purang in what is now Western Tibet. In its final years, its territory corresponded roughly with today’s Leh and Kargil districts, with the addition of Spiti. x In 1834 Ladakh was invaded by the army of Raja Gulab Singh of Jammu, and it finally lost its independence in 1842. Four years later, it was incorporated into the new princely state of Jammu & Kashmir (J&K), which acknowledged British paramountcy within the Indian empire. Since 1947 it has remained part of J&K within the independent Republic of India. Even today, Ladakh’s political status remains contested within India: many Ladakhis call for the region to be separated from J&K and reclassified as a Union Territory coming under direct rule from New Delhi. Meanwhile, its eastern and northern boundaries are disputed with China, while the status of the whole of J&K has been a source of contention—and at times of outright conflict—with Pakistan. 1

In this essay I have used a modified form of the Wylie system for Tibetan transliteration. Following recent practice in other collective volumes, I have not imposed a uniform transliteration style on the other papers.

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This complex political background means that Ladakh’s history has to be understood at several different levels. The local perspective is essential—the region cannot be taken simply as a sub-set either of India or Tibet—but regional and international perspectives are just as important. From the Indian, Tibetan or Chinese viewpoints, Ladakh lies on the periphery: equally, it may be viewed as lying at the centre of a network connecting all these regions. The interaction between local, regional and indeed international perspectives is therefore one of the main themes of this book. The second main theme is the interdisciplinary nature of contemporary research on Ladakh. The region’s increased accessibility in the last 30 years has facilitated new studies by scholars from a variety of disciplines, and this collection therefore includes contributions by linguists, art historians and anthropologists as well as documentary historians. The sources that they use range from rock and temple inscriptions to folk history, personal reminiscences and archival records in many different languages. All contemporary research benefits from the foundations laid by the major 20th century historians of Ladakh, notably A.H. Francke (1907, 1914, 1926), Luciano Petech (1939, 1977), Hashmatullah Khan (1939), Joseph Gergan (1976), Tashi Rabgias (1984), and Kacho Sikandar Khan (1987). This introductory essay relates the papers in this book to each other, to the extensive body of existing knowledge on Ladakhi history, and to future research that has yet to be undertaken. It begins with an overview of Ladakh’s local and regional interconnections, before examining the historiography of its early, mediaeval and modern periods in greater detail. Local and regional interconnections Ladakh has always been—in Janet Rizvi’s phrase—a ‘crossroads of High Asia’ (Rizvi 1983, 1996). Mountains divide people and cultures, but mountain passes and valleys connect them. Ladakh lies across one of the most important trade and pilgrimage routes between South and Central Asia, as well as a branch route along the upper Indus towards Western and Central Tibet, and these have been in continuous use since before recorded history. The region’s economy has been a combination of settled agriculture in the valleys together with nomadic pastoralism in Rupshu. It never had sufficient resources to maintain large armies, and its topography impeded the creation of complex political infrastructures. However, it produced sufficient surplus to support an extensive monastic popul-

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ation, and to finance both local and long-distance trade. For much of Ladakh’s history, the most lucrative long-distance trade item was wool from Tibet, Central Asia and the uplands of Ladakh which was transported to Kashmir to be made into shawls (Rizvi 1999). The control of this trade was often an important political objective for Ladakhi kings and their regional rivals. A majority of Ladakh’s inhabitants are followers of Tibetan Buddhism. However, while acknowledging the importance of their historical links with Tibet, contemporary Ladakhis are keen to emphasise their region’s distinct identity. Almost all the inhabitants of Purig are Muslim and—together with the smaller Muslim populations of the Indus valley, Nubra and Zangskar—they make up nearly half the total population. Ladakh has always looked east to Tibet, but also north to Eastern Turkestan (Xinjiang), south to the plains of India and west to the regions that are now the Northern Areas of Pakistan. Recent anthropological research points to significant variations in village-level ritual within Ladakh, for example in New Year (lo-gsar) celebrations (e.g. Brauen 1980, Kaplanian 1981, Rigal 1985), and some aspects of this ritual may derive from the folk traditions of the regions west of Ladakh. However, local particularism has for centuries been combined with a sense of belonging to a wider religious culture, whether this is Buddhism in the case of the Indus, Zangskar and Nubra valleys; or Islam in the case of Purig. A similar point applies to language: there are significant variations in the dialects spoken in different villages and districts within Ladakh; and spoken Ladakhi and Lhasa Tibetan are not mutually intelligible. At the same time, Ladakhi Buddhists and Tibetans have shared a common written language based on classical Tibetan. Tibetan was not the only ‘international’ language. From the 16th century onwards, Persian was one of the main languages of trade and diplomacy linking Ladakh with Kashmir and other parts of India, and Ladakhi kings employed Muslim scribes skilled in Persian to help communicate with Kashmir and India (Sheikh 1995). Since the 19th century, Persian has been replaced first by Urdu (the state language of J&K), and now in part by Hindi (the national language) as well as English (the most widely used international language). All three languages are now to be heard in Leh bazaar, together with Ladakhi, Tibetan, Kashmiri, Punjabi, Nepali and the mother tongues of the many foreign visitors. International boundary disputes may have cut off Ladakh’s historic trade routes, but it is still a national and international crossroads.

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Figure 2. Local map of Ladakh. Drawn by Ea Rasmussen, Moesgaard Museum/ University of Aarhus.

Early history In the late 7th or early 8th century, the regions now comprising Ladakh and Baltistan were incorporated into the Yarlung dynasty’s Tibetan empire which extended as far west as Gilgit, while also encompassing

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the Khotan and Kashgar regions north of the Karakoram (Beckwith 1987). This was the only period in Ladakh’s history when it came under the direct political control of Lhasa, and it came to an end in the political fragmentation that followed the assassination of the Tibetan King Lang-dar-ma in 842. Francke (1907) believed that Ladakh’s earliest inhabitants consisted of a mixed Indo-Aryan population of ‘Mons’ and ‘Dards’ who were subsequently conquered and in part absorbed by incomers from Tibet. There are still communities of Buddhist Dards (’Brog-pa) speaking an Indo-Aryan language in the villages of Dha and Hanu in western Ladakh. However, the historical identification of the pre-Tibetan Dards remains obscure,2 and the stages by which Tibetan settlement proceeded are still uncertain. Petech (1977:13) believed that—despite the region’s earlier incorporation into the Tibetan empire—the main process of Tibetan settlement did not begin until the 10th century. More recent research has challenged this view. In an earlier paper, Philip Denwood (1995b:281-287) reviewed the combined evidence of early rock inscriptions and linguistic research, and concluded that there was no reason why the process of Tibetan settlement in Ladakh could not have started in the 7th century or even earlier. His article in this collection (pp.31-40)3 returns to this line of analysis, pointing to the linguistic similarities between the dialects spoken in Ladakh and Baltistan with those in the northern and eastern Tibetan regions of Amdo and Kham. Recent archaeological research suggests that the northern Tibetan plateau once supported much larger populations than it does today (Bellezza 2001). Denwood argues that the linguistic affinities between the two regions point to the existence of historic lines of communication by this route rather than via central Tibet during the period of the Yarlung dynasty and after. Bettina Zeisler (pp.41-64) continues the discussion of the position of Ladakhi and Balti within the wider Tibetan language family. The traditional view is that the Tibetan script was introduced by Thon-mi Sambhoãa, an emissary of the Tibetan Emperor Srong-brtsan-sgampo, who ruled in the 7th century. She shows that that the development of the script was more complicated than this tradition suggests, and that its rules were not fixed until much later. Further, she challenges the view that Ladakhi is a deviation of the ‘original’ Tibetan language which formed the basis of classical written Tibetan. Rather she argues 2 3

On the historiography of the ‘Dards’, see Clarke (1977) Page references without an accompanying date refer to papers in this volume.

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that Ladakhi derives from an earlier form of Old Tibetan and must therefore be considered a ‘cousin’ rather than a descendant of the Old Central Tibetan from which the classical language derives. The most promising sources for further research into Ladakh’s early history are the physical evidence provided by petroglyphs, rock inscriptions and other archaeological remains (Luczanits pp.65-97). A KharoßãÈ inscription near Khalatse shows that Lower Ladakh was part of the KußÀÖa empire, which dominated northwest India between the 2nd century BC and the 4th century AD (Petech 1977:6-7, Luczanits p.66). A second inscription at Balukhar near Khalatse dates back to the period of the Tibetan empire (Denwood and Howard 1990) and there are other inscriptions from the same period elsewhere in the Indus valley (Orofino 1990). Similarly, Sogdian and Arabic inscriptions in Tangtse in north-east Ladakh testify to the region’s extensive international trading links in the first millennium AD (Vohra 1994, 1995). Since 1979 a German research team based at the Heidelberg Academy for the Humanities and Sciences has been working with Pakistani colleagues to record petroglyphs along the Karakoram Highway. They have published their findings in a series entitled Antiquities of Northern Pakistan,4 and this work points to the rich possibilities for further comparative research in northern Pakistan, Ladakh and western Tibet. The Ladakhi kingdom 10th to 15th centuries The disputed succession following the assassination of Lang-dar-ma in 842 led to the collapse of the Tibetan Empire. In the early 10th century sKyid-lde Nyi-ma-mgon, who was descended from Lang-dar-ma, migrated to Western Tibet. He established his authority over the wider western Tibetan region of mNga’-ris-skor-gsum,5 with his main centre of power in Purang. After his death in c.950, his dominions were divided between his three sons: dPal-gyi-mgon inherited Mar-yul (Upper Ladakh); bKra-shis-mgon took Guge and Purang; and lDegtsug-mgon received Zangskar and Spiti (Francke 1926: 94-95; Petech 1977:17; Petech 1997:232). dPal-gyi-mgon may be regarded as the founder of the kingdom of Ladakh: all subsequent kings of Ladakh 4

A full bibliography of the project’s publications is available on the Academy website: www.haw.baden-wuerttemberg.de. 5 In its original sense mNga’-ris-skor-gsum included Ladakh as well as Guge and Purang. Today mNga’-ris typically means western Tibet, but not Ladakh.

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have claimed descent from him and hence from the Yarlung dynasty, and this has been one of their principal claims to political and religious legitimacy. The prime source for this period is the La-dvags-rgyal-rabs a royal chronicle which was first compiled in the 17th century and updated into the 19th century. It has been used by a succession of Western scholars, starting with the British official Alexander Cunningham (1854), who evidently drew on a Persian or Urdu translation; and continuing with Emil von Schlagintweit (1856); the missionary doctor Karl Marx (1891,1894,1902); A.H. Francke (1907,1926), Luciano Petech (1939,1977) and Joseph Gergan (1976). However, the rGyal-rabs is full of gaps and inconsistencies, particularly for the period before the 17th century. Supplementary documentary evidence comes from the biographies (rnam-thar) of Buddhist religious leaders, monastic archives and the records of neighbouring kingdoms. As with the earlier period, petroglyphs and other archaeological evidence fill some of the gaps, as do inscriptions in the older Buddhist temples. However, our knowledge of this period remains full of discontinuities. Political history The overall picture is one of loose political structures and widespread fragmentation. As in other parts of the Himalayan region, pre-modern political structures centred on personal allegiances to ruling families rather than on ‘nations’ defined by clearly marked boundaries.6 The partition of mNga’-ris-skor-gsum after the death of sKyid-lde Nyi-mamgon is the first of several episodes where Western Tibetan rulers divided their inheritance between two or three sons, who then ruled their respective territories more or less independently while retaining a sense of mutual allegiance based on common ancestry. At different stages there appear to have been a number of local principalities within Ladakh and, from the scattered references that survive, it is often hard to discern how far these local rulers’ authority extended, and for how long. Roberto Vitali’s study of The Kingdoms of Gu.ge Pu.hrang (1996) in Western Tibet provides an important supplement to the La-dvags-rgyalrabs for the 10th to the 15th centuries. However, as he points out, there are still many gaps both in the history of Guge and of mNga’-ris-skorgsum as a whole, particularly between the 1280s and 1380s (Vitali 1996:556-564). Vitali’s paper in this collection (pp.97-124) returns to 6

For a comparative regional review, see Clarke (1996).

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this theme with an attempt to penetrate the same “one hundred years of darkness” in Ladakh’s history. He discusses the impact on the region of military campaigns by the Stod Hor (Chagatai Mongols). He then reviews the sources for the history for rGyal-bu Rin-chen, a prince whose name is mentioned in the La-dvags-rgyal-rabs and who subsequently gained power in Kashmir. Finally, he assesses the possible implications for Ladakh of the Delhi Sultanate’s Qarâchîl expedition against the Chagatai in 1333. The evidence from all these sources remains fragmentary, but nevertheless sheds some light on the general obscurity of this period. Neil Howard (pp.125-146) continues the theme of external invasion with a discussion of a raid into Ladakh by Sultan Zain-ul Abidin of Kashmir in the 15th century. The raid was first brought to scholarly attention by Pandit D. R. Sahni and A. H. Francke in 1908 on the basis of a passage in a Kashmiri source, Jonaraja’s Rajatarangini. In the light of more recent research, Howard discusses Zain-ul Abidin’s possible invasion route and the raid’s dating, arguing that it cannot have taken place later than the early 1440s. While the details are still incomplete, he suggests that the evidence points to a possible new chronology for the kings of 15th century Ladakh. Jigar Mohammed (pp.147-160) reviews the campaign of yet another invader, the Mughal general Mirza Haidar Dughlat (1499/1500-1551) whose forces invaded Ladakh from the north in 1532. The Mirza was a cousin of the Mughal Emperor Babur: he left a memoir, the Tarikh-iRashidi which discusses both his military activities and his impressions of the region’s economy and religion. Like later Persian-language writers, he refers to Baltistan as Tibet-i-Khurd (‘Little Tibet’), while Ladakh was Tibet-i-Kalan or Tibet-i-Buzur (‘Great Tibet’). Religious history The rulers of the mNga’-ris-skor-gsum kingdoms played a major historical role as the patrons of the bstan pa phyi dar, the second diffusion of Buddhism. In the second half of the 10th century King ’Khor-re of Purang, the son of bKra-shis-mgon and nephew of dPalgyi-mgon, sent 21 young men to Kashmir to be trained as professional translators of the Buddhist scriptures. One of the two who survived was Rin-chen-bzang-po (958-1055): he was famous both as a translator of the scriptures into Tibetan and as the founder of temples and monasteries across Purang, Spiti, Kinnaur and Ladakh. Royal patronage from Guge was also responsible for the invitation to the Indian master AtÈoa, who arrived in the region in 1042. ’Kho-re

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himself subsequently took monastic vows under the name Ye-shes-’od. The monks trained in mNga’-ris-skor-gsum during the late 10th and 11th centuries played a wider regional role in that they contributed to the revitalisation of Buddhism in central Tibet. Among them was a translator from Zangskar, Zangs-dkar Lo-tsa-wa Phags-pa-shes-rab, who restored the Jokhang temple in Lhasa and is also associated with the restoration of Samye (Vitali 2003). Ladakhi tradition credits Rin-chen-bzang-po with the foundation of the monasteries of Nyarma (near Thikse), which now lies in ruins, and Alchi. However, research by Roger Goepper (1990) shows that the elaborate murals in the Alchi Sumtek (gSum-brtsegs) were not completed until 1200-1220 at the earliest. In this volume, Christian Luczanits (pp.65-96) reviews the state of research on Ladakh’s early Buddhist heritage in the light of Goepper’s attribution, pointing out how much work has yet to be done. For example, there still needs to be a detailed comparative study of rock carvings such as the relief of Maitreya in Mulbek; the ruins of early temples at Nyarma and Basgo await comprehensive documentation; and woodcarvings in Alchi and elsewhere merit more careful research. The early Alchi paintings belong to the Kashmir school of Buddhist art, but Luczanits shows how artistic influence from Central Tibet becomes more prominent in the course of the 13th century, with the ’Bri-gung-pa7 and ’Brug-pa bKa’-brgyud-pa schools exercising a particularly important role. The tradition of Ladakhi monks travelling to central Tibet for higher training appears to have started in this period. Senior Tibetan lamas also came to Ladakh: one notable example was rGod-tshang-pa mGopo-rdo-rje(1189-1258), who founded a hermitage near Hemis. Buddhism was by far the strongest religious influence, but—in addition to its military confrontations with Muslim invaders—Ladakh was already coming into more peaceful contact with the Islamic world. sTag-gzigs-ma, a Persian or Arab lady, was one of the four wives of sKyid-lde Nyi-ma-mgon, the 10th century founder of the mNga’-risskor-gsum kingdoms (Petech 1997:232). According to later tradition, the Muslim preacher Mir Syed Hamdani was the first to make converts in Ladakh when passing through the region en route to Kashgar in 1394 AD (Sheikh 1995:190).8

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On the history of the ’Bri-gung-pa see Petech (1979). However, Holzwarth (1997) challenges the historicity of this tradition.

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The rNam-rgyal dynasty 16th to 19th centuries The Ladakhi kingdom reached its apogée with the rNam-rgyal dynasty, a branch of the existing royal family which took over from the early 16th century onwards. In 1630 King Seng-ge-rnam-rgyal (r.16161642) annexed the whole of western Tibet, including Rudok, Guge and Purang. He was also responsible for building the nine-storey royal palace in Leh, a dramatic symbol of royal authority. Nevertheless, many of the former sources of instability continued: there were frequent wars with neighbouring states; the kingdom’s boundaries remained fluid; and territorial gains proved impermanent. In 1684 King bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal (r.1642-1694) was forced to cede his western Tibetan territories to the Lhasa government. By the 18th century, Ladakh was no more than a minor regional power. Again, the La-dvags-rgyal-rabs is the single most important historical source, especially in the latter part of the period when its authors were describing contemporary events. It is supplemented by a variety of official documents and charters such as the 1753 treaty of WaÒle (Hanle) between Ladakh and the sub-kingdom of Purig (Schwieger 1996, 1999). Further evidence comes from the study of historical buildings and ruins (e.g. Howard 1989), from the records of neighbouring states and—for the first time—from Western travellers’ accounts. Oral tradition preserves a village-level perspective of historical events. Ladakhi kingship The kings’ legitimacy was based on their role as protectors of the Buddhist dharma (Schwieger 1997; 1999:88-99). In that capacity, they spent lavishly as patrons and supporters of monasteries both in Ladakh and in western Tibet. In the 13th and 14th centuries the kings’ closest links were with the ’Bri-gung-pa school. By the mid-15th century, the dGe-lugs-pa had gained influence. However, from the 17th century onwards the royal family’s closest relationship was with the ’Brug-pa bKa’-brgyud-pa sect. Here the key figure was sTag-tshang-ras-pa Ngag-dbang-rgya-mtsho (1574-1651), who founded Hemis monastery in 1630: he was the first in a series of incarnations from Hemis to serve as the king’s principal spiritual advisor.9 While senior lamas had considerable influence over matters of state, they never exercised

9

On sTag-tshang-ras-pa’s life and travels see Tucci (1940) and Schwieger (1996).

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direct political authority in the same way as their counterparts in central Tibet. The main centre of royal power was in the upper Indus valley, with Shey, Basgo and Leh serving at different times as the capital. The kings exercised overall suzerainty over a series of sub-principalities which had their own ruling families. Examples include: Gya, whose chiefs (cho) may once have been independent or semi-independent rulers; Zangskar, which was annexed in the 1630s but whose local royal dynasties have survived in the sub-kingdoms of Zangla and Padam to the present day (Crook 1994:448-449); Purig, which was ruled by a side-branch of the rNam-rgyal dynasty for much of the first half of the 18th century (Schwieger 1996, 1999); and Spiti, which was loosely controlled by the kings of Ladakh until the 1830s. Peter Schwieger’s paper in this volume (pp.161-174) discusses the history of the petty kingdom of He-na-ku (Heniskot), which was governed by a sub-branch of the rNam-rgyal royal family but nonetheless continued to recognise the authority of Leh. Schwieger cites two pairs of documents which he was able to photograph during a visit to the village of He-na-ku in 1993. Both sets of documents concern land titles: the first was issued from Leh in 1651 during the time of King bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal, and the second in 1680. The texts include lists of officials and functionaries in He-na-ku, illustrating the structure of the local political hierarchy. The documents serve as examples of the kinds of historical record which may still survive in Ladakh, and have yet to be studied by academic historians. Tashi Stobdan’s paper (pp.181-182) is based on oral tradition from the village of Stok, which is in the Indus valley opposite Leh. His story also concerns land, in this case a dispute over grazing rights between the villages of Stok and Matho during the final years of the Ladakhi kingdom. The dispute was resolved by an archery competition which was won by a centenarian from Stok. External pressures King Seng-ge-rnam-rgyal’s annexation of Rudok, Guge and Purang in Western Tibet in 1630 represents the height of Ladakh’s regional political power. However, the kingdom was already coming under pressure from the west. In the 16th and early 17th centuries there had been a series of conflicts with Baltistan which had by then converted to Shia Islam, and came under Mughal control in 1637. In the same period, the Mughal emperors consolidated their authority over Kashmir, and no doubt quickly came to an appreciation of the

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economic importance of the wool trade flowing through Ladakh. Emperor Shahjahan ordered an invasion of Ladakh in 1639 (Petech 1977:48-51), and Seng-ge-rnam-rgyal’s army was defeated in battle at Kharbu. The king was forced to promise to pay tribute to the Mughals. It seems that he never did so: rather, he imposed a blockade on the wool trade with Kashmir, a move which must have severely damaged his own economy. In 1663, as Jigar Mohammed explains (pp.158-160), the Emperor Aurangzeb visited Kashmir and again threatened Ladakh with invasion. King bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal sent an embassy to Kashmir to forestall war: he was forced to promise to build a mosque in Leh, to read the khutba in the name of the emperor, to issue coins with Aurangzeb’s insignia, and to send an annual tribute. In 1665 the emperor sent an envoy to Leh to ensure that the king complied with his promises (Petech 1977:54-65). The Sunni mosque was built by Shaikh Muhi ud-din in 1666/67. The most decisive setback in Ladakh’s political fortunes came as a result of the Ladakh-Tibet-Mughal war of 1679-1684. Ladakh had antagonised Tibet through its support for Bhutan, with whom it shared an allegiance to the ’Brug-pa bKa’-brgyud-pa sect, in an earlier dispute with Lhasa (Schuh 1983). A Tibetan/Mongol army led by dGa’-ldan-tshe-dbang quickly defeated the Ladakhi forces, and compelled them to withdraw as far as Basgo (Ahmad 1968). After a four-year military stalemate, bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal sought the assistance of the Mughal governor of Kashmir. In 1683 a combined Mughal/Ladakhi force defeated the Tibetans, who then retreated to Tashigang. Under the terms of the subsequent treaty with the Mughals, bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal again had to promise an annual tribute. In addition, he had to grant Kashmir a monopoly of the wool trade through Ladakh. He himself formally adopted Islam under the name ’¯qibat MaÈmËd KhÀn, although it seems that neither he nor his successors actually practised Islam. The following year the Sixth ’Brug-chen Rin-po-che, Mi-phamdbang-po (1641-1717), mediated the Treaty of Tingmosgang between Ladakh and Tibet. Again, the conditions were onerous: the Kashmiri wool merchants’ monopoly was confirmed; Ladakh ceded Rudok, Guge and Purang to the Lhasa government, except for an estate at Minsar near Mount Kailash;10 and it undertook to send a triennial lo-

10

For the subsequent history of Minsar see Bray (1997).

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phyag mission to Lhasa with a prescribed set of offerings for the Tibetan authorities (Ahmad 1968, Petech 1977:78). The 1683 and 1684 treaties defined the basis of Ladakh’s relationship with Kashmir and Tibet for the rest of the kingdom’s independent existence. The kings’ spiritual allegiance to Tibetan Buddhism ensured that Ladakh in practice remained more in the orbit of Tibet than of Kashmir. Ladakh continued to receive senior visiting lamas from Bhutan (Bray & Butters 1989) as well as Tibet. In 1752 and 1753 the rNying-ma lama Tshe-dbang-nor-bu mediated the treaty of WaÒle between Ladakh and Purig: in this case it seems that Ladakh explicitly favoured Tibetan mediation although the Kashmiri authorities also offered their assistance (Schwieger 1996, 1999). Ladakh also maintained contact with the court of the Chinese emperor in Beijing, for example by reporting on rebel movements in Central Asia (Petech 1977:133-134). Deepening contact with Islam Ladakh’s increasing political contact with its Muslim neighbours was matched by growing cultural influence, and the emergence of Muslim populations within the kingdom itself. In the early 17th century King ’Jam-dbyangs-rnam-rgyal (r.1595-1616) was defeated in a disastrous war with Ali Mir, the ruler of Baltistan (Petech 1977: 33-37). The king himself was captured and imprisoned in Skardu, where he fell in love with Ali Mir’s daughter rGyal Khatun. The two were eventually allowed to marry and ’Jam-dbyangs-rnam-rgyal was reinstated in Ladakh: rGyal Khatun was the mother of Seng-ge-rnam-rgyal, and one of several Balti princesses to marry into the Ladakhi royal family in the 17th and 18th centuries. A substantial Balti population followed her to Ladakh, and founded the Shia communities in Leh, Shey and Chushot (Sheikh 1995:190). Their wider contributions to Ladakhi culture included the introduction of the su-rna (oboe) and lda-man (kettle-drum) together with new styles of music. As a result of their influence, Ladakhi traditional music combines Tibetan vocal traditions with an Indo-Persian instrumental style (Trewin 1990). According to Ladakhi oral tradition (Sheikh 1995), ’Jam-dbyangrnam-rgyal granted land to Kashmiri Muslim traders—known as mkhar-phyog-pa or ‘court traders’—to settle in Leh, and they received special trade privileges in return for their services to the royal family. For example, the ancestor of the influential Khwaja family was invited to write the king’s Persian correspondence with the Mughal governors of Kashmir, while a man called Ismail Zergar was brought to Leh to

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strike coins. Many of these families intermarried with Ladakhis: their descendants are known as Arghon and form the core of the Sunni community in and around Leh. Their family networks extended to Rudok, Lhasa and Yarkand as well as Kashmir. Most of the Purig region converted to Shia Islam in a gradual process which accelerated in the 17th and 18th centuries. Nicola Grist (pp.175-180) shows that this was in part a result of the personal influence of Muslim preachers on the ordinary populace. Conversions also took place as a result of the local chiefs’ alliance-building with the chiefs of Baltistan, who had become Muslim earlier.

Figure 3. Leh bazaar in 1938 showing the Sunni Jamia Mosque (built in 1666-1667) in the middle distance and King Seng-ge-rnam-rgyal’s palace on the hill behind. Photography by Prince Peter of Greece and Denmark. By courtesy of the Ethnographic Collections, National Museum of Denmark, Copenhagen.

Early encounters with the West The first Westerner known to have visited Ladakh was a Portuguese merchant, Diogo d’Almeida, who gave an account of his journey there in 1603 (Petech 1939:172-175). D’Almeida apparently was under the

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impression that he had been in a Christian country, noting that there were “many churches richly adorned with paintings and images of Christ our Lord and of Our Lady and of the Holy Apostles”. Between 1624 and 1640 Portuguese Jesuits established a mission at Tsparang (rTsa-brang) in Western Tibet. In 1631 Fr. Francisco de Azevedo travelled from Tsaparang to Ladakh in the hope of winning Sen-ge-rnam-rgyal’s support following his conquest of Guge (Wessels 1924:94-118, 282-313). The king gave the Jesuits permission to preach in his territories, but they were unable to sustain their mission in Tsparang beyond 1640, and never returned to Ladakh. In 1715 another Jesuit, Ippolito Desideri (1683-1733), travelled through Ladakh with his colleague Manuel Freyre (1679-176?). Desideri (1937:79-81) reports a friendly reception from King Nyi-ma-rnamrgyal, and says that he was tempted to remain in Ladakh, but ultimately decided to press on to Lhasa. The first sustained Western encounter with Ladakh therefore comes from the journey of William Moorcroft (1767-1825) and his companion George Trebeck (d.1825), who spent some two years in and around Ladakh in 1821-1822.11 Moorcroft was a veterinarian in the service of the East India Company: his official reason for travelling to Ladakh was to explore routes to Central Asia with a view to acquiring horses to improve his breeding stock. However, he had much wider interests, and his notes and letters—published in part after his death (Moorcroft & Trebeck 1837)—are a prime source of information for early 19th century Ladakh. Moorcroft also had political concerns: he was among the first British observers to draw attention to the potential threat to India from Russian expansionism. He therefore encouraged the King of Ladakh to sign a trade agreement and an offer of allegiance with the East India Company in the hope of gaining British protection both against Russia and against Ranjit Singh’s Sikh empire. This agreement never came into effect: Moorcroft was acting unofficially and the British authorities repudiated his initiatives. Moorcroft played a decisive role in the life of the Hungarian scholar Alexander Csoma de KĘrös (Csoma KĘrösi Sandor) whom he met at Dras in western Ladakh in 1822 on the road from Srinagar to Leh. As Peter Marczell (p.186) explains, Csoma had left his homeland some years earlier on a journey across Asia to find the ancestral origins of the Hungarian race. Moorcroft gave him both the encouragement and funds from his own pocket to embark on the Tibetan linguistic 11

For Moorcroft’s biography, see in particular Alder (1985) and Denwood (1995a).

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researches that eventually resulted in the publication of the first authoritative Tibetan-English dictionary (Csoma de KĘrös 1834). Marczell goes on to discuss the relationship with both men of another British official, Dr James G. Gerard who was a British military surgeon based in Sabathu, to the south of the main Himalayan range. Gerard never succeeded in his ambition to visit Ladakh, but his attempts to do so—and the correspondence published here—give an insight into early British engagement with the Western Himalayan region. In a second paper, Marczell (pp.203-216) discusses Csoma’s use of a pseudonym during his Himalayan travels, and shows how this practice gives insights on his character and aspirations. Ladakh’s incorporation into Jammu & Kashmir In 1834 Ladakh was invaded by the armies of Zorawar Singh, a wazir and general in the service of Raja Gulab Singh of Jammu, and it finally lost its independence in 1842. Gulab Singh was a feudatory of the Sikh Durbar in Lahore, but aligned himself with the British in the First Anglo-Sikh War in 1846. The British were victorious and, under the Treaty of Amritsar, installed Gulab Singh as the Maharaja of the combined state of Jammu & Kashmir (J&K), including Ladakh. As the ruler of a princely state, the new Maharaja enjoyed a high degree of internal autonomy while acknowledging overall British paramountcy within the Indian Empire. Since the Dogra invasion, Ladakh’s history has been irrevocably intertwined with India’s. The main themes of the period are the region’s gradual integration into the wider Indian and international economy against a background of continuing religious influence from Tibet, and a high degree of cultural continuity at the village level. The historical sources include J&K and British government papers; reports and memoirs by missionaries, travellers and researchers; and surviving papers in the private possession of Ladakhi families. The final period of Dogra rule is still within the living memory of the oldest generation of Ladakhis. The Dogra campaign The history of Zorawar Singh’s campaigns is recorded in the final chapters of the La-dvags-rgyal-rabs (Francke 1926:127-138). The British officer Alexander Cunningham (1814-1893) gives a detailed account based on the reminiscences of Mehta Basti Ram who was one of Zorawar Singh’s principal lieutenants (1854:331-354). Interestingly,

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Basti Ram refers to King Tshe-dpal-don-grub-rnam-rgyal of Ladakh by his formal Muslim name, ’¯qibat MaÈmËd KhÀn. A.H. Francke (1926:245-256) records the reminiscences of a second eye-witness, a veteran of the wars who was still living in Khalatse some 60 years later. More recently, Datta (1979) and Lamb (1986) have drawn on British archives to give detailed assessments of the wider diplomatic aspects of the Dogra invasion while Neil Howard (1995) has reviewed the military aspects of Zorawar Singh’s campaign. Fisher, Rose and Huttenback (1963:155-176) have translated contemporary Chinese records of the invasion from the correspondence between the Chinese Amban (Resident) in Lhasa, and his superiors in Beijing. After consolidating his control over Ladakh, Zorawar Singh invaded Western Tibet with a view to gaining control of the sources of the shawl wool trade, and preventing it from being diverted to Bashahr in British India (Datta 1973:128-144). However, the winter snows cut off his supply lines: in December 1841 he was killed—and his army all but annihilated—in a battle with the Tibetans at Taklakot. Zorawar’s death prompted a final Ladakhi uprising, but the Dogras quickly suppressed it and in September 1842 signed a peace agreement with Tibet. After 1842 the king of Ladakh lost formal political authority once and for all, although he and his family were allowed to keep an estate in the village of Stok, opposite Leh in the Indus valley, and moved to a smaller palace there. The kings retained an important ritual and social status, for example playing the leading role in the New Year celebrations in Leh (Ribbach 1986:120-130). The politics of British paramountcy J&K was a British client state, but neither side fully trusted the other. Gulab Singh aspired to a degree of independence in his external relationships. By contrast, the British were keen to ensure that the Maharaja acknowledged his subordination, and wished to establish clear boundaries, both in matters of policy and on the ground. Neither process proved straightforward. In the territorial realignments that followed the 1846 Sikh War the British retained control of Lahul, which had been conquered by the Sikhs in 1840-1841, and Spiti which had previously been under the nominal control of Ladakh. In 1846 the British authorities sent P.A. Vans Agnew and Alexander Cunningham to survey the frontier between Ladakh and Tibet. However, the two commissioners received no co-operation from either the J&K government or from Tibet, and

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therefore were unable to reach agreement on a clearly defined international frontier: the demarcation of the boundary remains a source of dispute between India and China to this day. Neil Howard (pp.217-234) illustrates the technical and political challenges of boundary demarcation in his paper on the Ladakh-Lahul border between J&K and British India. The J&K government’s lack of cooperation in 1846 meant that the boundary had to be re-surveyed in 1871-1872. This time the British government’s commissioner was Robert Shaw (1839-1879), also well known as an early Western traveller to Eastern Turkestan (Xinjiang). His J&K counterpart was Frederic Drew (1836-1891), an Englishman who had been serving the Maharaja as wazir (governor) of Ladakh. Howard’s research is based both on a study of the official records and first-hand examination of the terrain. He discusses the sources of confusion about the precise location of boundary markers, and shows how these still persist in contemporary maps. K. Warikoo (pp.235-248) reviews the relationship between the Maharaja’s government and the British over foreign policy. The British did their best to limit independent initiatives by the J&K government, for example by discouraging direct relations between Maharaja Ranbir Singh and Yakub Beg, who ruled Eastern Turkestan between 1865 and 1877. In 1867 the British set Dr Henry Cayley to Leh as an Officer on Special Duty with a brief to monitor trade and gather intelligence. In 1870 the Government of India concluded a treaty with Kashmir providing for the appointment of a British Joint Commissioner on a regular basis. The commissioner was to spend the summer months in Leh. Together with the J&K wazir he would share responsibility for supervising the ‘Treaty Road’ to Central Asia while also keeping track of political developments. From then on, any direct contact between the Maharaja of Kashmir and the rulers of Eastern Turkestan became almost impossible. One continuity with the past was the triennial lo-phyag mission from Leh to Lhasa which, as noted above, had been established by the 1684 Treaty of Tingmosgang. In 1889 the British Joint Commissioner Captain H. Ramsay expressed concerns about the lo-phyag’s political implications (Bray 1990). He thought that it might imply that Ladakh was politically subservient to Lhasa, and suggested that it should be abolished. However, the British authorities eventually came to the conclusion that—whatever its past significance—the continuation of the lo-phyag was now politically harmless and commercially beneficial because it facilitated trade. In the early years of the 20th century, the

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management of the lo-phyag was dominated by the Shangara and Radhu families, the former being Buddhist and the latter Muslim (Rizvi 1999:159-181). Abdul Wahid Radhu (1981) has provided a vivid account of one of the final lo-phyag missions in the early 1940s.

Figure 4. The leader of the lo-phyag mission in Lhasa in 1921. Photographer: Sir Charles Bell. Courtesy of the Pitt Rivers Museum, University of Oxford. Accession No.1998.285.322.

Development of trade In the late 19th and early 20th centuries Leh consolidated its status as an entrepôt on the Central Asian trade route between Punjab, Kashmir and Turkestan/Xinjiang. Drawing on personal interviews as well as the archives of the Khan family in Leh, Jacqueline Fewkes and Abdul Nasir Khan (pp.321-334) discuss the kinship and socioeconomic networks that helped the trade run smoothly. The Khans themselves had relatives in—among other places—Khotan, Ladakh and Lahore, while the kinship networks of other leading trading families extended to Lhasa and beyond. Fewkes and Khan argue that these traders played an important role in the early manifestations of globalisation by introducing international trade goods such as synthetic dyes to the Ladakhi market. At a humbler level, the kiraiyakash transporters in Dras, Kargil, Leh and Nubra encouraged their children to learn Uighur as well as

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Ladakhi, and often worked for the same family employers from one generation to the next. In her earlier study of Ladakh’s trading history, Janet Rizvi (1999) showed how the modest income from transporting work made a crucial difference to families who otherwise lived on the margins of subsistence. In this volume (pp.309-320), she focuses on migrant labour as an additional source of income for families in the Suru valley and Zangskar. In the early 20th century there was a semipermanent community of Kargili porters in Simla. Meanwhile, generations of young men from Purig spent their winters working in Jammu and Punjab, while their counterparts in Zangskar went to Kulu-Manili. As with her earlier work, Rizvi has drawn heavily on the reminiscences of survivors to supplement meagre documentary sources. Missionary encounters The expansion of British rule in India prepared the way for Christian missionaries who, in addition to their preaching work, made important contributions to education and scholarship. My own paper (pp. 249-270) discusses the pioneering work of the first Protestant missionaries in the Eastern and Western Himalayas. In the early 1850s JD Prochnow (1814-1888) and Robert Clark (1825-1900), who belonged to Church Missionary Society (CMS), made reconnaissance visits to Ladakh with a view to establishing a mission there, but subsequently left the field to Moravian missionaries from Germany. Christian Heyde (pp.271-280) takes up the story of the Moravian mission with an account of the lives of his ancestors Wilhelm Heyde (1825-1907) and his wife Maria (1837-1917). Heyde and his colleague Eduard Pagell (1820-1883) first visited Ladakh in 1855, and established a mission station in Kyelang (Lahul) the following year. Heinrich August Jäschke (1817-1883) joined them in 1857: he is well known in the wider field of Tibetan studies because of his Bible translation and his Tibetan English Dictionary (1881). Heyde made regular visits to Ladakh before the establishment of a permanent mission in Leh in 1885. A.H. Francke (1870-1930), who first came to Ladakh in 1896, is one of the best known of the Moravian missionary scholars. Gabriele Reifenberg (pp.281-292) has translated a vivid and sometimes humorous article that he wrote on the schools of Leh early in his career. The essay reflects Francke’s preoccupation with the complexities of local speech and the written language based on classical Tibetan: he argues that the children’s educational interests would be

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best served by developing a written language based on spoken Ladakhi. This would be an immense but worthwhile task, requiring the composition of a dictionary, a grammar and a series of readers. Francke did subsequently prepare a Ladakhi grammar (Francke 1901), and his linguistic researches led him to the study of the region’s history, using both manuscripts, rock inscriptions and oral accounts of the past (Francke 1907, 1914, 1926). Inevitably, much of Francke’s early work has had to be revised in the light of later research, but he is still widely cited by more recent historians. Development of Western scholarship Francke corresponded with scholars in India, Europe and America, and himself became Professor of Tibetan at Berlin University in 1924. Meanwhile European academics had been finding their own way to Ladakh. Early examples include the Schlagintweit brothers Hermann (1826-882), Adolf (1829-1857), Eduard (1831-1866), Robert (18331885), and Emil (1835-1904), who explored and researched on the Himalayan region in the 1850s; Sir Aurel Stein (1862-1943) who travelled through Ladakh en route to Central Asia in the early 1900s; Sven Hedin (1865-1952), the Swedish explorer of Tibet; and the Italian Filippo de Filippi (1869-1938) who led major scientific expeditions to Ladakh and Baltistan in 1909 and 1914. Poul Pedersen’s paper (pp.293-308) discusses the anthropological researches of Prince Peter of Greece and Denmark in the 1930s, linking it both to the Prince’s personal background and to wider intellectual currents in Europe. Prince Peter’s mother was an associate of Sigmund Freud, while he was himself a pupil of the anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski: he originally hoped to establish a link between psychoanalysis and anthropology by exploring whether the Oedipus complex—which Freud believed to be universal—was found in polyandrous families. While he did not succeed in his original objective, he was able to conduct pioneering research on Ladakhi family structure during his visit to Leh in 1938, and later used this in his book, A Study of Polyandry (1963). Religious continuity and change The demise of the Ladakhi kingdom ended royal patronage of the monasteries, but in other respects there was a remarkable continuity. Although the Maharajas were Hindus, leading lamas such as the first Ladakhi Ba-ku-la Rinpoche from Spituk and sTag-tshang Rinpoche from Hemis nonetheless managed to secure a degree of patronage

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from the J&K state (Shakspo 1988:30-32). Meanwhile, the leading monasteries maintained their connections with Tibet and continued to send monks there for religious training. One example was Geshe Ye-shes-don-grup (1897-1980), one of the most prominent Ladakhi Buddhist leaders of his generation. Nawang Tsering Shakspo (pp.335-352) shows how he began his monastic career as a child-monk in his home village of Stok before travelling with the lo-phyag mission to Tashi Lhunpo in Central Tibet where he studied for the dka-chen degree. He returned to Ladakh at the age of 37, and emerged as an important teacher, writer and religious leader whose role was all the more important because of the challenges of accelerating social change in the second half of the 20th century. Erberto Lo Bue (pp.353-378) points to continuity in the field of religious art in his study of five 20th century Buddhist artists: Tshedbang-rig-’dzin (c.1877/1890-c.1968/1970), Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs (b.1932), Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring (b.1936), Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus (b.1944); and Tshe-ring-dgos-grub (b.1944). All five have had strong links with Tibet because they were invited to work there, or because they were trained by Tibetan teachers, whether in Tibet or Ladakh. Their work is deeply rooted in Tibetan Buddhist tradition, and their artistic competence compares favourably with much of the work produced in the 19th century. The final years of the Dogra regime also saw the beginnings of a Buddhist reform movement, partly under the influence of Buddhist converts from Kashmir such as Shridhar Kaul (1892-1967). In 1933 a small group of Ladakhis founded the Ladakh Buddhist Education Society (LBES), and this was followed by the Young Men’s Buddhist Association (YMBA) in 1938 (Bertelsen 1997). The YMBA in turn was a precursor of the Ladakh Buddhist Association (LBA) in contemporary Ladakhi politics. Indian independence and after Indian independence in 1947 heralded a period of accelerating social change complicated by political uncertainties at both the local, national and international levels. These uncertainties raised new questions about Ladakhi identity and status. International context For millions of Indians and Pakistanis the joy of independence was overshadowed by the traumas of partition. The case of J&K—and

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therefore of Ladakh—was all the more complicated because a Hindu ruler, Maharaja Hari Singh, ruled a Muslim-majority state. Initially, the Maharaja may have hoped for outright independence from either India or Pakistan, but in October 1947—in circumstances which are still a source of dispute—he signed the Instrument of Accession to India. Pakistani irregular forces invaded the Kashmir Valley. A parallel group from Gilgit quickly captured Skardu and marched on Leh. One Pakistani detachment reached Padam in Zangskar.12 Indian reinforcements sent by air to a hastily constructed airfield succeeded in defending Leh. The ceasefire line imposed in January 1949 has cut off Ladakh and Baltistan from each other ever since. There were further wars between India and Pakistan 1965 and 1971. Since the late 1980s, there has been sporadic fighting in the Siachen Glacier at the northern extremity of the Line of Control. In 1999 a Pakistani incursion in the heights overlooking the Leh-Srinagar road escalated into the ‘Kargil War’. At the time of writing in mid2005, relations between India and Pakistan were warmer than they had been for years, and there was even talk of re-opening a road connection between Ladakh and Skardu, but no one expected an early formal resolution to the dispute between the two countries over the status of J&K. Relations with China have been almost as fraught. In the 1950s, Indian Prime Minister Jawarharlal Nehru favoured a policy of friendship with China, but his hopes were dashed when it became apparent that China had built a road across the Aksai Chin, an uninhabited region to the north-east of Leh which is claimed by India (see Lall 1989). Border tensions escalated into outright fighting in 1962-1963. In the 1990s and early 2000s India and China reportedly have discussed the possibility of re-opening the land route between Ladakh and the Mount Kailash region. However, there appeared to be little prospect of an early agreement on the demarcation of their common boundary. Internal politics The central political issue has been Ladakh’s relationship with J&K. Already in the 1950s, Ladakhis were beginning to complain of ‘stepmotherly treatment’ from the J&K government which, they argued, 12 Ladakhi veterans’ reminiscences of the war of 1948 are recorded in a special edition of the journal of the Leh branch of the J&K Cultural Academy: ShÈrÀza/Shesrabzom 20 (1998), Nos. 3-4. See Chibber (1998) for an Indian army officer’s view, and Dani (1989:326-401) for a Pakistani perspective.

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neglected them unfairly. From the 1970s onward this led to demands for Ladakh to become a Union Territory under direct rule from New Delhi. In 1989 political rivalries led to outright violence between Buddhist and Muslim youth and then to a Buddhist boycott of Muslim shops: the argument was that Muslims had benefited from favouritism by a Muslim-dominated J&K government (Bertelsen & van Beek 1997, Bertlesen 1997a,b). These developments both reflected and raised questions of identity (see van Beek 1996). What did it mean to be a Ladakhi? Is there a Ladakhi ‘nation’ and, if so, who belongs to it? Local political tensions appeared to be resolved, at least temporarily, with the creation in 1995 of the Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council in Leh district. Kargil followed with its own Autonomous Hill Development Council in 2003. However, the effectiveness of the two councils is still contested, and an influential body of Ladakhis—particularly Leh-based Buddhists—continues to argue for Union Territory status. Meanwhile, the Ladakhi Buddhist Association (LBA) courted the Hindu revivalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), apparently in the hope of gaining more influence at the national level (van Beek 2004). This hope was less likely to be realised following the Congress victory in the 2004 Indian national elections Economic and social change The closure of Ladakh’s international boundaries ended Leh’s role as an entrepôt in the Central Asian trade, and it is unlikely to regain its former importance even if the land routes to China re-open. However, Fewkes & Khan (p.350) show that at least some of the old connections continue: Hoshiarpur traders, who used to see Ladakh simply as a transit route to Central Asia, now regard it as a market in its own right. In the 1960s military contractors opened up a motor road from Srinagar to Leh, and this is now open to both civilian and military traffic in the months between June and November. The army has opened up new sources of employment, as has tourism since Ladakh’s re-opening to foreign visitors in 1974. Many Ladakhis have achieved a degree of prosperity far beyond what they could have imagined in the Dogra period. Despite these changes, there are still important social continuities at the village level. Fernanda Pirie (pp.379-394) discusses village power structures, taking the village of Photoksar as an example. She recognises the continuing social importance of the aristocratic elite (sku-drag) in Ladakh, but at the same time argues that village social and

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political organisation is characterised by more democratic, counterhierarchical principles. These characteristics derive from social patterns established in the time of the Ladakhi monarchy, and continue to influence villagers’ attitudes to modern development. Cultural affirmations New sources of income have helped finance the restoration and in some cases expansion of Ladakh’s Buddhist monasteries. As Lo Bue notes (p.362), in 1979 and 1980 the Ladakhi artist Ngag-dbang-tshering constructed a 14m statue of Maitreya in traditional style at Thikse monastery, and this has become one of the symbols of modern Ladakh. In recent years the 14th Dalai Lama has visited Ladakh several times, unlike any of his predecessors, as have other senior Tibetan lamas from the ’Brug-pa bKa’-brgyud-pa and Sa-skya sects. Ladakhi monasteries are no longer able to send monks to Tibet for their higher education, but many younger monks have gone instead to Dharamsala or to the Tibetan exile monasteries in southern India. These exchanges go both ways: the Ladakhi monk Ye-shes-don-grub who, as noted above, had been trained in the original Tashi Lhunpo monastery, spent the last five years of his life between 1975 and 1980 as mkhan-po (abbot) of the reconstituted Tashi Lhunpo in Karnataka. At the same time, Ladakhis are keen to affirm their distinct identity: they have close historical links with Tibet, but are not Tibetans. Continuing debates about Ladakh’s written language illustrate some of the tensions between its claims to a local identity and its wider cultural inheritance. As noted above, Francke thought that Ladakh should develop a written language closer to its speech. In the 1950s, Thsebrtan-phun-tshogs, a Ladakhi aristocrat who had converted to Christianity, took these ideas further with proposals for a simplified Tibetan script. As Shakspo explains (p.346), Ladakhi Buddhists led by Ye-shes-do-grub successfully campaigned against his proposal, arguing that it amounted to an attack on Buddhism. Debates about the desirability of developing a simplified version of written Ladakhi still provoke fierce controversy, and this is part of the context for Bettina Zeisler’s paper (pp.41-64) on the historical development of the Tibetan family of languages. Any proposals to reform the the written language should recognise that spoken Ladakhi is the descendant of an earlier form of Tibetan that preceded Classical Tibetan, and has its own distinctive grammar.

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Nicola Grist (pp.178-179) points to a parallel process of religious and cultural affirmation in Kargil and Suru. Shia clerics are now stricter in enforcing ‘orthodox’ practice. For example musical instruments are no longer played at weddings because this is supposed to be un-Islamic. More men go to Iran and Iraq for religious training, and in the last 25 years a new ‘modern’ concrete-based religious architecture has begun to flourish. Arguments about Ladakhi orthography have much less resonance in Kargil because most Muslims associate the Tibetan script (also known as Bodhi or Bod-yig) with Buddhism, and prefer to write in Urdu. At the same time, in discussions with this author in 2003, Kargil scholars were keen to emphasise their Ladakhi identity. Referring to the pass linking the Purig region with Kashmir, they repeated several times that “Ladakh begins at the Zoji-la!” Ye-shes-don-grub played an important part in educating a new generation of Ladakhi writers. Contemporary Ladakhi/Bodhi/Bod-yig authors have found an outlet in the state-sponsored J&K Academy of Art, Culture and Languages which has two periodicals, ShÈrÀza/Shesrab-zom and Lo-‘khor-gyi-deb. The Academy has also published a series of folkstories and folksongs, and organises dance and other cultural performances. Similarly, the Leh branch of All India Radio provides a platform for both authors and musicians. To some extent the state has replaced the Ladakhi monarchy as a patron of the arts. Ladakh has begun to make an appearance in the Bollywood film industry (Aggarwal 2004), and younger Ladakh musicians make use of techniques adapted from Hindi movies. In 1997 the BJP politician L.K. Advani initiated a new annual festival, the Sindhu Darshan Abhiyan, which involves a ceremony hailing the river Indus as a symbol of Indian national unity. Contemporary Ladakhi cultural performances must be appreciated at several different levels, evoking both Ladakh’s past and different visions of its future. The future of Ladakhi history Just as there have in the past been several ‘histories’ of Ladakh, so in the future. The questions that historians ask—and the interpretations that they make—will depend on their local, regional and international viewpoints. From an academic perspective, there are two urgent tasks: x The first is to record the region’s oral history while the right people are still alive to recount it. Much of Janet Rizvi’s research on Ladakhi trade could not now be replicated because her informants are no longer in this world (Rizvi 1999).

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x

The second is to preserve the physical evidence of the past from the depredations caused by climate change, ill-judged modernisation and theft. This concern applies to temple buildings, to domestic architecture in villages and the Old Town of Leh, and to the numerous rock inscriptions in the region. Beyond these urgent tasks, there are several lines of enquiry. The history of the Kargil and Purig regions is badly neglected. New textual sources are still to be found in private and public archives. There is ample scope for further art-historical analysis. To date, there has been scarcely any scientific sub-surface archaeology. The re-opening of international boundaries may offer new opportunities for co-operation in Pakistan, Tibet and even Xinjiang. The overwhelming impression from the research conducted to date is of the richness and diversity of Ladakh’s past. As this book will demonstrate, there are many riches still to be discovered. REFERENCES

Aggarwal, Ravinia. 2004. Beyond Lines of Control. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Ahmad, Zahiruddin. 1968. “New Light on the Tibet-Ladakh-Mughal War of 1679-1684.” East and West 18:340-361. Alder, Garry J. 1985. Beyond Bokhara. The Life of William Moorcroft, Asian Explorer and Pioneer Veterinary Surgeon 1767-1825. London: Century Publishing. Beckwith, Christopher I. 1987. The Tibetan Empire in Central Asia. Princeton: Princeton University Press. van Beek, Martijn. 1996. Identity Fetishism and the Art of Representation: the Long Struggle for Regional Autonomy in Ladakh. Ph.D. thesis. Cornell University. ______. 2004. “Dangerous Liaisons: Hindu Nationalism and Buddhist Radicalism in Ladakh.” In Religious Radicalism and Security in South Asia:193-218. Edited by Satu Limaye, Mohan Malik & Robert Wirsing. Honolulu: Asia-Pacific Center for Security Studies. van Beek, Martijn & Bertelsen, Kristoffer Brix. 1997. “No Present without Past: the 1989 Agitation in Ladakh.” In Dodin & Räther (1997:43-65). Bellezza, John Vincent. 2001. Antiquities of Northern Tibet: Pre-Buddhist Archaeological Discoveries on the High Plateau. Delhi: Adroit Publishers. Bertelsen, Kristoffer Brix. 1997(a) “Early Modern Buddhism in Ladakh: on the Construction of Buddhist Ladakhi Identity and its Consequences.” In Dodin and Räther (1997:67-78). Bertelsen, Kristoffer Brix. 1997(b). “Protestant Buddhism and Social Identification in Ladakh.”,Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religions 99:129-151. Brauen, Martin. 1980 Feste in Ladakh. Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt. Bray, John. 1990. “The Lapchak Mission from Ladakh to Lhasa and the Government of India’s Foreign Policy in the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century.” Tibet Journal 15 (4):75-96.

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Bray, John. 1997. “Ladakhi and Bhutanese Enclaves in Tibet.” In Dodin & Räther (1997:89-104). Bray, John & Chris Butters. 1999. “An Eighteenth Century Bhutanese Lama’s Visit to Ladakh.” In Ladakh: Culture, History and Development:49-57. Edited by Martijn van Beek, Kristoffer Brix Bertelsen and Poul Pedersen. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Chibber, M.L. 1998. Pakistan’s Criminal Folly in Kashmir. The Drama of Accession and Rescue of Ladakh. New Delhi: Manas Publications Clarke, Graham E. 1977. “Who were the Dards? A Review of the Ethnographic Literature of the North-western Himalayas.” Kailash 5 (4):323-356. Clarke, Graham. 1996. “Blood, Territory and National Identity in Himalayan States.” In Asian Forms of the Nation:205-236. Edited by Stein Tønnesson and Hans Antlöv. London: Curzon Press. Csoma de KIJrös, Alexander. 1834. Essay Towards a Dictionary. Tibetan and English. Prepared with the Assistance of Sans-rgyas Phun-tshogs. Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press. Dani, A.H. 1989. History of Northern Areas of Pakistan. Islamabad: National Institute of Historical and Cultural Research. Datta, Chaman Lal. 1975. Ladakh and Western Himalayan Politics 1819-1848. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal. Denwood, Philip. 1995 (a). “William Moorcroft: an Assessment.” In Osmaston & Denwood (1995:39-53) ______. 1995 (b). “The Tibetanisation of Ladakh: the Linguistic Evidence.” In Osmaston & Denwood (1995:281-287). Denwood, Philip & Howard, Neil. F.1990, “Inscriptions at Balukhar and Char Zampa and General Archaeological Observations on Balukhar Fort and its Environs.” In Indo-Tibetan Studies: Papers in honour and appreciation of Professor David L. Snellgrove’s contribution to Indo-Tibetan Studies:81-88. Edited by Tadeusz Skorupski. Tring: Institute of Tibetan Studies. Desideri, Ippolito. 1937. The Travels of Ippolito of Pistoia SJ. 1712-1727. Edited by Filippo de Filippi with an introduction by C. Wessels SJ. London: Routledge. Dodin, Thierry & Räther, Heinz (Eds.). 1997. Recent Research on Ladakh. Ulmer Kulturanthropologische Schriften 9. Ulm: Universität Ulm. Fisher, Margaret W.; Rose, Leo E. and Huttenback, Robert A. 1963. Himalayan Battleground: Sino-Indian Rivalry in Ladakh. London: Pall Mall Press. Francke, A.H. 1901. “Sketch of Ladakhi Grammar.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 70, part 1. Extra No.2. ______. 1907. A History of Western Tibet. London: S.W. Partridge. ______. 1914. Antiquities of Indian Tibet, Part I: Personal Narrative. Calcutta: Archaeological Survey of India. ______. 1926. Antiquities of Indian Tibet. Part II: The Chronicles of Ladakh and Minor Chronicles. Calcutta: Archaeological Survey of India. Gergan, Joseph [Yo-seb dGe-rgan]. 1976. Bla dvags rgyal rabs ’chi med gter. Edited by S.S. Gergan. Srinagar. Goepper, Roger. 1990. “Clues for a Dating of the Three-Storeyed Temple (Sumtsek) in Alchi, Ladakh.” Asiatische Studien: Zeitschrift der Schweizerischen Gesellschaft für Asienkunde/Études Asiatiques: Revue de la Société Suisse d'Études Asiatiques 44, 2:159–175.

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Holzwarth, Wolfgang. 1997. “Islam in Baltistan: Problems of Research in the Formative Period.” In The Past in the Present: Horizons of Remembering in the Pakistan Himalaya:1-40. Edited by Irmtraud Stellrecht. Köln: Rüdiger Köpper Verlag. Howard, Neil. 1989. “The Development of the Fortresses of Ladakh c.950-1650 AD.” East and West 39 (1-4):217-288. ______. 1995. “Military Aspects of the Dogra Conquest of Ladakh 1834-1839.” In Osmaston & Denwood (1995:349-361). Jäschke, Heinrich August. 1881. A Tibetan-English Dictionary. With Special Reference to the Prevailing Dialects. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Lamb, Alistair. 1986. British India and Tibet. 1766-1910. London and New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Kaplanian, Patrick. 1981. Les Ladakhi du Cachemire. Paris: Hachette. Khan, Hashmatullah. 1939. Tarikh Jammun, Kashmir, Laddakh aur Baltistan. Lucknow: Noor Alimad Malik and Mohammed Tegh Bahadur. Khan, Hashmatullah. 1987. History of Baltistan. Translated by Adam Nayyar. Islamabad: Lok Virsa. Khan, Kacho Sikandar 1987. Qadim Laddakh tarikh va tamaddun. Yokma Kharbu: By the Author. Lall, John. 1989. Aksaichin and Sino-Indian Conflict. New Delhi: Allied Publishers. Marx, Karl. 1891, 1894, 1902. “Three Documents Relating to the History of Ladakh.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 60, No.3:97-134; 63, No.2:94-107; 71, No.1:21-34. Moorcroft, William & Trebeck, George. 1837. Travels in the Himalayan Provinces of Hindustan and the Panjab, in Ladakh and Kashmir, in Peshawar, Kabul, Kunduz and Bokhara. Edited by H.H. Wilson. 2 Vols. London: John Murray. Orofino, Giacomella. 1990. “A Note on some Tibetan Petroglyphs of the Ladakh Area.” East and West 40 (1-4):173-200. Osmaston, Henry & Denwood, Philip (Eds). 1995. Recent Research on Ladakh 4&5. London: School of Oriental and African Studies. Petech, Luciano. 1939. “A Study on the Chronicles of Ladakh (Indian Tibet).” Supplement to India Historical Quarterly 15. London. Rpt. ed.: New Delhi: Low Price Publications/DK Publishers, 1999. ______. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh c.950-1842A.D. Roma: IsMEO. ______. 1979. “The ’Bri-guØ-pa Sect in Western Tibet and Ladakh.” In Proceedings of the Csoma de KĘrös Memorial Symposium 1976:313-325. Edited by Louis Ligeti. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó ______. 1997. “Western Tibet. Historical Introduction.” In Tabo. A Lamp for the Kingdom. Early Indo-Tibetan Buddhist Art in the Western Himalaya:229-256. Edited by Deborah Klimburg-Salter. Milan: Shira Editore. Peter, Prince of Greece and Denmark. 1963. A Study of Polyandry. The Hague: Mouton. Radhu, Abdul Wahid. 1981. Caravane tibétaine. Translated into French by Roger Du Pasquier. Paris: Fayard. Reprint ed. Paris: Editions Peuples du Monde, 1991. Ribbach, Samuel. 1986. Culture and Society in Ladakh. New Delhi: Ess Ess Publications. Rigal, Jean-Pierre.1985. “La nouvel an à Chilling.” In Ladakh Himalaya Oriental Ethnologie, Ecologie:171-197. Edited by Patrick Kaplanian & Claude Dendaletche. Acta Biologica Montana 5. Pau: Université de Pau. Rizvi, Janet. 1983. Ladakh. Crossroads of High Asia. Delhi: Oxford University Press; revised and expanded ed. 1996.

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Rizvi, Janet. 1999. Trans-Himalayan Caravans. Merchant Princes and Peasant Traders in Ladakh. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Sahni, Pandit D. R. and A. H. Francke. 1908. “References to the Bhottas or Bhauttas in the Rajatarangini of Kashmir.” Indian Antiquary 37:188-192. Schlagintweit, Emil von. 1866. “Die Könige von Tibet.” Abhandlungen der PhilosophischPhilologischen Klasse der Königlichen Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 2:797-879. Schuh, Dieter. 1983. “Zu den Hintergrunden der Parteinahme Ladakh’s für Bhutan im Krieg gegen Lhasa.” In Recent Research on Ladakh:37-50. Edited by Detlef Kantowsky and Reinhard Sander. Munich: Weltforum Verlag. Schwieger, Peter. 1996 (a). “Stag-tshang Ras-pa’s Exceptional Life as a Pilgrim.” Kailash 18 (1-2): 81-107. ______. 1996 (b). “Ka'-thog-rig-’dzin Tshe-dbang-nor-bu's Diplomatic Mission to Ladakh in the 18th century.” In Recent Research on Ladakh 6,:19-230. Edited by Henry Osmaston and Nawang Tsering. Bristol: Bristol University Press. ______.1997. “Power and Territory in the Kingdom of Ladakh.” In Dodin & Räther (1997:427-434). ______. 1999. Teilung und Reintrigration des Königreichs von Ladakh im 18. Jahrhundert. Der Staatsvertrag zwischen Ladakh und Purig aus dem Jahr 1753. Monumenta Tibetica Historica. Abteilung III. Band 7. Bonn: VGH Wissenschaftsverlag. Shakspo, Nawang Tsering. 1988. A History of Buddhism in Ladakh. Delhi. Sheikh, Abdul Ghani. 1995. “A Brief History of Muslims in Ladakh.” In Osmaston & Denwood (1995:189-192). ShÈrÀza/Shes-rabzom 20 (1998), Nos. 3-4. Leh: J&K Cultural Academy,1998 Snellgrove, David & Skorupski, Tadeusz. 1977. The Cultural Heritage of Ladakh, 1. Central Ladakh. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Tashi Rabgias [Bkra-shis-rab-rgyas]. 1984. Mar yul la dvags kyi sngon rabs kun gsal me long zhes bya ba bzhugs so sgrig pa po. Leh: C. Namgyal and Tsewang Taru Vitali 1996. Trewin, Mark. 1990. “A Cross-cultural Study of Instrumental Music in Ladakh.” In Wissenschaftsgeschicte und gegenwärtige Forschuunged in Nordwest-Indien:273-276. Edited by Gudrun Meier and Lydia Icke-Schwalbe. Dresden: Museum für Völkerkunde. Tucci, Giuseppe. 1940. Travels of Tibetan Pilgrims in the Swat Valley. Calcutta: Greater India Society. Vitali, Roberto. 1996. The Kingdoms of Gu.ge Pu.hrang according to mNga’.ris rgyal.rabs by Gu.ge mkhan.chen Ngag.dbang grags.pa. London: Serindia. ______. 2003. “On Some Disciples of Rinchen Zangpo and Lochung Legpai Sherab and Their Successors, who Brought Teachings Popular in Ngari Korsum to Central Tibet.” In Tibet and Her Neighbours. A History, pp. 71-79. Edited by Alex McKay. London: Edition Hansjörg Mayer. Vohra, Rohit. 1994. “Sogdian inscriptions from Tangtse in Ladakh.” In Tibetan Studies. Proceedings of the 6th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies. Fagernes 1992:920-929. Edited by Per Kvaerne. Oslo: Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture. Vohra, Rohit. 1995. “Arabic Inscriptions of the Late First Millennium A.D. from Tangtse in Ladakh.” In Osmaston & Denwood (1995: 419-429). Warikoo, K. 1989. Central Asia and Kashmir: a Study in the Context of Anglo-Russian Rivalry. New Delhi: Gian Publishing House. Wessels, C. 1924. Early Jesuit Travellers in Central Asia. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff.

EARLY CONNECTIONS BETWEEN LADAKH/BALTISTAN AND AMDO/KHAM PHILIP DENWOOD In recent centuries, any Ladakhi wishing to visit eastern Tibet would either travel up the Indus valley and down the Tsangpo through Central Tibet to Kham; or, if visiting Amdo in the northeast, he might leave the Tibetan-speaking area altogether and travel via Khotan and the old southern silk route through Xinjiang. Either course would enable him to avoid what is actually a much more direct route across the arid wastes of northern Tibet: the Changthang. This high plateau is described in the following passage from Holdich’s Tibet the Mysterious, which relates the journey of the French travellers Grenard and de Rhins from Xinjiang to Lhasa: De Rhins and Grenard left Cherchen in Chinese Turkestan ... and struck across a new and unexplored pass through the Akka Tagh. Then commenced the dreary monotony of northern Tibetan travel through wide desolate valleys, with blue lakes scattered at intervals; across stormy uplands and rocky snow-bound passes with the same forbidding aspect of desolation, and the same eternal silence around them, that have left so deep an impression on the minds of all who have faced the desolation of the Chang wilderness. It is this monotonous tone of weary desolation which leaves so little to tell of the features of northern Tibet. For hundreds of miles there is no change, no life, no movement but for the furious rushing wind. The mournfulness and the melancholy of it seem to permeate the story of every explorer who writes. Three months of this uninviting experience brought the travellers to the Tengri Nor, and here they were but a week’s march from Lhasa.1

It is the aim of this paper to suggest that a millennium ago the Changthang cannot have been the formidable barrier that it was for Grenard and de Rhins, and that regular communication must have taken place across it, probably in both directions.

1 Holdich 1906:201 (italics mine). To travel across the Changthang from west to east would of course take much longer than three months.

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Language The possibility of direct cultural connections between two extremities of the Tibetan-speaking world—Ladakh and Baltistan at one end and Amdo and Kham at the other—first occurred to me in the course of work on the Tibetan language (see Denwood 1999). It has been often said since the days of H.A. Jäschke that Tibetan dialects may be classified on phonological grounds into ‘archaic’ or ‘cluster’ dialects, confined to parts of the extreme east and west of the language area; and ‘non-archaic’, ‘modern’ or ‘non-cluster’ dialects found in all parts, but principally the centre and south. It is assumed, though not always explicitly stated, that early Tibetan, represented by the spelling forms of the Tibetan script, spread out in all directions from the central areas where it is first attested in datable stone inscriptions of the 8th century AD. At some later stage there would have been a progressive simplification of the initial consonant clusters of syllable and a compensatory introduction of lexical tone, also spreading from the centre and transforming all central and southern dialects, but petering out before it could affect many of the far western and far eastern dialects. The archaic character of the latter two groups would then have been inherited independently, the two groups having been out of touch with one another since at least the days of the Yarlung dynasty (6th-9th centuries AD). The view of such a geographical split as one between east and west may have been influenced by a ‘Lhasa-centric’ view of Tibetan civilisation, as well as by the present-day inhospitable nature of the barely inhabited Changthang which lies between the western and eastern dialects as indicated above. The principal ‘archaic’ dialects which can be geographically located with reasonable accuracy are, at the western end, most varieties of Balti and Ladakhi; and at the eastern end, such dialects as Huari, Amdo Khake, Tangut, Panaka, Dzorge, Rebkong and some varieties of Golok in Amdo, and Nangchen in Kham. A simple glance at the map serves to show that both the western and the eastern of these dialects in fact lie to the north of about the 33rd parallel. A north versus south dichotomy between them and the bulk of the ‘modern’ dialects is just as valid as an east/west versus central/south one. Such a classification suggests the possibility of a continuum of, and/or communication between, speakers of ‘archaic’ dialects stretching across the whole northern half of the Tibetan plateau.

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Such few comparative studies of the western and eastern, or better, north-western and north-eastern dialects as have been made would not invalidate the idea of their mutual contact both before and after their purported split from the central/southern dialects. Examination of two types of syllable-initial consonant cluster by Sprigg (1972) and Denwood (1996) suggests that representatives of western and eastern dialects may preserve a linguistic stage which is actually earlier than the first surviving examples of the Tibetan script, and that the western and eastern groups may have diverged from one another much later. While this need not invalidate the traditional scenario sketched above, it is perfectly compatible also with the idea of an early northern group which split from a central/southern group before the 8th century, but which did not itself split into eastern and western sub-groups till later. Such ideas need to be tested by further studies in lexis and grammar as well as phonology. Examination of the dialects of the few nomadic groups who nowadays inhabit the north-central areas would also be useful. A known example of an eastern set of dialects which may have connections with the west is that forming the so-called ‘Wa-ke’ (Wa.skad.) group. These are associated with nomadic communities known as ‘Washü’ (Wa.shul.: ‘remnants of the Wa’, sometimes spelt dBa’.shul.). Numbered traditionally at 18, these have at various times in the last millennium been said to have spread to inter-riverine upland tracts or ‘gang’ (sgang.) in various parts of Amdo and Kham from the Kokonor in the north to as far south as Merge and Lithang. They may be the same as groups known as Mi.nyag, a name also known as a toponym in several regions between western Sichuan and the old Xixia kingdom east of the Kokonor. No details of anything that can be certainly identified as a Wa-ke dialect have so far been published. However it is possible that the Dzorge dialect studied by Jackson T-S. Sun is linked to this group, since Dzorge is named as one of the 18 Washü tribes in the dPag.bsam.ljon.bzang (Stein1961:fn131). Also, some material from a Golok dialect published by Sprigg may be relevant. Both can certainly be regarded as ‘archaic’ dialects, like Ladakhi and Balti rich in syllable-initial consonant clusters and lacking lexical tone. The Washü have been associated with several literary and oral traditions, some of which link them with some western part of the Tibetan-speaking world. Tang Chinese sources refer to groups of ‘slaves’ whom they call Wenmo (of which the ‘mo’ should correspond to a Tibetan spelling such as dba’./dba’s./dbal., pronounced ‘wa’ or

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‘we’ in many modern dialects).2 These people are said to be remnants of the disbanded army of the rebel Tibetan General Blon.kong.bzher. (known in Tibetan sources as dBa’s.kong. bzher.legs.steng.), who was defeated by the Chinese in 866 AD (see Pelliot 1961:140). The introduction to the Narthang Kanjur contains a rather similar story of the general dBa’s.rgod.ldong.btsan., originally stationed on the ‘road to the west’, whose troops nomadised in the Changthang of northern Tibet following a campaign against the Bhata Hor (Uighurs of Ganzhou). One community claiming affinity with this wider grouping, the ‘Washü Sethar’ (Wa.shul.gser.thar.), now practises nomadic animal herding in the Ganzi Autonomous prefecture of northwest Sichuan. According to their oral traditions, they moved to their present location from Aba (Nga.ba.) just to the east. Before that, they had been part of the Golok (mGo.log./Ngo.log.) nomadic confederacy to the north around the Bayankara range and in the valley of the Yellow River (Tibetan rMa.chu.), until driven south by encroaching Mongol tribes during the Yuan dynasty (13th-14th centuries)—indeed they have sometimes been known by the name of ‘Golok Sethar’. The initial affiliation of the Washü Sethar with the Goloks is claimed to be a result of their disbandment, after the collapse of the Yarlung dynasty in the 9th century, as troops of Tibetan armies which had been recruited from western Tibet (mNga.ris.) in the 7th century under their leader and eponymous ancestor Wase Kyap (Wa.gser.skyabs.) (Gelek1992:11ff). It would be foolish to take either this oral tradition or the literary traditions referred to above at face value without further enquiry. Nevertheless there does seem to be a prima facie case for connecting the Washü groups with the recruitment of troops in the west during the Yarlung dynasty under leaders bearing a name such as Wa., dBa. or dBa’s.; for their employment against Uighurs and/or Chinese or rival Tibetans in the northeast; and for their subsequent disbandment and dispersal southwards through Amdo and into Kham. The evidence comes from apparently independent sources: oral, literary, Tibetan and Chinese.

2

This old clan name is preserved in many mutations, including rBa, sBa and sBas. It is possible that a variation of it lies behind the name ‘Balti’, generally spelt sBal.te. in Tibetan, but in the Gesar epic sometimes sBas.te.. We know from the Alchi inscriptions that members of the ’Bro clan reached Ladakh (see below): perhaps their rivals the dBa’s./sBas. did so as well

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The Yarlung dynasty and its aftermath We know from inscriptional and documentary evidence that the Yarlung dynasty’s military machine was active in Ladakh as well as in northeast Tibet, and that it was in the habit of moving armies far from their point of origin. In the second quarter of the 7th century AD, the Tibetans under Songtsen Gampo began their imperial expansion by dominating or allying themselves with the kingdom of Zhangzhung, which covered a rather vaguely defined area with its capital at Khyunglung Ngulkhar, now in western Tibet. Zhangzhung is supposed, mainly by the latter-day Bonpos, to have had its own language and to have acted as intermediary in the transmission of the organised Bon religion to central Tibet from the western country of Tasik.3 Bonpo sources seem to place Zhangzhung in western Tibet (Ngari, but not including Ladakh or Baltistan), western Tsang and the western parts of the Changthang. Its name seems to correspond to what was known to the Chinese as Yangtong, divided by them into ‘lesser’ and ‘greater’ parts. The latter are supposed to have had a kingdom of over 1000 li from east to west, to the south of Khotan. Its southwestern part in what is now western Tibet is probably the same as the ‘gold country’ or Suvarnabhumi known to Indian and Chinese geographers. Together with Zhangzhung/Yangtong armies, the Tibetans proceeded to attack the Tuyuhun, at that time ruling the western part of Amdo from west of the Kokonor lake southwards to the Yellow River. This fact alone would suggest that Zhangzhung may have stretched as far east as the borders of Amdo (as suggested by Thomas 1948:15,26,28). However, there are a number of other indications, discussed at length by Demiéville (1952:28ff), Tucci (1956:91ff.) and Stein (1961:54), which while not denying its western nucleus, would extend the eastern borders of Zhangzhung/Yangtong as far as northeast or even southeast Tibet. The kingdom was finally absorbed into the Tibetan state in the late 7th century. The break-up of the Yarlung dynasty from 842 AD was exacerbated by rivalry between the aristocratic clans of the dBa’s. and ‘Bro. which was endemic in the central province of Ü (See dPa’p.gtsug.lag.40a3). This conflict extended to Amdo, where dBa’s. khong.bzher.legs.steng. rebelled against the loyal minister of the ‘Bro clan known to the Chinese as Shangbibi (perhaps ‘Bro.byi.byi.). Both had 3 sTag.gzigs.: either a fictional entity or perhaps Tajikistan or some other eastern Iranian land.

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Zhangzhung/Yangtong connections. According to the Chinese sources dBa’s.khong.bzher. recruited large numbers of Yangtong troops into his army, while the ‘Bro clan was said by the Chinese to be of Yangtong origin, and may therefore have used such troops also. It may well be that some or all of the Washü are descended from this ‘remnant’ (shul.) of Yangtong troops formerly under the leadership of the ‘Wa/We’ (dba./dba’s.) clan, as their own oral traditions claim. The Tsongkha kingdom Some historical sources on both the Tibetan and Chinese sides refer to a political link between eastern and western Tibet, possibly even Ladakh specifically. It is well known that descendants of the Tibetan royal line emigrated to western Tibet after the fall of the Yarlung dynasty and the subsequent strife in central Tibet around the middle of the 9th century. King Tri-de (Khri.lde.), a fifth-generation descendant of the last king of the Yarlung dynasty Lang Darma, is said in some sources to have been invited from the west to rule the kingdom of Tsongkha (called in dPa’o.gtsug.lag. the ‘18 great lands of Tsongkha’: Tsong.kha. yul.chen. bco.brgyad.) to the east of the Kokonor in Amdo, at a date which should be in the early 11th century. He seems to correspond to the ruler known to the Chinese as Jiaosiluo (representing Tibetan rGyal.sras. “son of the Buddha” in the opinion of Stein, and living from 997-1065). This personage is said in Chinese sources to have been of Tibetan royal blood and brought from a land far to the west whose name in Chinese, Moyu, may according to Stein correspond to Maryul (Mar.yul.), a well-known early designation of Ladakh (Stein 1959:231). Another branch of the same family was established in the Chamdo area of Kham. It may be that earlier Yangtong connections between Amdo and western Tibet, including Ladakh, were instrumental in selecting Tri-de as the ruler of Tsongkha. The Tsongkha area was of strategic importance in that it was traversed by caravan routes leading from China to Khotan and to Ladakh. It seems likely that names, titles and elements of folklore and legend coming from the west along this route were instrumental in this area from the time of the late 11th century in the crystallising of the Gesar saga, which was later to become significant in the political and social mythology of both eastern Tibet and Ladakh, in both cases to a much greater degree than in Central Tibet (Stein 1959:573).

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Clan and topographical nomenclature Stein’s analysis of the ethnic, genealogical and topographic nomenclature of the Sino-Tibetan borderlands has thrown up many examples of connections between eastern and western Tibet, notably for our present purposes the cluster of mutating ethonyms, clan names and toponyms derived from the syllable Ma, including sMa, rMa, sMra, Mar, dMar and sMar. Such names are associated with Ladakh in its old designation as Mar.yul. Then there is Zhangzhung which is called sMra.zhang.zhung. in the La dwags.rgyal.rabs., where it is included in a list of otherwise eastern lands. Its language is called Zhang.zhung.smar.gyi. skad. in the Klu.’bum.gtsang.ma. Guge is called Gu.ge.smar. in the Bonpo gZer.mig (References in Stein (1961): see index). sMar. is said to have been the Zhangzhung word for ‘gold’, reminding us of the ‘gold country’ or Suvarnabhumi mentioned above. Note also the syllable gser. ‘gold’ in the names of the Washü Sethar and Wa-se Kyap. In the east, variants of the Ma. names are found in the Tibetan name for the Yellow River, the rMa.chu.; in the dMar.chu. which is the upper course of the rGyal.mo.rngul.chu. or Tonghe; and in the name dMar./sMa.khams. which has been applied to the Hor and Golok country south of the Bayankara range, including the principality of Ling to which the Gesar saga became attached, as well as the Washü Sethar territory. In dMar.khams., according to the rDzam.gling. rgyas.bshad., live ‘wild’ inhabitants speaking dialects like those of Mi.nyag. sMa.khams. is an alternative name for mDo.khams., said to be the area in which dBa’s.khong.bzher. operated. A separate area called dMar.khams. exists to the west of Bathang in Kham, which includes a district of Garthok, reminiscent of the western Tibetan town of that name (References in Stein (1961): see index). Archaeology and climate Recent archaeological surveys have confirmed a long-held view that the Tibetan-speaking area, along with many neighbouring regions, has been suffering from progressive climatic desiccation in historical times. It is now clear that in many parts of the northern half of the area, from Ladakh through Ngari and the Changthang to western Amdo, this desiccation has resulted in depopulation for lack of irrigation water, and in deforestation and desertification. Counterparts of the abandoned settlements, temples and fortifications noted by Tucci in western Tibet have now been identified in many areas across the Changthang: areas which are now virtual deserts but which still show

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plentiful ruins of agricultural settlements, fortifications and presumed religious monuments. Dating these remains is extremely difficult: they have been termed “pre-Buddhist” in a recent survey by Bellezza, who however acknowledges that this need not mean pre-7th century (Bellezza 2001:8ff.,16). In the case of, for example, Guge in western Tibet, many centres were thriving in the 10th-12th centuries and were not abandoned till after the 17th. The so-called Hor area north of Lhasa, on the other hand, was so depopulated by the 16th century that groups of Mongols had to be imported in order to secure communication routes between Lhasa and the north-east (see Sperling 1992). It would seem likely that the agricultural, military and religious activity to which these archaeological remains testify, together presumably with pastoral nomadism, exploitation of minerals and trade, formed the basis of the kingdom of Zhangzhung and, no doubt, others, extending over most of the northern half of the Tibetan plateau. Against this background, the need of the Tibetans to conquer Zhangzhung and enlist its substantial forces as allies in their onward march towards Amdo makes good sense. At some time after the 12th13th centuries, however, progressive desiccation led to large-scale abandonment of agricultural settlements and even pastoral nomadism from most areas, transforming them into largely uninhabitable deserts, occupied only by a few bands of nomads and the odd religious hermit. The cumulative weight of all this evidence thus serves to modify the picture of the Changthang evoked by Holdich at the beginning of this paper. In the words of Stein: Migrations of tribes or families are possible. The Changthang, a great high northern plateau where nomads roam, must have played a greater role than one might think. We have seen the Sumpa transferred from this plateau to the Chinese frontier, the two “women’s countries” at one end and the other of this connecting link … The identity of certain toponyms and the attribution of a Bonpo land of Zhangzhung … to the Sino-Tibetan borderlands are perhaps not merely the results of a confusion (Stein 1961:54, my translation). All our analyses prove that the Tibetan tradition is right to attribute a kind of preponderance to the tribes of the Sino-Tibetan borderlands. They certainly played a great role before the creation of the central kingdom. Migrations of peoples or families from the northeast of Tibet contributed greatly to the formation of the ethnic and cultural complex of what is understood as Tibet in historic times. But our analyses show also that a movement in the opposite direction, from west to east, should not be ignored. The northern plains (byang.thang.) served as a thoroughfare (Stein 1961:85, my translation).

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REFERENCES

Bellezza, John Vincent. 2001. Antiquities of Northern Tibet: Pre-Buddhist Archaeological Discoveries on the High Plateau (Findings of the Changthang Circuit Expedition, 1999). Delhi: Adroit Publishers. Demiéville, Paul. 1952. Le concile de Lhasa. Paris: Presses universitaires de France. Denwood, Philip. 1996. “Tibetan sl- and zl-.” The Tibet Journal 21, No.3. Denwood, Philip. 1999. Tibetan. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. dPa’o.gtsug.lag.’phreng.ba. mKhas.pa’i.dga’.ston. Gelek. 1992. The Wasu-sethar: a Nomadic Community of Eastern Tibet. Text of talk given at the School of Oriental & African Studies, University of London, 1992. Holdich, Sir Thomas. n.d. (c.1906). Tibet the Mysterious. London: Alston Rivers. Pelliot, Paul. 1961. Histoire ancienne du Tibet. Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient. Sperling, Elliot. 1992. “Notes on references to ‘Bri-Gung-pa - Mongol contact in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries.” In Tibetan Studies: Proceedings of the 5th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies, Narita 1989. Vol.2, pp. 741-50. Edited by Ihara Shoren and Yamaguchi Zuiho. Narita: Naritasan Shinshoji. Sprigg, Richard Keith. 1972. “A Polysystemic Approach in Proto-Tibetan Reconstruction to Tone and Syllable-initial Consonant Clusters.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental & African Studies 35:546-587. Stein, R.A. 1959. Recherches sur l’épopée et le barde au Tibet. Paris: Institut des Hautes Études Chinoises. Stein, R.A. 1961. Les tribus anciennes des marches sino-tibétaines. Paris: Presses universitaires de France. Sun, Jackson T.-S. 1986. Aspects of the Phonology of Amdo Tibetan. Monumenta Serica 16. Tokyo: Institute for the Study of Languages & Cultures of Asia & Africa. Thomas, F.W. 1948. Nam: an Ancient language of the Sino-Tibetan Borderland. Publications of the Philological Society XIV. London: Oxford University Press. Tucci, Giuseppe. 1956. Preliminary report on two scientific expeditions in Nepal. Rome.

ON THE POSITION OF LADAKHI AND BALTI IN THE TIBETAN LANGUAGE FAMILY BETTINA ZEISLER Languages are vehicles of identification, and hence their classification is always culturally and politically sensitive. But political (self-) ascriptions and their motivations are not always transparent for all those who are involved with language policy, and taking ideologies for facts does not always lead to optimal decisions. Some of the problems that any attempt to maintain, reform, or even revive the Ladakhi and Balti languages faces arise from the lack of clear concepts about what these languages are, and where they come from. In order to provide a more solid base for the discussion of language reforms among Ladakhis and Baltis, I will discuss the position of Ladakhi and Balti within the Tibetan language family from linguistic and historical perspectives. Ladakhi and Balti are often said to come closest to the ‘original’ Tibetan language (for example, Thubbstan Dpalldan 2002:237-238), but on the other hand, one may also come across the idea that the spoken language or ‘phalskat’ is but a deviation of the ‘original’ language, lacking any grammar and thus not worthy to be written down. The ‘original’ language is generally understood to be the language of the religious books or ‘choskat’ (i.e. Classical Tibetan). In order to know what the ‘original’ language was like, it is necessary to look at the earliest documents available and to discuss the origins of the Tibetan art of writing. It is unavoidable that certain ‘truths’ of Tibetan historiography have to be critically reviewed and challenged. Thonmi Sambhoãa and the introduction of the Tibetan script 1 The story According to Tibetan tradition, Emperor Sroźbrtsan Sgampo (617- or 569-649)2 sent his (future) minister Thonmi Sambhoãa to India to study 1 Similar arguments will be found, independently, in Christina Scherrer-Schaub’s lecture on “Imperial Tibet. An archaeology of the written” (Tenth seminar of the International Association of Tibetan Studies, Oxford 2003).

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the art of writing. Thonmi introduced the Tibetan script and composed eight grammatical treatises, of which only two, the Sumcupa and the Rtagskyi Èjugpa survived. In the popular view, the main reason for the introduction of the script was to translate and to write down the sacred texts of Buddhism.3 Thus the Tibetan script itself has become sacrosanct, and hence its orthography should not be altered even when used for secular purposes (and some people might even think that the Tibetan script should not be used for secular purposes at all). The narrative of Thonmi and his mission to India seems to have taken shape between the 11th and the 13th centuries AD. It appears in the BkaÈmchems kakholma, a ‘Testament’ allegedly written by Sroźbrtsan Sgampo himself, brought into light as a gterma in 1050 by Atiša; the MaÖibkaÈÈbum, likewise ascribed to Sroźbrtsan Sgampo, possibly compiled between 11701200; the MźaÈbdagñaźgi chosÈbyuź (c.1175-1190); the LdeÈu chosÈbyuź (?1230-1249); and the Rgya-Bodkyi chosÈbyuź rgyaspa (1260).4 With Bsodnams Rgyalmtshan’s elaboration in chapter 10 of his Rgyalrabs gsalbaÈi meloź (1368), the narrative seems to have definitively turned into an accepted historical ‘fact’. In the chosÈbyuź of Buston (1323), the Emperor’s name is written as Khrilde Sroźbrtsan. Miller (1963:490) takes this as evidence that Thonmi was involved with the so-called language reform under Khrilde Sroźbrtsan alias Sadnalegs (c.799-815). However, the element lde is attested, albeit in a different position, in the 9th century genealogy PT 1286, line 62 (Bacot et al. 1940:82), which has Sroź Ldebrtsan, and it is absolutely clear from the context that Buston refers to the son of Gnamri Sroźbtsan (i.e. Slonmtshan), who was born in the female fire ox year 617, ascended the throne in his 13th year, following his father’s demise, subdued all the petty kingdoms around him and ‘used to read the written messages conveyed with the tributes’ (skyes-Èbul Èphrin·yig klog·go). Having stated this, Buston (p. 182) goes on to say: Then, since Tibet had no script, Thonmi the son of Anu, was sent together with 16 fellows to study the script, and having studied phonetics (sgra) with the paÖÉita LhaÈirigpa Seźge, [he] assembled the 30 consonants and 4 vowels 2 3

For the early date cf. Sørensen (1994:23). Stated explicitly in MaÖibkaÈÈbum, rnamthar, E 190v7-191r1: ‘as there was no script in Tibet for the purpose of converting the Tibetan territory to religion’ bod·khams dam·paÈi chos·la Èdzud·pa·la bod·la yi·ge mi·Èdug·par and 21 deeds, E 269r5: ‘as it was necessary to have a script to study the religion and as there was no script in Tibet’ chos slob·pa·la yi·ge dgos·pa·la | bod·la yi·ge med·pas. This view is mirrored in many websites related to Tibet, cf. www.songtsen-library.org, www.turtlehillsangha.org., www.kagyumedialab.org., www.compassion-action.net/historique.htm. 4 Sørensen (1994:167, note 462; for the dating see pp. 632-645).

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in accordance with the Tibetan language and, with respect to their form, in accordance with the Kashmiri script. After [Thonmi] had prepared it in the castle Maru of Lhasa and had also composed eight treatises on script and phonetics, the king went into retreat for four years and studied it. [The king] translated the sËtra Zamatogbkodpa, Dpaźskoź, and the sËtra collection Dkonmchogsprin. At that time, having heard that the Tibetan subjects criticised the king,5 he introduced the law of the ten virtues and brought all the Tibetans to the religion and became famous by the name Sroźbtsan Sgampo. de·nas bod·la yi·ge med·pas Thon·mi A·nuÈi bu·la Èkhor bcu·drug·daź bcas·pa yi·ge slob·tu btaź·bas paÖÉi·ta LhaÈi·rig·pa Seź·ge·la sgra bslabs·te bod·kyi skad·daź bstun·nas gsal·byed sum·cu | Àli bžir bsdus·te gzugs Kha·cheÈi yi·ge·daź bstun·nas Lha·saÈi sku·mkhar Ma·rur bcos·nas yi·ge·daź sgraÈi bstan·bcos brgyad mdzad·de rgyal·pos lo bži·ru mtshams bcad·de bslabs·so || mdo Za·ma·tog·bkod·pa·daź | Dpaź·skoź·daź | mdo-sde Dkon·mchog·sprin·la·sogs·pa bsgyur·ro || deÈi tshe bod·Èbaźs·kyis rgyal·po·la gše·ba gsan·nas dge·ba bcuÈi khrims bcas·te bod·rnams chos·la bkod·pas miź Sroź·btsan Sgam·por grags·so |

The earliest of the above mentioned narratives, the BkaÈmchems kakholma, chapter 9, already presents a curious detail: among the letters not found in the Indian alphabet and invented by Thonmi are three letters of the second class: ca, cha, and ja (p. 106; cf. MaÖibkaÈÈbum, rnamthar, E 191r4, 21 deeds, E 269v4-5, Gyalrabs, p. 68-69). This means by implication that the letters tsa, tsha, and dza of the fifth class should have been basic and of Indian origin. Now, everybody can see that the letters of the fifth class are derived from those of the second class with the help of an additional ‘hook’.6 The Indian alphabets do not have simple letters for the dental affricates tsa etc., and the letters ca, cha, ja, jha, and ña form the second class of consonants, corresponding to a palatal pronunciation, similar to the Tibetan ca, cha, ja, and ña. However, at a certain time and in certain places, the pronunciation of these letters changed, so that what was written as ca was pronounced as tsa etc.7 Based on this pronunciation, the 5 6

Or: ‘since the Tibetan subjects critically listened to the king’. It might be less evident that the present arrangement of the alphabet violates the phonetic principles of Indian alphabets. The additional letters (altogether seven, since wa is derived from ba with the help of a superscribed È- or l-) show different means of derivation (we also find inversion: za < ja and reduction: ža from an older form of ša) and one possible doubling (Èa < Khotanese gÀ). Apparently they were inserted at different times, quite probably by pragmatists (professional scribes) rather than being designed at one time by a single scholarly phonetician. See Róna-Tas (1985:230-260) and the summary of his arguments in the forthcoming proceedings of the 11th colloquium of the International Association of Ladakh Studies, Choglamsar 2003). 7 Cf. Debther sźonpo (fol. 20a-b): ‘Since some people in the east of India pronounce tsa, tsha and dza as ca, cha and ja, [he] established these three [i.e. ca, cha and ja].’ tsa tsha

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Tibetan spelling convention for Sanskrit words was developed.8 But it is clear that the spelling rule must be substantially later than the graphic derivation of the Tibetan letters tsa, tsha, and dza from their palatal counterparts. The later narratives further state that among the various Indic alphabets, Thonmi chose the LÀñtsa and Wartula scripts as models for the Tibetan letters, rejecting the Nagara and other scripts (Rgyalrabs, p. 68; MaÖibkaÈÈbum rnamthar, E 191r3-4 has LÀñtsha and Paãula, while 21 deeds, E 269v3-4 has Nagara and Bhadrula). However, the first Indian NÀgari scripts, of which the Kashmiri nÀradÀ and the Nepalese RañjÀ (=LÀñtsa) are further developments, evolved from the 8th century onwards (Slaje 1993:15), and the developed styles that were imported to Tibet may be as late as the 10th or 11th centuries.9 Obviously, this part of the story was invented some time after the introduction of the LÀñtsa and Wartula scripts into Tibet in the 10th or 11th centuries, and this introduction was projected back in the context of an overall glorification and deification of Sroźbrtsan Sgampo.10 The historical evidence The early documents do not tell us anything about the script being introduced at a particular time, by a particular person, or for a pre-eminent religious purpose. Especially, there is no mention of a minister Thonmi during the reign of Sroźbrtsan Sgampo nor of any of his works in the Old Tibetan documents (Róna-Tas 1985:245), in early historical accounts, or in Chinese sources (Miller 1963:488). The only man with a similar name is Mthonmyi \briźpo Rgyalbtsannu, who acted as minister under \bromñen Lderu, the 29th king (chronicle, Bacot et al. 1040:100.17-20, 101.15-16).11 dza·rnams Rgya·gar šar·phyogs·pa ÈgaÈ-žig ca cha ja žes zer·te | de gsum bkod | 8 Cf. the Dunhuang text, PT 849, from the 10th century (Hackin 1924, English version: Verhagen 2000:31). 9 They differ considerably from the Tibetan script, while the similarities between the latter and the late Gupta or BrÀhmÈ script, which flourished in Kashmir and Khotan between the 4th and the 8th century, are obvious (Gendun Chophel 1938; Ngawangthondup Narkyid 1982; Róna-Tas 1985:232ff.). 10 Being complete sets, these two scripts were natural candidates for a single-handed ‘invention’ (J. Ph. Vogel, quoted in Francke 1912:270-271). 11 Besides not being mentioned in the early documents, the spelling of Thonmi’s name is quite inconsistent, something one would not expect for a historical person of such authority: Thonmi ~ \thonmi ~ Thunmi ~ Tumi ~ Mthomi and Sambhoãa ~ Sambhadra ~ SambhËtra (Miller 1963:488) ~ SaÈbora (Sørensen 1994:167, note 462), additionally \briźtomi Anu (Sørensen 1994:504, appendix to note 487), which reminds us of the minister just mentioned. It is also quite astonishing that Buston mentions “eight grammatical works” (according to Miller 1963:486 this might be nothing more than a reminiscence

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The first mention of the script is the entry for the year 65512 in the Old Tibetan annals (PT 1288/IO 750).13 These annals, written in a very formal square style, cover the period 641-746. The first year dated is 650. Given their reference function (see also below), it is quite possible that the annals were recorded year by year or at least from decade to decade, and it is rather unlikely that they were composed a long time after the events they describe. The beginning of the text can thus be dated into the second half of the 7th century. The entry simply states: It came down to the year of the hare: The emperor stayed in Merkhe and chief minister Stoźrtsan wrote down the document(s) of the constitution/ law/royal order in \gorti, with respect to this one year. yos·buÈi lo·la bab·steÈ | btsan·po Mer·khe·naÈ bžugs·šiź | blon·che Stoź·rtsan·gyis | \gor·tir | bkaÈ-|-grims·gyi yi·ge bris·phar lo gcig | (PT 1288, line 28-29).

It does not even indicate in which script the document was written. As Chinese sources describe minister Stoźrtsan as being illiterate (Miller 1963:489), we may perhaps conclude that he was not able to read and write the complex Chinese characters, but used some Indic alphabet. Later entries mention various registrations, such as the ‘red register of Tsangchen’ Rtsaź·chen phoÈi khram dmar·po 690; another ‘red register’ 692; the ‘transformation of the register of the officers’ khab·soe khram spos 707; to PÀÖini’s AßãÀdyÀyÈ or a grammatical work treating the eight cases or, according to Tshebrtan Žabsdrug, cited in (Sørensen 1994:540), appendix to note 487, to eight Indian grammatical traditions), but doesn’t mention any title, not even the ‘surviving’ Sumcupa and Rtagskyi Èjugpa, nor does any other later author make any suggestion about the content of the allegedly ‘lost’ works. The Rgyalrabs mentions four titles, but remains silent on the Sumcupa and Rtagskyi Èjugpa (p. 70). The argument that Thonmi and the two “surviving” treatises “were so well-known that any mention may haven been considered superfluous” as referred to by Sørensen (1994:540) is far-fetched: why then should the historian write about the introduction of the Tibetan script? And would he really mention only the minor works of a famous person without at least hinting at the major ones? Miller, who always has to be read with caution (see above), even claims (1988:264) that when Saskya PaÖÉita KundgaÈ Rgyalmchan (1182-1251) composed his YigeÈi sbyorba, he cited several passages from early versions of the Sumcupa and Rtagskyi Èjugpa, indicating, however, neither the name(s) of the author(s) nor the titles of the works. According to Miller, these versions were either anonymous texts or the author(s) must have been a no-name to the Saskya PaÖÉita. Miller (1963:489) further argues that it is very unlikely that a mission to India would have taken place before the so-called Council of Lhasa (i.e. the Debate of Bsamyas 792-794), which definitely shifted the religious orientation from China to India. 12 One can accordingly read that the oldest document dates from the year 655, but it does not seem to be preserved. 13 The text can be found with a French translation in Bacot et al. (1940:13-27, 2952), a facsimile edition is presented by Spanien and Imaeda (1979, plate 579-591), the Tibetan script with transliteration and translation into Chinese is found in Dbaźrgyal and Bsodnams Skyid (1992:12-29, 93-108, 145-154).

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the ‘counting of the red register of the royal guard’ sku·sruźs·gyi khram dmar·pho brtsis 708; the ‘counting of the red register of the three brigades’ ru gsum·gyi khram dmar·pho brtsis 712; the ‘establishment of the red register of Dakpo’ Dags·poe khram dmar·pho btab 718 and of the ‘great register of the provinces and the plains of the higher and lower Lung’ mźan·daź | Sluźs stod·smad·gyi thaź khram chen·po btab 721; of the ‘register of the plains of the eight great provinces counted as four’ mźan chen·po brgyad·las | bžir bcos·paÈi taź khram btab 728; another ‘register of the plains’ 742; the ‘enrolment of the troops of each region in a grey register’ yul yul dmag·myi khram skya brtsis and the ‘transformation by royal order of the red register into yellow papers’ btsan·po bkas khram dmar·pa šog·šog ser·po·la spos-par, both for the year 744; further a ‘letter of alliance’ glo·ba ñe·ba yig gtsaź 699; and the ‘laying down of the inscription’ of the exchange’14 pha·los·gyi byaź·bu bor 743. There is further frequent mention of ‘counting’ rtsis of people, fields and forests, where we may safely assume that the result was written down. The second annals in informal handwriting, covering the period from 743 to 763, mention letters sent by the troops of the three brigades in 759 and that some ministers are given turquoise and kekeru diplomas in 763 (BM 8212).15 Both annals mention: the places where the emperors resided in a particular year; the places where the assemblies were held; births and deaths in the royal family; disloyalties and punishments as well as appointments of ministers; wars; and epidemics among cattle. But there is no mention of religious affairs. The main purpose of royal annals was to provide references for dating official documents, and the local annals such as found in Dunhuang apparently served the purpose of dating private documents and contracts (Takeuchi 1995:25, note 5 with further references). All this shows that the administration of the Tibetan empire was highly developed and that written documents played an essential role. Such an effective system could not have been introduced overnight, and so it is very likely that the art of writing, at least in a rudimentary form, was already known in Tibet before the advent of the Tibetan empire and at first was used primarily for quite secular purposes.

14 Reading pha·logs ‘other side’. In the same year, there is also mention of a pha·los of wild and domesticated yaks. Cf. Bacot et al. (1940:67 note to line 1). 15 Bacot et al. (1940:55-61, 62-66), Spanien and Imaeda (1979, plate 592-595), Dbaźrgyal and Bsodnams Skyid (1992:29-33, 108-112, 154-156); kekeru is a precious white stone.

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While the annals, in accordance with their function, refer unemotionally to the bare events and thus constitute a reliable source, the great chronicle (PT 1287)16 is a historical narration that obviously serves a particular political purpose. It is by no means an objective account of the facts. In a section dedicated to Sroźbrtsan Sgampo, it mentions that: In earlier times there were no letters/written documents in Tibet and when the time of this emperor came,17 the important orders/great constitution [based on] the (divinatory) sciences/principles of government (gtsuglag) of Tibet, the ranking of the ministers, the power of the great and the small, the enjoyment of good deeds, the punishment of wicked crimes (read ñes), [the planning of] the cultivation and leaving fallow of fields and pastures,18 the equal distribution of the river water (read kluź for sluźs, bgod for go),19 the [measures of] bre and phul, weights [or money] and so on, all the excellent texts (gžuź) of the Tibetan laws (chos)20 appeared in the 16 Bacot et al. (1940:97-122, 123-170), Spanien and Imaeda (1979, plate 557-577), Dbaźrgyal and Bsodnams Skyid (1992:34-66, 112-141, 157-172). I will give the line of the document as well as the page and line number in Bacot et al. (1940) under the short form DTH. 17 Cf. Bacot et al. (1940:161). Macdonald (1971:377) suggests the grammatically somewhat problematic translation ‘the letters which earlier did not exist in Tibet appeared [in] the time of this emperor’. 18 Bacot et al. (1940:161): cultivation and division. I take the second element as nominaliser and the first element as belonging to the verbs Èdul·ba ‘tame, cultivate’ and Èdor·ba ‘throw away’ or ‘divide’, thus ‘what can be cultivated and what could be given up/divided’. Otherwise, ‘skins’ and ‘yokes’ have to be taken as a somewhat bewildering means of measurement, cf. Stein (1972:50, 53). 19 Cf. Bacot al. (1940:161 with note 5). Macdonald’s (1971:377) translation ‘the equalisation of the rank of [the commissioner of] the postal relay’, though semantically preferable is grammatically not possible; for sluźs as ‘measurement of the length of roads’ see Dbaźrgyal and Bsodnams Skyid (1992:89, note 381). 20 Given the preceding enumeration of lay arts, the term chos is not used in the sense of ‘(Buddhist) religion’, but rather in the more neutral sense of ‘civil law’ or ‘custom, manner’, cf. Jäschke (1881) or other dictionaries for the different meanings of chos, and similarly Stein (1985:93-95). The parallelism of the praise of Khrisroź Ldebrtsan (below) with this one is obvious. Note there the contrast between chos ‘law/legislation’ and Saźs·rgyas·kyi chos ‘the law = religion of the Buddha’. For the meaning of chos and gtsuglag see Macdonald (1971) and Stein (1985, particularly pp.126-129 for possible etymologies of gtsuglag). According to Macdonald, both terms were used for the basic principle(s) of government of the early emperors. As far as they have religious connotations (Stein precludes this for gtsuglag), these concern a royal ancestor cult centred on the mountain deity of Yarlha Šampo. It is by virtually being a son of the gods (lhaÈi sras) via the lineage of GñaÈkhri Brtsanpo, and thus being a representative of the cosmic order, that the emperors have the legitimacy to rule over the petty kingdoms. But this legitimacy has to be proved by establishing social justice and welfare inside the empire according to traditional beliefs and customs. These principles would have prohibited the propagation of Buddhism as state religion. It was thus necessary for the Buddhist emperors, starting with Khrilde Gtsugbrtsan, to perpetuate these principles outwardly while at the same time trying to re-interpret them in terms of Buddhism. However, the over-successful work of re-interpretation of ideas, words, and facts (which

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BETTINA ZEISLER time of the emperor Khri Sroźbrtsan. As all the people felt gratitude towards him, they called him the Clever One (Sgampo). Bod·la sźa·na yi·ge myed·pa yaź || btsan·po Èdi·Èi tshe byuź·nas | Bod·kyi gtsug·lag bkaÈ·grims ched·po·daź | blon·po·Èi rim·pa·daź | che·chuź gñis·kyi dbaź·thaź·daź | legs·pa zin·pa·Èi bya dgaÈ·daź | ñe yo·ba·Èi chad·pa·daź | žiź·Èbrog·gi thul·ka·daź dor·ka·daź | sluźs·kyi go·bar bsñamspa·daź | bre pul·daź | sraź·la·stsogs·pa || Bod·kyi chos·kyi gžuź bzaź·po kun || btsan·po Khri Sroź·brtsan·gyi riź·las byuź·źo | myi·yoźs-kyis bkaÈ·drin dran·žiź tshor·bas || Sroź·brtsan Sgam·po žes mtshan gsol·to || (PT 1287 line 451-455, DTH:118/16-24).

Nothing is said about the introduction of the script, but we may safely conclude that Sroźbrtsan Sgampo started the official use of the script for the codification of laws that had previously been orally transmitted and for other administrative purposes. This could hardly have happened earlier as, for example, the codification of the law, the “great constitution” was accomplished only after his death in 655 (see above). The sudden increase of writing is reflected in the T’ang annals, which mention the Tibetan emperor’s request for Chinese workmen to manufacture paper and ink or brushes in 648 (Laufer 1914:34-35). The introduction of cultural achievements is a recurrent theme in Tibetan historical accounts and some of the more basic agricultural achievements have been ascribed several times to different persons (Stein 1972:53). As in Chinese historiography, the emperor receives his full legitimacy only by being described as a cultural hero or as the model of the just and pious emperor (Ròna-Tas 1985:96). Interestingly, the above eulogy of Sroźbrtsan Sgampo, as well as a preceding description of the conquest of Zhangzhung, follow immediately after a eulogy of Khrisroź Lde(Èu)brtsan, although he ruled a century later (see below). The Chronicle, obviously, does not follow a chronological order. It turns out that the paper of the document was cut into several pieces, which were glued together again, mostly before the text was written down. But in this particular section, the paper was cut and reassembled after the text had been written (Macdonald 1971:259). The chronological mismatch does not seem to be a mere accident.21 The makes it so difficult to establish the historical truth) seems to have undermined the legitimacy of the emperors and to have paved the way for growing opposition and thus the eventual downfall of the empire. Cf. also Haarh (1969), according to whom, however, the legitimation of the early kings was less a matter of social politics but rather a matter of ritual capability and the king’s particular relation to the realm of the death. 21 Macdonald (1971:260f.) suggests that the compiler could have had difficulties dating the conquest of Zhangzhung because, among other reasons, the name of the conqueror is not given. I wonder whether the compiler, who lived, say 50 to 100 years after Khrisroź Ldebrtsan really would not know and would have no means of finding out

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compiler apparently had some reason to insist on the pattern of the ‘just emperor’ and to identify Khrisroź Ldebrtsan with Sroźbrtsan Sgampo. This may have served to strengthen Khrisroź Ldebrtsan’s legitimacy.22 The above-mentioned addition of the element lde in Sroźbrtsan Sgampo’s name may have served a similar purpose. There is some evidence, that the Tibetan intelligentsia had studied well various Chinese historical accounts, which are themselves literary constructions serving a particular purpose. The description of the evil ruler Zhow in the “shangshu paraphrase” (Coblin 1991:312), a fragmentary translation of an early Chinese historical text found in Dunhuang, might have well served as a model for the description of the evil ruler Ziźporje Stagskyabo (PT 1287, line118ff., DTH 102.22ff.), particularly since in both cases, the exaggerated description serves the purpose of legitimating a conquest by the ‘just emperor’. The passage of the controversy between Khyuźpo Spuźzad Zutse and Seźgo Myichen (PT 1287 line 205-214, DTH 106.32-107.8) appears to be an almost literal translation of a Chinese anecdote found in the Shih chi (Takeuchi 1985). We cannot rely blindly on the earliest documents, because they do not necessarily represent the objective truth, but might be written or compiled for a special political purpose. In particular, the passages of eulogy have to be read with a certain amount of scepticism. The oldest attested and datable documents besides the annals are the stone pillars erected in the reign of Khrisroź Ldebrtsan (755-794) in LhasaŽol, Bsamyas, and \phyoźrgyas, and an inscription on a bell in Bsamyas (Richardson 1985:4-41). The first one is a purely secular document, granting privileges to a minister. The other inscriptions are in fact concerned with religious matters, but their date is about 100 years later than the supposed introduction of the script. It is under this same Khrisroź Ldebrtsan and his father Khrilde Gtsugbrtsan that Buddhism was sponsored massively by the Emperors and became whether this emperor had conquered a particular region or not. But even if so, how could he have overlooked the names of Sroźbrtsan Sgampo and his minister Stoźrtsan Yulžuź appearing at the end of the passage? 22 Like his ancestor, Khrisroź Ldebrtsan is said to have composed a bkaÈmchid ‘testament’, where he ascribes the anchoring of Buddhism, not only its introduction, to Sroźbrtsan Sgampo (Sørensen 1994:23, note 63). Sørensen (1994:9-11, 22) also points to the striking parallels in the narrations of Sroźbrtsan Sgampo’s construction of Rasa \phrulsnaź and Khrisroź Ldebrtsan’s construction of Bsamyas. Apparently, Khrisroź Ldebrtsan had a vital interest in appearing as the exact copy of Sroźbrtsan Sgampo—even if this implied that the presumed model had to be re-constructed as a copy of himself: Khrisroź Ldebrtsan’s father, Khrilde Gtsugbrtsan had already been the victim of an anti-Buddhist reaction, and the crown prince had found it difficult to survive (Macdonald 1971:289, 370, note 609, cf. also the south face inscription of the Lhasa-Žol pillar, Richardson 1985:6).

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the state religion. This fact is reflected in the chronicle. Khrisroź Ldebrtsan is explicitly described as the one who introduced the religion and at the same time he is pictured as the ‘just emperor’, whose government was so excellent that even the ministers competed only for wisdom and bravery.22 At the time of the emperor Khrisroź Ldebrtsan the law/legislation (chos)20 was excellent and the dominion great. … The great principles/ sciences (gtsuglag) that constitute the lords of men and the owners of animals were made applicable as a rule (lit. example) for [all] men. As for the pleasure at good deeds, [the recompense] was given graciously. As for the punishment of crimes, it was made to hit with diligence. … At that time even the ruling ministers were unanimous [in their] advice. … They were not jealous. They never made mistakes. It was [only] bravery and wisdom that they were seeking in a competitive (lit. destructive) manner. As for the lower subjects who remained in their place, they were taught wisdom and honesty. … After the incomparable religion of the Buddha was obtained, temples were built everywhere in the centre and in the periphery, religion was introduced, and as everybody entered [the way] of compassion and developed affection [everybody] was freed from [the circle] of birth and death. btsan·po Khri·sroź Lde·brtsan·gyi riź·la || chos bzaź srid che·ste | … Ègreź dud gñis·kyi rje·daź bdag mdzad·pa’i gtsug·lag chen·po | myi·Èi dper ruź·bar mdzad·doÈ || legs·kyi bya dgaÈ ni raźs·par byin | ñes·kyi chad·pa ni dmyigs·su phog·par mdzad·do || … deÈi tshe blon·po srid byed·paÈi·rnams kyaź blo mthun gros gchig·ste || … phrag myi dog || ñes myi·byed || dpaÈ Èjaźs gñis ni rlag·pa bžin btsal·te | Èbaźs Èog·ma dal·žiź yul·na khod·pa ni || Èjaźs draź gñis slob·boÈ || … Saźs·rgyas·kyi chos bla·na myed·pa brñeste mdzad·nas || dbus·mthaÈ kun·tu gtsug·lag·khaź brtsigs·te | chos btsugs·nas | thams·šad kyaź sñiź·rje·la žugs·šiź dran·bas skye·ši·las bsgral·to | (PT 1287 line 366-376, DTH:114/10-28).

The ‘great orthographic reform’ in Tibet. Under the entry skad·gsar·bcad ‘The New Language Instruction’ the Tibetan-Chinese dictionary Bod-Rgya tshigmdzod chenmo (Zhang et. al. 1993) states: Some ancient expressions, inconvenient for writing and reading, were abolished and a more conveniently ‘recitable’ written language was imposed, for example the dadrag was abolished and spellings such as mye (‘fire’) and Ègyo (‘go’) were simplified to me and Ègro. Èbri·klog mi bde·baÈi brda·rñiź ÈgaÈ·žig·gi zur dor·te klog·Èdon bde·baÈi yig·skad gtan·la phab·pa dper·na dadrag dor·ba·daź mye daź Ègyo žes·pa me daź Ègro žes·pa zor·yaź·du btaź·ba lta·bu |

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The next entry, skad·gsar·bcad rnam·pa gsum ‘Three instructions on the new language’, relates the second of these instructions to Khrisroź Ldebrtsan and Khri Ralpacan (i.e. to the beginning of the 9th century). The introduction of the script is implicitly counted as the first ‘reform’. The third one would be the reforms of Rinchen Bzaźpo and others. It seems that after the loss of the third instruction book (see below) the idea of three instructions got a temporal connotation (Simonsson 1957:228). The temporal interpretation, however, acknowledges the Bonpo tradition that writing did exist in Tibet before Thonmi, although it is not clear which kind of script was used: there is mention of the ‘heaped script’ of Persia and the small and big smar of Zhangzhung (Stag·gzig \o[l]·mo·luź·riź·gi spuźs·yig, Žaź·žuź·gi smar chen daź smar chuź, Phuntshogs Tsheriź 1992:43). Thonmi’s ‘reform’ could then have been the addition of missing letters and the unification of different writing styles in order to make the script more universally applicable (Phuntshogs Tsheriź 1992:43-44). Western scholars take the ‘great orthographic reform’ at the beginning of the 9th century as the demarcation line between the stage of Old Tibetan and the classical book language. However, not everybody in the Tibetan scholarly circles took notice of, for example, the abolition of the dadrag, which still appears in texts of much later date (cf. the title of an 18th century manuscript: Šesrabkyi pharoldtu phyinpa, Laufer 1914:60). Quite strikingly, the alleged orthographic norms are not reflected in the official inscriptions, such as the Chinese-Tibetan treaty of 821/22. By and large, the so-called reform was aimed at a standardisation of religious terminology, and the “instruction” was the publication of the three vyutpatti-s ‘etymological instructions’ (MahÀvyutpatti, Madhyavyutpatti, and the lost *Kßudravyutpatti):23 the first being a Sanskrit-Tibetan dictionary, and the second a treatise on the principles of translation (Simonsson 1957:227). The MahÀvyutpatti was published in order to settle the competition between two different technical vocabularies supported by the two different schools of translators: those translating from Chinese sources and those translating from Indian sources.24 Questions of orthography seem to have been of no importance. 23 Cf. Buston (p. 191): ‘what had earlier been translated was subjugated under the instruction of the new language and three kinds of instructions were established’ sźar bsgyur·pa·rnams skad·gsar·bcad·kyis kyaź gtan·la phab·ciź | bkas·bcad rnam-pa gsum mdzad·de | Similarly Rgyalrabs (p. 227): ‘All the religious [writings] were revised according to the instruction of the new language. The language instruction was made into three parts.’ chos thams·cad skad·gsar bcad·kyis gtan·la phab | bkaÈ·bcas (bcad) rnam·pa gsum·du mdzad·do || 24 e.g. yaź·dag·par gšegs pa vs. de·bžin gšegs·pa for tathÀgata; skye·ši vs. Èkhor·ba for saÒsÀra, cf. Stein (1983:162-163)

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The principles of translation as laid down in the Madhyavyutpatti or Sgrasbyor bampo gñispa (Simonsson 1957:247-259) can be summarised as: while not violating the sense of the original, one should render the translation in a way that it becomes good Tibetan. The order of the Sanskrit words should be followed as much as possible, and re-arrangements should not exceed a verse. The meaning of ambiguous words should be established according to the context, but in dubious cases one should keep the Sanskrit word. One passage deserves to be quoted in full, since it clearly states that further innovation was always possible, albeit under the strict control of the administration: As it is not allowed that anyone should individually amend and apply a new term (miź) beyond what had been decided with respect to the linguistic methods by the [royal] order, if there should be a necessity to apply a new term individually [for] a word to be translated or explained, then one should, while keeping the term undetermined, examine in the individual schools all the arguments that may come forth with respect of whatever language (skad) from the religious texts and linguistic methods and in which language this had been applied to religion. After that [the result of the examination] has to be reported in the palace to the assembly [of] the followers of the Victorious One and to the school for the revision of the Dharma and after it has been decided it may be added to the register of language. skad·kyi lugs Èdi·ltar bkas bcad·pa·las so·so·nas su·yaź Èchos·šiź Èog·tu miź gsar·du Èdogs·su mi·gnaź·gis | bsgyur·ba·daź Èchad·paÈi grwa [=sgra] so·so·nas skad gsar·du miź gdags·dgos·pa·žig yod·na·yaź | so·soÈi grwa·grwar miź chad·par ma·gdags·par chos·kyi gžuź·daź sgraÈi lugs·las ji skad·du Èbyuź·baÈi gtan·tshigs·daź | chos·la ji skad·du gdags-pa dpyad·de | pho·braź·du Bcom·ldan·Èdas·kyi riź·lugs Èdun·sa·daź | dharmma žu·chen·Ètshal·baÈi grwar phul·la | sñan·du žus·te bkas bcad-nas skad·kyi dkar·chag·gi·dkyus·su bsnan·no || (Simonsson 1957:259).

The 16th century Zamatog states that there were at least two further revisions by Rinchen Bzaźpo (958-1055), and Bloldan Šesrab (1059-1109), which even affected the content of the basic grammatical texts: Later on, excellent scholars, such as Rinchen Bzaźpo, Bloldan Šesrab, etc. also adhered to [the tradition]. They also revised the meaning of the Sumcupa and the Rtagskyi Èjugpa, the original [texts] of the very scholar Thonmi. | slad·nas Rin·chen Bzaź·po·daź | | Blo·ldan Šes·rab·la·sogs·pa | | mkhas·chog·rnams kyaź de·la brten | | kho·na mkhan po Thon·miÈi gžuź | | Sum·cu·pa·daź Rtags·Èjug·gi | | don yaź legs·par gtan·la phab | (Laufer 1898:547).

Since this text was written down several hundred years after the events that it describes, one may again be sceptical about its historical accuracy. But it shows at the least that in the 16th century language change

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was an accepted fact, and that one could even think of revising the basic grammatical texts. Tibetan had been a living language that constantly underwent various influences and changes. Although the entry in the Bod-Rgya tshigmdzod chenmo does not represent the historical facts correctly, it does reflect the changes in orthography that had taken place. Apparently, the official language was, in the beginning, dominated by the eastern dialects, particularly by Amdo Tibetan. The palatalisation of the consonant ma before a vowel i or e, written with a yabtags (yasta) and pronounced accordingly as /nyi/ or /nye/, which is so typical of the Old Tibetan Documents, can still be found in the Amdo and Kham dialects, e.g., Nangchenpa /ȿmäʉk/ ~ /ȿñäʉk/ < (d)myig, for mig ‘eye’ (Causemann 1989:349), Rebkong /xñïlam/ rmyi·lam for rmi·lam ‘dream’, /ñïl/ < myid for mid ‘(to) swallow’, /ñe/ < mye for me ‘fire’, etc. (Roerich 1958:122-123). In Amdo, the rabtags (rasta) is typically realised as /-y-/: /cyï/ < gyi for gri ‘knife’, /xcyaƣ/ < *skyag for skrag ‘fear’ (Roerich 1958:118). This substitution was an innovation of the Amdo dialects, but to a certain extent, such forms are even found in Balti and Ladakhi (see below). Traces of this ancient dialect variance appear also in pairs such as Èkhyil ‘wind, twist’ and Èkhril ‘wind, coil round’. Balti and Ladakhi as ‘archaic’ varieties and the Balti-Amdo connection. Baltis and Ladakhis take pride in the fact that their dialects represent the ‘original language’, as they pronounce most of the prefixed consonants of the written language, which have become ‘mute’ in most other Tibetan varieties. The pronunciation, however, does not always correspond to the written equivalent and varies from dialect to dialect. For example, rta ‘horse’, ltacas ‘look’, and star·ka ‘walnut’ are equally pronounced as /sta-/ in Leh, but as /rhta/, /lhtaces/, and /starga/ in the western dialects.25 A similar feature is found in some Amdo varieties, such as Rebkong or Themchen. E.g. Rebkong /škyaź/ or /xcyaź/ rkyaź ‘wild ass’ or /xtam/ gtam ‘speech’ (Roerich 1958:109, 118, 124). See also Bielmeier (1998). Because of this preservation of phonological features, both dialect groups, the western one (Ladakhi and Balti) and the north-eastern one (Amdo) have been classified as archaic dialects by various Western

25 One may add that most Baltis (and Kargilis) still pronounce the rabtags without changing the consonant into a retroflex (cf. Bkrašis Rabrgyas 1984:43).

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scholars (e.g. Bielmeier 1998:584 with further references; cf. also Sprigg 2002:viii).26 It might be quite surprising that varieties as far apart as Balti and Amdo share the same features, while all varieties in between lack them. However, such distant sharing may be found in other language families as well. The generally accepted explanation is that the varieties in the periphery, being spatially disconnected, marginal, or imposed through the centre’s colonialism, are de-linked from the developments in the centre and preserve the ancient pattern. This argument might account for the archaism of West Tibetan, but I doubt whether it accounts for the archaism of Amdo Tibetan, as the Amdo region and its language apparently were quite central in the early Tibetan empire. On the other hand, it has been observed that most clusters of written Tibetan vanished already in the beginning of the 9th century in the central Tibetan dialects, as can be inferred from the Chinese transliteration of Tibetan names27 as well as from orthographic conventions regarding Sanskrit names and loan words (e.g. bskal·pa for Sanskrit kalpaÈ ‘aeon’).28 It might well be that this development was restricted to an idiolect of the nobility at the royal court. But given this development, one wonders why the clusters should be as prominent as they are in the western region, which became part of the Tibetan Empire only in the middle of the 7th century. The process of colonisation was certainly not completed within a single life span and might have lasted until the break down of 26 According to Shafer (1950/51:1017ff.; supported by Bielmeier 2004:396-398), West Tibetan would descend from an even more archaic variety than Old Tibetan and the eastern varieties, but this theory poses a lot of questions. The assumption that the verbal prefix b- had not yet developed contradicts the general view (also held by Shafer) that the triple phonemic opposition of voiced, unvoiced-aspirated, and unvoicednonaspirated consonants (k, kh, g, etc.) as typical for all modern varieties was not found in the proto-language but is the result of the influence of the prefixes. Even in Balti and Ladakhi one can see traces of a former prefix in sound changes triggered by that very prefix (cf. Ladakhi /tap-/ ‘throw, perform’ < *p-tab < *p-dab, Old Tibetan Èdebs < *È-deb-d < *È-dab-d and btab < *p-tab < *p-dab). A remnant of the prefix shows up in compounds like /gopskor/ ‘deceit’ < mgo·b-skor, and in bound verb forms. Similarly, the Ladakhi and Balti present tense morpheme /-et/ or /-at/ goes back to a complex form: verb + pa/ba + yod (as attested in some of the dialects and generally in the negated form /-amet/), and is thus certainly not the precursor of the Old Tibetan present tense suffix -d in byed ‘do’. This suffix, together with its effect of changing the root vowel a into e, is attested in a far greater number of verbs than Shafer assumes, e.g. len(-d) < *laź-d ‘take’, or Èdebs < *È-deb-d < *È-dab-d ‘throw’ (a more detailed refutation of Shafer’s hypothesis is in preparation; cf. Zeisler [2004b]). 27 Cf. Laufer (1914:77-94) for the Chinese-Tibetan treaty of 821/22: all prefixes except s- appear as mute—only prefix b- is re-linked to a preceding open syllable, thus /khrip zer/ for khri bzer, but /lwön tsan žer/ for blon btsan bzer, cf. Pelliot (1915:4-8). 28 This seems likewise to presuppose that b- as well as s- were no longer pronounced or, at least, that their pronunciation was merely optional.

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the Tibetan empire. If, with the establishment of an administration, the fashionable clusterless speech of the central Tibetan nobility had been dominant, it should have left at least some imprints on the developing dialect of the community being colonialised. Apparently, it was Amdo soldiers and officials who played a crucial role in West Tibet, leaving their dialectal imprint on the West Tibetan varieties, such as the prominence of consonant clusters and, particularly, the above-mentioned occasional substitution of a rabtags by /-y-/. Denwood (this volume) offers a complementary perspective: Since the now desert areas of the Changthang, due to a more favourable climate, had been populated by farmers in permanent settlements up to the ninth century or even later, when a change in climate led to a drying up of the region, there was a northern belt of settlements and quite probably a cultural and linguistic continuum through which the dialectal features could be shared.29 Even though the model of an innovating centre and a delinked periphery is not to be dismissed in total, we might perhaps better think of different varieties or strata from the very beginning: a northern one where the clusters were prominent and a southern one where the clusters were not (or no longer) prominent. The innovation of the southern variety might have had less to do with its centrality than with a possible contact or even mixing with other linguistic communities (Tibeto-Burman, Austro-Asiatic, and/or Indo-Arian), while the lack of innovation in the north-eastern variety could have resulted from its location closer to the original ethnic centre of the Tibetan linguistic communities. Further study of the Old Tibetan material might perhaps corroborate this hypothesis. It seems that the earliest documents from Dunhuang also show some dialectal features, namely some variance in orthography, which distinguish them from the central Tibetan inscriptions. Orthographic variance can also be found in texts of the classical period, especially those of the gterma tradition. Some of these variants represent variations in pronunciation that can be found in the modern Tibetan varieties as well, especially assimilation features such as loss of aspiration in second syllable, loss of prefix, etc. Obviously, the early writers followed the phonetic principle of the Indian tradition, which means that they noted all subtle assimilation features, irrespective of whether a different pronunciation conveyed a different meaning or not. With the 29 Note that the inhabitants of that area were most probably not speaking much Tibetan before the advent of the Tibetan empire. With the growing power of the empire, however, Old Tibetan might have been adopted as a trade language.

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continuing standardisation of the written language, the phonetic principle was given up in favour of the phonemic principle, which notes differences in pronunciation only in so far as they reflect a difference of meaning (in the case of grammatical particles, however, some assimilation features were kept). One can see that even the rules of syntax of Classical Tibetan have become more rigid so that certain features common to both Old Tibetan and the modern varieties, e.g. pragmatically conditioned split ergativity30, are comparatively rare in classical texts. A systematic survey of orthographic variance (typically taken as misspelling) has yet to be made, but some examples that are relevant for the present discussion may be given:31 Assimilation of final -s and initial c- ĺ /-š-/: thams·šad for thams·cad/ chad ‘all’ (DTH, RAMA), cf. Ladakhi /semšän/ sem·šan for sems·can ‘living being’. Loss of aspiration in second syllable: pyaź·cub for byaź·chub ‘enlightenment’ (ETI); dkon·mcog for dkon·mchog ‘jewel’ (DTH), cf. also above and below. Loss of prefix in second syllable: nam·ka for nam·mkhaÈ (RAMA) ‘sky’. Replacement of daÈog by ramgo: rźos·grub for dźos·grub ‘siddhi, magical power’ (RAMA); rgu for dgu ‘nine’ (GZER), cf. Ladakhi /rgu/ and the entries in JÄK; rgod (GZER) for dgod ‘laugh’, cf. Ladakhi /rgotcas/ and the entries in JÄK. Genitive particle: chen·poe for chen·poÈi ‘of the great’ (ETI); rgyal·poe for rgyal·poÈi ‘of the king’ (DTH-annals), cf. the Ladakhi pronunciation. Replacement of rabtags by yabtags after ka, kha, and ga: Ša·khyi and Ña·khyi for Ša·khri and Ña·khri (names, DTH); ral·gyi for ral·gri ‘sword’ (DTH), cf. Sham /ragi/ or /rai/; cf. also Èkhril besides Èkhyil (JÄK).

As already mentioned, this last variation, an innovation of the Amdo dialects, has found its way into the vocabulary of Balti and Ladakhi. However, it has not become a regular feature and more typically the rabtags is preserved. The few words with a former yabtags, such as Balti /go/ < Ègyo for Ègro ‘go’ and /khite/ < *Èkhyid·de for Èkhrid·de ‘leading, taking along’, as well as Ladakhi and Balti /ragi/ or /rai/ < ra(l)-gyi for ra(l)·gri ‘sword’,32 therefore, appear to be loanwords, and as far as these 30 i.e., the use of the instrumental marker with intransitive subjects for contrastive purposes or, the other way round, the use of the absolutive for transitive subjects in order to de-emphasise them. 31 Abbreviations: DTH: Bacot et al. (1940). ETI: Richardson (1985); GZER: Francke (1924-30). JÄK: Jäschke 1881. RAMA: de Jong (1989). 32 Loss of ancient yabtags is also attested in the case of Balti, Purik, and Sham /ba-/ ‘do’ < bya/byed.

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three are concerned, they may well be related to the military sphere. But cf. also Nubra /thrikcas/ Èkhrig·cas = /khikcas/ Èkhyig-cas ‘be full (of smoke)’ for CT Èkhrig ‘be cloudy, flood around’. Other word forms, which are particular only to West Tibetan and Amdo are: Balti /xmit/, Purik /ßmit/, Sham /šmit/ ~ /rhmit/, LLV rmid, Amdo (Ndzorge) /hnˌd/ for CT mid ‘(to) swallow’; Purik /brombo/, Sham /brombo/, Leh /rombo/ or /rompo/, Amdo /rompo/ or /rwompo/ for CT sbom·po ‘thick’ (Bielmeier 1998). Apart from the phonological level and a small percentage of lexical items, Balti and Ladakhi have been highly innovative, particularly on the syntactical level and with respect to the complex verb constructions.33 The most obvious innovations not shared by any other Tibetan variety are the use of the past tense markers pa and pin (< pa·yin) as a means by which imperfect tense forms are derived from present tense forms and the regular marking of an experiencer-subject of non-volitional or non-controllable transitive verbs with the dative-locative instead of the instrumental marker.34 Both features may be due to intensive contact with the New Indo-Aryan and Dardic languages. The ‘infinitive’ or gerundive morpheme ces (or byes) is another innovation, not shared by most modern varieties. Verbal nouns with the particle mkhan, originally ‘knowing’, commonly refer to the subject or agent (doer), but in Balti and Ladakhi they may equally refer to the object or patient. Based on this change in orientation, Ladakhi has even developed a patient oriented perfect construction, which comes very close to a passive construction.35 It seems, however, that Balti is somewhat less innovative than the Purik varieties, and that these in turn are somewhat less innovative than the remaining Ladakhi varieties. Balti and the Purik varieties do not have the patient-oriented perfect construction, and the particle ces has fewer functions in Balti (only gerundive/purposive) than in Purik and Ladakhi. Balti also differs from the latter two varieties (and most modern varieties) in that it did not develop the basic evidential distinction between knowledge based on immediate visual perception and other knowledge. On the other hand, only Balti and Purik employ the impera-

33 34

I would thus prefer to call them ‘phonetically archaic’ varieties. Thus, /khoa ridaks ñän/ ‘he was able to hunt down a deer’ instead of /*khoei (*khos) ridaks ñän/. In Old and Classical Tibetan as well as in the modern Tibetan varieties, this construction is restricted to a quite limited number of verbs. 35 e.g. /i stabo bespas (bespe) tsoźskhan-in/ ‘This horse has been sold by the traveller’, but not */bespas (bespe) stek tsoźskhan-in/ *‘The traveller has sold a horse’.

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tive verb form for prohibitions, while Ladakhi like all other Tibetan varieties employ the present verb form instead. With respect to the complex verb forms, Balti and the southern varieties of Purik differ in some points from Ladakhi and the Ciktan variety of Purik. At the tenth International Association for Ladakh Studies (IALS) seminar in Oxford in 2001, Denwood suggested that the differing Balti forms would correspond to Amdo forms, indicating a continued linguistic contact, possibly through migrations. However, beyond clan and place names (see Denwood, this volume), such migrations, if they ever occurred on a larger scale, did not leave any linguistic traces, and the linguistic connection between Balti and Amdo must have come to an end with the fall of the empire. The Balti and Purik (Kargil) future tense construction: present verb form plus pa/ba/ma plus Èdug·Èdug as well as the future perfect of Kharmang: present verb form plus se/Xe plus Èdug·Èdug do not have any counterpart, the future tense construction: present verb form plus Èdug is not attested as a future tense form elsewhere, but corresponds to one of the present tense constructions found in most varieties, and the perfect construction of past verb form plus yod is shared with Lhasa Tibetan, Kham, and Amdo. Otherwise, all Balti forms are found in Ladakhi, sometimes with minimal differences in function, while not all Ladakhi forms are found in Balti (see appendix). Amdo and Kham Tibetan dialects, for their part, show considerable variation, and one might well find a correspondence here and there, because the inventory of the complex verb forms is restricted and the semantic convergence of some auxiliaries is motivated by their basic or full verb meaning. But such correspondences would seem to be rather accidental or arbitrary, particularly when they concern only individual forms out of a whole set. Note that formally identical constructions might have quite different meanings in different varieties. We may conclude that the Balti perfect construction is a shared heritage of an early stage of Tibetan.36 The Leh variety has replaced this construction completely by a construction based on the particle {ste}, while the Ciktan variety shows the use of both constructions with little difference in meaning. In Sham, the first construction is still in use, but rather infrequently (for more details see Zeisler 2004a).

36 Or a shared development from Classical Tibetan on, since this form precisely has not been attested for Old Tibetan so far. For Classical or “Middle” Tibetan texts such as the Milaraspa rnamthar or the Rgyalrabs cf. Zadoks [2004].

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Given these synchronic features and the historical facts sketched above, the following relationship emerges. Balti and Ladakhi phalskat, instead of being a derivation from choskat, have their origin in an earlier stage of the Tibetan language, possibly *Archaic37 Northeast Tibetan variety from which *Old Amdo Tibetan as well Old Tibetan developed. Balti and Ladakhi might be either linked to this archaic variety directly or via *Old Amdo Tibetan. Choskat or the classical book language turns out to be a younger cousin rather than a parent of *Old West Tibetan. Thus its orthography cannot be compulsory for the Balti and Ladakhi phalskat. The relationship can be presented roughly as follows: Proto-Tibetan *Archaic Central Tibetan

*Archaic Northeast Tibetan

*Old Central Tibetan (phalskat)

Old Tibetan (kašokpe skat)

*Old Amdo Tibetan (phalskat)

*Old West Tibetan (phalskat) Classical Tibetan (choskat) Balti

Ladakhi

phonetically conservative Purik Sham Nubra Leh

Lhasa

innov.Amdo

conserv.Amdo

phonetically innovative Zanskar Sakti-Hemis-Gya Changthang

37 “Archaic” in a temporal sense: the period of a language from which we have no documents, but some traits of which might be traced back from the oldest documents.

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BETTINA ZEISLER APPENDIX

Complex verb forms in Balti (Ba), Purik (P), Sham (S), Leh (Le), Lhasa (Lh), Nangchenpa (Na), Rebkong (Re), and Themchen (Th)38 Ba P/S Le

Lh Na Re Th

+

+ +

future -ø (basic verb form) -ø + gi + yin/red -ø + rgyu + yin /red -ø + ni + yin/red -ø + yin -ø + {pa} + yin (Ba /yod) -ø + ?li (+ red) -ø + ca(s)/ce(s) + yin -ø + Èdug -ø + {pa} + Èdug + Èdug -ø + {Xog} (~yin·nog) -ø + ces + yin + nog Past (verb form) + yoź

+

+

+ +

+ + + +

+ +

+ +

+ + +

+

+

+ +

+ +

present (non-past) -ø + yod/Èdug (Na /red; Ba only yod)39 + + + -ø + yin/red -ø + gi + yod·pa red -ø + Èa [?=la] /gi -ø + ?le + yin/red -ø + gi + yod + ?le + red -ø + gi + yod + ?gzig -ø + ces rag/Èdug (P ca(s)) + + -ø + gi + yod (+ gi) -ø + gi + yod·?na + yin/red -ø + {pa} + rag (Na gdaÈ) + -ø + {pa} + yod + -ø + Xin + yod/Èdug (Ba only yod) + + + -ø + Ègro·grabs + red -ø + yod + pa + -ø + yod/Èdug + pin + + -ø + {pa} + mi·Èdug + -ø + {pa} + yod + pin + -ø + Xin + yod + pa + -ø + Xin + yod/Èdug + pin + +

+ +

+ +

+

+ + + + + + +

+

38 The forms are grouped together according to their function, for more details see Zeisler (2004a). 39 Originally + {pa} + yod/Èdug in West Tibetan, see note 26.

LADAKHI & BALTI IN THE TIBETAN LANGUAGE FAMILY Ba P/S Le

61

Lh Na Re Th

past Past (verb form) Past + pin (BA pa (+ i) + yin) Past + {pa} + yin/red Past + ?le + yin/red Past + Èa [?=la] Past + gzig Past + soź Past + gzig Past + byuź/soź Past + thal Past + soź

+ +

+ +

+ +

+ +

+

+ + + + + +

+

+

perfect Past + yod/Èdug (Ba only yod, Na /red, Re, The yod + gi) Past + yod + pa Past + yod + pin {ste} + yin/yod/Èdug/rag (Ba only yod) Past + ?na yin/?nas red {ste} + yod + pa {ste} + yin/yod/Èdug/rag + pin {ste} + yod + pa (+ Gen) + yin -ø + mkhan + yin -ø + mkhan + yin + pin Past + yog·red (yod·pa red) Past + (b)žag Past + {pa} + Èdug Past + yod + gzig Past (+ gi) + gdaÈ {ste} + Èdug·Èdug

+

+

+

+

+

+ +

+

+

+

+ +

+ +

+ +

+ +

+

+ +

+ +

+

+ + + + +

REFERENCES

(1) Early historiographic texts, Tibetan text editions Anonymous. 1170-1200. Chosrgyal Sroźbtsan SgampoÈi MaÖibkaÈÈbum [DharmarÀja Sroźbrtsan Sgampo’s hundred thousand jewel-like precepts]. Ed. 1991 by \phrinlas Dongrub. Mtsosźon mirigs dpesgrunkhaź [Kokonor Nationalities Publishing House]. Atiša (982-1054). 1050. BkaÈmchems kakholma [The Testament from the Side of the Pillar]. Ed. 1989: KansuÈu mirigs dpeskrunkhaź [(Lanzhou): Gansu Nationalities Publishing House]. Bacot, Jacques, Frederick William Thomas et Ch. Toussaint. 1940. Documents de Touenhouang relatifs à l’histoire du Tibet. Paris: Geuthner.

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Bsodnams Rgyalmtshan (1312-1375). 1368. Rgyalrabs gsalbaÈi meloź [The Mirror Clarifying the Genealogy]. 2nd ed. 1993 by Rgyalsras Źagdbaź Blobzaź and Mgonpo Rgyalmtshan. Pecin: Mirigs dpeskruźkhaź [Beijing: Nationalities Publishing House]. Buston Rinchen Grub (1290-1364). 1323. Bdebar gšegspaÈi bstanpaÈi gsalbyed choskyi Èbyuźgnas gsuźrab rinpocheÈi mdzod [Treasure of Precious Teachings Concerning the Origins of the Enlightening Religion Taught by the Sugata]. Ed. 1988 by Dorje Rgyalpo. Kruźgo Bodkyi šesrig dpeskrunkhaź [Chinese-Tibetan Cultural Press]. Dbaźrgyal and Bsodnams Skyid (Eds.). 1992. Tunhoźnas thonpaÈi bodkyi lorgyus yigcha [Tibetan historical accounts originating from Dunhuang]. Pecin: Mirigs dpeskruźkhaź [Beijing: Nationalities Publishing House]. de Jong, Jan Willem. 1989. The Story of RÀma in Tibet. Text and Translation of the Dunhuang Manuscripts. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. Francke, August Hermann. 1924-30. “Gzer-myig, a book of the Tibetan Bonpos. Tibetan Text according to the Berlin-manuscript.” Asia Major 1 (1924):243-346; 3 (1926): 321-339; 4.2/3 (1927):161-239; 4.4 (1928):481-540; 6 (1930):299-314. \gos lotsÀba Gžonnudpal (1392-1481). 1476-78. Bodkyi yuldu chosdaź chos smraba jiltar byuźbaÈi rimpa debther sźonpo [The Blue Annals of how the Religion and the Preaching Originated in the Land of Tibet]. Ed. 1974 by Lokesh Chandra. New Delhi: International Academy of Indian Culture. Richardson, Hugh E. 1985. A Corpus of Early Tibetan Inscriptions. Hertford: Royal Asiatic Society. Spanien, Ariane et Yoshiro Imaeda. 1979. Mission Paul Pelliot. Choix de documents tibétains conservés à la Bibliothèque Nationale, complété par quelques manuscrits de l’India Office et du British Museum. Tome II. Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale.

(2) Secondary sources, modern historiographical texts, dictionaries Bielmeier, Roland. 1998. “Balti Tibetan in its Historical Linguistic Context.” In Karakorum - Hindukush - Himalaya: dynamics of change. Part II:583-610. Ed. Irmtraud Stellrecht. Köln: Rüdiger Köppe. ——. 2004. “Shafer’s Proto-West Bodish Hypothesis and the Formation of the Tibetan Verb Paradigms.” In: Anju Saxena (ed.), Himalayan Languages. Past and present. (Trends in Linguistics, Studies and Monographs, 149.) Berlin etc.: Mouton de Gruyter: 395-412. Bkrašis Rabrgyas. 1984. Maryul Ladwagskyi sźonrabs kungsalmeloź žes byaba [History of Ladakh Called the Mirror which Illuminates all]. Gle [Leh]: C. Namgyal & Tsewang Taru. Causemann, Margret. 1989. Dialekt und Erzählungen der Nangchenpas. (Beiträge zur tibetischen Erzählforschung, 11.) Bonn: VGH Wissenschaftsverlag. Coblin, Weldon South. 1991. “A Study of the Old Tibetan shangshu Paraphrase, part I”. Journal of the American Oriental Society 112.2:303-321. Denwood, Philip. This volume. “Early Connections between Ladakh/Baltistan and Amdo/Kham”. Francke, August Hermann. 1912. “The Tibetan Alphabet.” Epigraphica Indica. 11:266271. Gendun Chophel (DgeÈdun ChosÈphel, 1902-1951). 1938. “Dbucanlas dbumed raźbyuźdu grubpa” [The Evolution of U’med from U’chen script]. Yulphyogs sosoÈi gsarÈgyur meloź [The News Mirror of the different districts]. [Kalimpong] (2.1.1938). Reprint and translated by K. Dhondup in: The Tibet Journal 8.1 (1983):56-57. Haarh, Eric. 1969. The Yar-LuØ Dynasty. A Study with Particular Regard to the Contribution by Myths and Legends to the History of Ancient Tibet and the Origin and Nature of its Kings. København: Gad. Hackin, Joseph. 1924. Formulaire Sanscrit-Tibétain du Xe siècle. Paris: Geuthner.

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Jäschke, Heinrich August. 1881. A Tibetan-English Dictionary. With Special Reference to Prevailing Dialects. London. 4th reprint 1992. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Laufer, Berthold. 1898. “Studien zur Sprachwissenschaft der Tibeter. Zamatog.” Sitzungsberichte der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Philologische und Historische Klasse, Heft III:519-594. ——. 1914. “Bird Divination among the Tibetans. (Notes on document Pelliot No. 3530, with a Study of Tibetan Phonology of the Ninth Century).” T’oung Pao 15:1-110. ——. 1918. “Origin of Tibetan Writing”. Journal of the American Oriental Society 38:34-46. Macdonald, Ariane. 1971. “Une lecture des Pelliot Tibétain 1286, 1287, 1038, 1047, et 1290. Essai sur la formation et l’emploi des mythes politiques dans la religion royale de SroØ-bcan Sgam-po.” In: Études tibétaines dédiées à la mémoire de Marcelle Lalou: 190391. Paris: Maisonneuve. Miller, Roy Andrew. 1963. “Thon-mi Sambhoãa and his Grammatical Treatises.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 8:485-502. ——. 1988. “The First Two Grammatical Treatises as Known to the Sa skya PaÖÉita”. In: Tibetan Studies. Proceedings of the 4th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies. Schloß Hohenkammer - Munich 1985. Vol. II:263-278. Ed. Helga Uebach and Jampa L. Panglung. München: Kommission für Zentralasiatische Studien, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Ngawangthondup Narkyid. 1982. “In defence of Amdo Gendun Chomphel’s Theory of the Origin of the Tibetan script.” The Tibet Journal 7,3:23-34. Pelliot, Paul. 1915. “Quelques transcriptions chinoises de noms tibétains.” T’oung Pao 16: 1-26. Phuntshogs Tsheriź. 1992. Debther kungsal meloź [The Mirror that Clarifies all, a Historical Account]. Bodljoźs midmaźs dpeskrunkhaź [Tibetan Autonomous Region Nationalities Publishing House]. Róna-Tas, András. 1985. Wiener Vorlesungen zur Sprach- und Kulturgeschichte Tibets. Wien: Arbeitskreis für Tibetische und Buddhistische Studien Universität Wien. Roerich, Georges de. 1958. Le parler de l’Amdo. Étude d’un dialecte archaïque du Tibet. (Serie Orientale Roma, 18.) Rom: Istituto Italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente. Shafer, Robert. 1950/51. “Studies in the Morphology of Bodic Verbs.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 13, 3-4:702-724, 1015-1031. Simonsson, Nils. 1957. Indo-tibetische Studien. Die Methoden der tibetischen Übersetzer, untersucht im Hinblick auf die Bedeutung ihrer Übersetzungen für die Sanskritphilologie. Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksells. Slaje, Walter. 1993. nÀradÀ: deskriptiv-synchrone Schriftkunde zur Bearbeitung kaschmirischer Sanskrit-Manuskripte. Auf der Grundlage von Kušalas Ghaãakharpara-GËÉhadÈpikÀ. Reinbek: Wezler. Sørensen, Per K. 1994. Tibetan Buddhist Historiography: The Mirror Illuminating The Royal Genealogies. An Annotated Translation of The XIVth Century Tibetan Chronicle: rGyal-rabs gsalba’i me-long. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Sprigg, Richard Keith. 2002. Balti-English English-Balti Dictionary. London, N.Y.: RoutledgeCurzon. Stein, Rolf A. 1972. Tibetan Civilization. Translated by J.E. Stapleton Driver. London: Faber and Faber. ——. 1983. “Tibetica Antiqua I. Les deux vocabulaires des traductions indo-tibétaine et sino-tibétaine dans les manuscrits de Touen-huang”. Bulletin de l'Ecole Française d'Extrême-Orient 72:149-236. ——. 1985. “Tibetica Antiqua III. A propos du mot gcug-lag et de la religion indigène.” Bulletin de l'Ecole Française d'Extrême-Orient 74:83-133. Takeuchi, Tsuguhito. 1985. “A Passage from the Shih chi in the Old Tibetan Chronicle”. In: Soundings in Tibetan Civilisation. Proceedings of the 1982 Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies, Columbia University. Ed. by Barbara Nimri Aziz and Matthew Kapstein. Delhi: Manohar:

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——. 1995. Old Tibetan Contracts from Central Asia. Tokyo: Daizo Shuppan. Thubbstan Dpalldan. 2002. Ladwags. [Leh]: published by the author. 2nd edition. Verhagen, Pieter C. 2000. A History of Sanskrit Grammatical Literature in Tibet. Vol. 2: Assimilation into Indigenous Scholarship. Leiden etc.: Brill. Zadoks, Abel. [2004]. “Evidentials in Middle Tibetan texts”. [Paper presented at the 37th ICSTLL, Lund 2004.] Zeisler, Bettina. 2004a. Relative Tense and Aspectual Values in Tibetan languages. A Comparative Study. Berlin etc.: Mouton de Gruyter. ——. [2004b]. “West Tibetan Verbal Morphology and the Reconstruction of the Protolanguage: the Shafer Hypothesis Revisited”. [Paper presented at the 37th ICSTLL, Lund 2004.] Zhang Yisun [Kraź Dbyisun] et al. (Eds.). 1993. Bod-Rgya tshigmdzod chenmo [The large Tibetan Chinese Dictionary]. Vol. 1-2. Pecin: Mirigs dpeskrunkhaź [Beijing: Nationalities Publishing House].

THE EARLY BUDDHIST HERITAGE OF LADAKH RECONSIDERED CHRISTIAN LUCZANITS Much of what is generally considered to represent the earliest heritage of Ladakh cannot be securely dated. It even cannot be said with certainty when Buddhism reached Ladakh. Similarly, much of what is recorded in inscriptions and texts concerning the period preceding the establishment of the Ladakhi kingdom in the late 15th century is either fragmentary or legendary. Thus, only a comparative study of these records together with the architectural and artistic heritage can provide more secure glimpses into the early history of Buddhism in Ladakh. This study outlines the most crucial historical issues and questions from the point of view of an art historian and archaeologist, drawing on a selection of exemplary monuments and objects, the historical value of which has in many instances yet to be exploited. Without aiming to be so comprehensive, the article updates the groundbreaking work of A.H. Francke (particularly 1914, 1926) and Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977, 1980) regarding the early Buddhist cultural heritage of the central region of Ladakh on the basis that the Alchi group of monuments1 has to be attributed to the late 12 and early 13th centuries AD rather than the 11th or 12th centuries as previously assumed (Goepper 1990). It also collects support for the new attribution published by different authors since Goepper’s primary article. The now fairly secure attribution of the Alchi group of monuments shifts the dates by only one century,2 but has wide repercussions on 1 This term refers to the early monuments of Alchi, Mangyu and Sumda, which are located in a narrow geographic area, have a common social, cultural and artistic background, and may be attributed to within a relatively narrow timeframe. 2 After assessing the inscriptions of the Alchi monuments, Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977:15, 79-80) cautiously attributed the monuments to a period after the life-time of Rinchen Zangpo (Rin-chen-bzang-po; 958–1055) and within the context of a small regional dominion. They nevertheless considered the art of Alchi to be an immediate result of the West Tibetan kingdom that introduced organised Buddhism in the area.

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our perception of the earliest Ladakhi Buddhist heritage and its development up to the late 15th century.3 More importantly, the new dates make it possible to link the early Buddhist heritage in Ladakh to the general development of Tibetan Buddhism and thus also has major effects on our understanding of early Tibetan art history. Pre-Alchi heritage None of the many Buddhist monuments in Ladakh appears to preserve anything that makes it possible to attribute it to the phase when Ladakh first came into contact with Buddhism. Among the stupas, Sani is traditionally associated with the time of the KußÀÖa king Kaniska I.4 The claim that Buddhism reached Ladakh at the time of the KußÀÖas can neither be supported nor refuted: there is simply no surviving evidence.5 The chörten at Sani, as it stands today, certainly does not support this claim.6 Nevertheless, it may be safe to presume that by the time the Tibetans assumed control of the region as early as 663, the Ladakhis, or rather the Dards that are thought to have inhabited the area, had at least come into contact with Buddhism.7 The earliest evidence of Buddhism in the region may be represented by the stupa engravings found at different sites, mainly at crossing places along the principal

They suggested that the Alchi Dukhang may have been built in the second half of the 11th century at the earliest and the later monuments of the group in the 12th century. 3 This may be one of the main reasons why a number of scholars do not yet accept the new dates. 4 Most commonly the Kanißka era is thought to have commenced around 100 AD, the range from 78 AD (i.e. the beginning of the naka era) to ca. 130 AD being most frequently mentioned. 5 Of course, the KharoßãÈ inscription of Uvima Kavthisa (Wima Kadphises) found near the Kaltse (Kha-la-rtse) bridge proves that at least lower Ladakh at one stage was part of the KußÀÖa empire (Petech 1977:6-7). 6 Cf. e.g. the report in Snellgrove & Skorupski (1980:6, 57–61, Figs.4,18). 7 The date of 663 for the Tibetan occupation of the region west of Ladakh, at that time called Great and Little Balur (also Bolor), is suggested by the extensive study of Beckwith (1987: 29–31) while Petech (1977:9-13) maintained a later date (720/1) for the area coming under Tibetan control. The report of Xuanzang (Hsuan-tsang) a century earlier remains unclear with regard to Buddhism in the area, but the report of the 8th century Korean pilgrim Hye Ch’o (Hyecho, Hui-ch’ao), who travelled through northern India and Central Asia between 724 and 727, implies that at that time the Baltistan region and Zhang-zhung were at least partly Buddhist and under Tibetan rule (Petech 1977:10), but that the Tibetans were not yet Buddhist (Yang, Han-sung, Yün-hua Jan, Shotaro Iida, and Laurence W. Preston. 1984; see also note 9).

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rivers.8 On the basis of accompanying inscriptions, at least some of these stupa engravings in the upper Indus region—that is in presentday Ladakh and West Tibet—can be attributed to the Tibetan occupation.9 It can only be hoped that future research will provide us with more definitive evidence.10 A major lacuna regarding the early Buddhist artistic heritage of Ladakh is a detailed study of the numerous rock carvings found in the region and neighbouring areas.11 These carvings are placed either on large rock boulders along pathways, such as those of Choglamsar, Mulbek, Shey or Suru, or on slim stone steles (rdo-ring). Although some of the major carvings have inscriptions carved beside them, their fragmentary state does not give secure clues to their historical setting. This means that the primary assessment of these carvings is based on historical assumptions and associations, often combined with an evaluation on the basis of art historical criteria.12 Generally, rock carvings tend to be attributed to comparatively early dates.13 It is 8 Incidentally, the Wima Kadphises inscription mentioned in note 5 is also placed at such a spot. 9 To my knowledge, only two inscriptions near Kaltse (Denwood & Howard 1990) and the inscriptions accompanying the engravings at the Alchi bridge (Denwood 1980; Orofino 1990) have been reconsidered since the groundbreaking work of A.H. Francke. Some of these inscriptions are attributed to the time of the Tibetan occupation of the region which lasted at least until the middle of the 9th century. By contrast, a good part of the engravings further down the Indus valley, in particular those at different sites around Chilas, considerably predate the Tibetan occupation of the region. Further, it is well known that at the time this region had a thriving Buddhist culture dating back to the KußÀÖa period. At the 11th IALS colloquium in July 2003, Harald Hauptmann, the present director of the comprehensive research project recording and publishing the rock engravings of Northern Pakistan, presented an overview of the finds and the present state of research on that topic. Further information and references to their extensive publications are found on the project website (www.haw.baden-wuerttemberg.de). 10 It is fortunate that a team of Indian and Ladakhi scholars has taken up the task of documenting and studying Ladakhi rock engravings, which range from the ibexes and symbols to figurative and stupa representations. The first results of this project were presented at the 11th IALS colloquium in 2003. 11 In contrast to the engravings just discussed, the carvings are commonly larger in size and attempt to show the depicted deity in relief or even three dimensions. 12 However, strictly speaking, art history is only possible when a considerable body of evidence can be compared with each other, and dates can only be suggested when some of this material has a secure context (Luczanits 2001). Neither is the case with the rock carvings in Ladakh. 13 Snellgrove & Skorupski (1980:9) maintain that the carvings of Mulbek, Dras and Changspa are all 7th to 10th century. The Maitreya in Kartse (dKar-rtse) is considered

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important to keep in mind that these early dates have been proposed on the assumption that such sophisticated monuments as those at Alchi had already been built by the 11th century. The famous rock relief at Mulbek can serve as an example.14 Quite possibly, future studies will reveal that four-armed images of Maitreya of this type are a relatively late feature in Kashmir-influenced art, the Alchi Sumtsek representing a particularly significant and late example. Also, stylistic comparison does not contradict a later date—such as the 11th century—for the Mulbek relief, but its possible range has still to be worked out. Indeed, an art-historical reassessment of this and other relief carvings, such as those of Dras15 and Suru, will only be possible once a more secure chronology for comparative pieces—in particular the Kashmiri bronzes and their western Himalayan successors—has been established.16 The most prominent example of the stone steles is the exceptionally large one near the Changspa chörten in Leh. The massive stone has a standing teaching Buddha on one face (Francke 1914: pl.xxxii,a; Snellgrove & Skorupski 1980: Fig.109), and a four-armed Avalokiteovara17 accompanied by a small image of HayagrÈva on the other “almost identical to the the one at Mulbek” (Snellgrove & Skorupski 1980: Figs.7,9) and also the six-armed Avalokiteovara accompanied by two goddesses at Byama Kumbhu near Sanku “must have been executed prior to the Tibetan occupation of Western Tibet” (Snellgrove & Skorupski 1980: Fig.2), probably because this carving is most closely comparable to the art of Kashmir. It is interesting to note that it has not been considered a contradiction that monuments were decorated by Kashmiri artists during the West Tibetan kingdom, while large scale rock carvings must precede this period or even the first Tibetan occupation due to their close association to the art of Kashmir. However, in the case of rock carvings, the Kashmir affiliation is often not as clearly articulated as generally assumed. 14 Cf. e.g. Francke (1905, 1914, 1926); Uhlig (1976:13) the picture shows the rock with the image before the temple was built there and the image is attributed to the 6/7th centuries; Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977:1 (“7th century or later”, Fig.4); Fontein (1979); and Fisher (1989). 15 Snellgrove & Skorupski 1977: Fig.3. 16 The attribution of Kashmiri bronzes is still tentative. Most remarkably, no bronzes are attributed to the 12th century although Kashmir culture was still extremely active in this period. Both the chronicles of Kashmir, the RÀjataraØgiÖi (Stein 1900, and the Alchi group of monuments provide evidence in this regard. The important early relief on the rock below the castle of Shey (e.g. Snellgrove & Skorupski 1977: Fig.5), executed in a much more provincial style than that at Mulbek, has to be reconsidered according to iconographic rather than stylistic criteria. 17 Holding a lotus and performing varadamudrÀ with the right hands and holding an unidentified object and probably a noose in the left hand, this image represents a form of Avalokiteovara unusual in the western Himalayas.

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(Francke 1914: pl.xxxii,b). HayagrÈva leans on a club with both hands, a type of depicting a fierce deity that Linrothe (1999) classifies as an early feature. Again, a more detailed study of these characteristics— along with the donor and stupa representations on the stone—will be necessary to evaluate its historical context fully.18 Shey village and its surroundings house a number of interesting smaller steles (rdo-ring) which can be considered exemplary for this type of image. In the past decade, I have documented numerous such steles throughout Ladakh (e.g. Francke 1914: pl.xxxiv), and also in Lahul, but these still await a detailed study. Similarly, a secure date cannot be forwarded for any surviving stupa, some of which are occasionally considered to predate the West Tibetan kingdom. The monumental structure at Tisseru near Leh has been associated with the assumed earliest Buddhist occupation of Ladakh, but it is not even clear if it was originally meant to be a stupa. This building is certainly most enigmatic, with its original appearance distorted not only by a long history of renovation and decay, but also by its reconstruction.19 Similarly, in the case of other chörten, in particular those of the Many Auspicious Doors-type (bKra-shis-sgomang-mchod-rten), no clues can be forwarded regarding their construction date.20 We reach more secure historical ground with the West Tibetan kingdom founded by descendants of the Central Tibetan monarchy in the region of Purang, south of mount Kailash.21 It is certain that during the late 10th and the beginning of the 11th century this kingdom 18 Filigenzi (1999) places this relief in a succession of earlier images found in northern Pakistan. 19 Apparently, an earlier structure was used for a large stupa by King Grags-’bumlde in the 15th century. This structure then looked like a stupa from outside and had many interior chapels (Snellgrove & Skorupski 1977: Figs.73,82). Without earlier documentation and excavation reports (if they exist), the current remains do not permit any conclusion as to the purpose and historical context of this structure. It would certainly be interesting to collect all material regarding the Tisseru monument and see what one can come up with, but it is far from certain that this would yield any result at all. 20 The best known of these are the chörten at Changspa, Leh, and at Shey, but similar, more ruined structures can also be found at Alchi and Basgo. The very fragmentary murals in some of the cells of the Alchi chörten certainly suggest an attribution to c. the 14th century at the earliest for this structure. Incidentally, in Central Tibet this type of structure was particularly popular in the 15th century with the Kumbum of Gyantse being the most prominent example. 21 Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977: 15) speak of the first important cultural impact in this regard.

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included a large part of Ladakh. Right at the beginning of this period, the monastery of Nyarma (Nyar-ma, also Nyer-ma), a few kilometres east of Tiksey (Khrigs-se), was founded as one of three major monastic foundations located in the main regions of the kingdom.22 Nyarma is today an extensive ruin that still contains part of a large surrounding wall, the sacred enclosure (chos-’khor), several ruins of large temple structures, and many chörten in different states of preservation.23 The monastery, situated on the plain of the Indus valley, apparently was abandoned only a few centuries after its foundation due to damage sustained from war and flooding.24 Some of the structures contain the remains of former clay sculptures in the form of fragmentary aureoles. These fragments are no doubt of considerable antiquity, and the absence of mural traces underneath the remains of the sculptures may indicate that they derive from the foundation period of the temple itself, but they do not give any clue as to when the temple was founded.25 A more definite attribution can be suggested for the ruin near Basgo, which was published by Francke (1914:xxv,b). This structure preserves the plugholes and halo remains of the deities of a VajradhÀtumandala distributed on the back and the side walls (Fig.5). As in the Tabo main temple (Klimburg-Salter 1997), the central Vairocana with the four accompanying goddesses must have occupied a throne in the centre of the room. On the back wall, two Jinas are each accompanied by four attendant Bodhisattvas, and four offering goddesses have been placed between them, the different deities clearly differentiated by the respective sizes of the halos (Fig.6). On the side-

22 See Luczanits (2004:29–32) on the three major foundations and what is left of them today. 23 Besides Panglung (1983), Kath Howard (1995) has discussed Nyarma. The Austrian research project on the early Buddhist architecture in the western Himalayas led by Holger Neuwirth has also made a detailed survey of Nyarma. Gerald Koczic, former member of this research project, discussed the architecture of Nyarma at the 10th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies, St. Hugh’s College, Oxford, 6–12th September 2003. 24 On the history of the monastery cf. Panglung (1983: 281–84). 25 The position of the former clay sculptures in what is arguably the oldest structure in the complex—the structure on which the Dorje Chenmo temple was built—compares best to those of the Tholing Gyatsa (Luczanits 1996b), which would make one assume that the sculptures were added in the 13th century to an already existing structure. In contrast to the Gyatsa, no older paint layer is evident within the monument and the layout of the temple compares best to the Tabo Assembly Hall, which was built in the late 10th century.

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walls, the central Jina, seated on a more elaborate throne base, is flanked by four attendant Bodhisattvas with a further two goddesses above and two gatekeepers below (Fig.7). 26

Figure 5. The temple ruin at Basgo with the remnants of clay sculptures clearly visible on the back wall (Photo: C. Luczanits 2003, DSCN9091).

Figure 6. Schematic drawing of the distribution of the VajradhÀtu deities in the Basgo ruin. J stands for Jina, BS for Bodhisattva, G for goddess and P for protector/gatekeeper (Drawing C. Luczanits).

Further, the full modelling of the circular halos and their relationship to the pegs that once held the figures compares best to the mid-11th century sculptures of the Tabo Assembly Hall. The upper peg holding the image is placed in the centre of the halo, and the lower peg just at its bottom edge. Below that, two separate pegs once held the lotuses of 26 The complete documentation of the Basgo ruin is found on the website: http://univie.ac.at/ITBA.

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the secondary images. In the case of the Jinas, six pegs in two parallel rows of three held a more elaborate throne that included their vehicles. These factors alone, and their comparison to the constructions found at other western Himalayan sites such as Tabo, Nako, Lalung and the Alchi group of monuments, make it possible to attribute this temple ruin to the middle or second half of the 11th century.27

Figure 7: Left sidewall of the Basgo ruin with the halos of nine deities of a VajradhÀtumaÖÉala: a Jina, surrounded by four vajra-Bodhisattvas and flanked by two goddesses (above) and two gate-keepers (Photo: C. Luczanits 2003, DSCN9087).

While Nyarma has already received some scholarly attention, the numerous other ruins have not been reconsidered since the time of Francke.28 Further, all work done so far is simply based on observations of what is apparent from the ruins without any 27

The clay sculptures of the mentioned sites and their historical context are discussed in detail in Luczanits 2004. The conclusion suggested here is based on the material collected in this book. 28 Francke not only collected all the epigraphic evidence, but also systematically recorded temple and castle ruins. Some of these photographs, which Francke sent to J.Ph.Vogel in the course of their scholarly discussions, are in the photographic collection of the Kern Institute in Leiden, Netherlands.

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excavation. A comprehensive recording and documentation of the ruins, along with a detailed recording of technical details such as brick sizes and wall construction, would enable us to extrapolate a history of these structures, and make it possible to estimate the extent of early Buddhism in the area. Ideally, these observations need to be supplemented by selected excavations according to modern standards at some of the sites. Painted Alchi Besides the ruins discussed, there are numerous monasteries, temples and chörten in Ladakh which local tradition and relatively recent historical texts describe as foundations of the famous translator Rinchen Zangpo (Rin-chen-bzang-po, 958–1055). However, neither architectural or art historical evidence supports any of these attributions. For Alchi, already Snellgrove & Skorupski cautiously refuted this association on the basis of the data available to them (cf. note 2). As already mentioned, Roger Goepper was then able to attribute the Alchi Sumtsek (gSum-brtsegs) to 1200–1220 at the earliest. This date is based on an inscribed lineage of the Drigungpa (’Bri-gung-pa) school painted on the entrance wall of the lantern or third floor (Goepper 1990; Goepper & Poncar 1996:211–17). The founder of the ’Bri-gung-pa school (i.e. ’Jig-rten-mgon-po, 1143–1217) is the last person depicted and identified in this lineage, and this points to the completion of the temple in the early 13th century.29 Other evidence within the monastic complex now supports the early 13th century attribution for the Alchi Sumtsek and thus a significantly later chronology for the oldest temples preserved in Alchi and the closely related monuments in Mangyu and Sumda. This evidence also sheds new light on the relevance of the art of Alchi to the development of Tibetan art in general. The monastic complex (chos-’khor) of Alchi contains some of the most fascinating Buddhist monuments in the Himalayas. In total it 29

One may dispute here whether the presence of the last person in the lineage means that he was still alive at the time of depiction, or if it is a posthumous representation. With Central Tibetan portraits it is often assumed that the depiction is posthumous, but in these cases an additional teacher, often the practitioner (sÀdhaka) of the respective teaching, is also depicted. Further, such portraits could also be part of a series. In the case of Alchi, I would assume that the depiction fell towards the end of the life of Drigungpa, as the donor and founder of the temple, Tshul-khrims-’od, initiated the depiction.

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contains six temples as well as three painted gateway stupas (Kakani chörten, ka-ka-ni mchod-rten) of a type unique to the Alchi group. Here I focus on recent research on the two oldest and largest temples—the Assembly Hall or Dukhang (’Du-khang) and the Three-Storeyed Temple or Sumtsek—as well as on some paintings of the two oldest gateway stupas within the complex, which I term Great Chörten and Small Chörten (Fig.8). These buildings are attributable to the period dating from approximately the middle of the 12th century to the early 13th century. As is apparent from the inscriptions at Alchi, these monuments were built when an elite of Central Tibetan descent, the Dro (’Bro) clan, ruled a rather small principality in Lower Ladakh.30 Before presenting other evidence supporting Goepper’s conclusions, the lineage representation on the third floor of the Sumtsek needs to be reviewed briefly.31 I have already noted in a previous article (Luczanits 1998) that the depiction of a teacher’s lineage was a new subject in western Himalayan art. An analysis of the depiction in comparison to the teacher representations in the Great and Small Chörtens leads to the conclusion that the Alchi lineage was painted in the absence of a proper visual model for their depiction. The representation of the cape may have posed a particular problem for the Sumtsek painters, as the hands performing the various gestures were not meant to be covered. These uncertainties are no longer apparent in the depictions of the Central Tibetan teacher in the two chörten erected within the monastic complex of Alchi, the well known Great Chörten32 and the Small Chörten.33 Both contain an inner chörten with its interior walls dedicated to the same four teachers but, while in the Great Chörten only the teachers are shown, in the Small Chörten they are accompanied by secondary figures as well. Of these, only the representation of the Central Tibetan teacher, traditionally identified as Rinchen Zangpo, is of relevance in this context (cf. Snellgrove & Skorupski 1977: pl.xiii; Goepper 1993: Fig.14; Luczanits 2003a: Figs.3,4; Luczanits 2004: Fig.218). This figure demonstrates that by now the 30

See the historical introductions in Goepper & Poncar (1996) or Luczanits (2004). A more detailed analysis of this depiction is found in Luczanits (2003a). For overviews and large-size pictures cf. Goepper (1990), Goepper & Poncar (1996:212, 216, 217) and Luczanits (2003a). 32 Cf. Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977:77–78) and the detailed study by Goepper (1993). 33 Only Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977:78) describe this important chörten and also note that here the teachers represented in the inner chörten have a context. 31

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painters had become familiar with the way a teacher is shown in contemporary Central Tibetan painting.34 The new artistic influence on the early 13th century monuments at Alchi is even more obvious when one considers the context in which the so-called Rinchen Zangpo is shown in the extremely informative Small Chörten (Snellgrove & Skorupski 1977: pl. xiii). The teacher is flanked by two standing Bodhisattvas (Avalokiteovara and MañjuorÈ) and two seated deities at the level of his head (-aÉakßaralokeovara and Green TÀrÀ). Above these, another unusual lineage of the Kagyüpa (bKa’-brgyud-pa) school is depicted, and to the sides are nine more siddha, while seven protective deities occupy the bottom of the composition. Both the elements comprising this arrangement, as well as their arrangement, are clearly reminiscent of Central Tibetan thangka paintings of that time, although it is executed without the strict divisions that are characteristic of the latter paintings.35 In fact, compositions containing all these elements were developed in Central Tibet at approximately the same time, the painting in the Small Chörten being among the earliest representations. The most characteristic elements of this composition are the representation of the teacher as (equal to) a Buddha36 and the teaching lineage testifying

34

For the usual depiction of Central Tibetan teachers in early Tibetan paintings cf. e.g. Kossak and Singer (1998: Nos.5,11,17,18,19,26,30,51). 35 In the meantime, an identification for almost all deities and siddha in this composition can be suggested on the basis of a small group of comparable Central Tibetan thangkas of the Drigungpa school, two of them with inscriptions that leave no doubt about the school affiliation. Relevant paintings known to me so far are: a footprint thangka at the Rubin Museum of Art (Himalayan Art 2004: no.65205); another footprint thangka that is chronologically two generations later (KlimburgSalter 1982: pl.111); a thangka of the Pritzker collection (Kossak and Singer 1998: no.17); one in a Swiss private collection (Pal 2003:no. 132; and a thangka in poor condition in the Koelz collection at the Museum of Anthropology at Ann Arbor, Michigan (Copeland 1980:98). A detailed analysis of this group of paintings in comparison to the Alchi depiction is in preparation. 36 “Such a painting would certainly seem to pay Rin-chen bzang-po full honours as an acknowledged Buddha-manifestation.” (Snellgrove & Skorupski 1977:78). Teacher representations flanked by standing Bodhisattvas are fairly rare in comparison; e.g. of the ones in Sacred Visions referred to in note 34 only no.17—the one belonging to the group identified in note 35—has flanking Bodhisattvas. Other examples with flanking Bodhisattvas, besides the thangkas mentioned in the previous note, are two paintings of the Taglung school: one in the Musée Guimet (MA 6083: Béguin 1995:482–84; Singer 1997: Fig.43, identifies the main image as Önpo Lama (Sangs-rgyas dBon Grags-pa-dpal 1251–1296) and the others in private collections (Rossi and Rossi 1994: no.10; Singer 1997: Fig.41, again identified as Önpo Lama).

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to the Indian origin of the teaching.37 The systematic emphasis on the Indian derivation of a teaching by means of a teacher’s lineage appears to have become prominent in Tibet only during the 12th century within the new schools, and became extremely influential.38 The perception of the contemporary Tibetan teacher as (equal to) a Buddha appears to have been established only in the second half of the 12th century in Central Tibet and mainly in a Kagyüpa context.39 One may even conclude that the painting in the Small Chörten of Alchi documents the emergence of a new understanding of the teacher in Tibetan Buddhism, certainly within the Kagyüpa schools, and that it was produced on the threshold of a new development of Tibetan Buddhism in general.40 The relationship of the Small Chörten teacher depiction to Central Tibetan paintings of the Drigungpa school invariably referring to the founder of the school would make it possible to identify this teacher with Drigungpa himself.41 For the time being, I hesitate to do so because of the siddha depicted just opposite the teacher. This siddha is invariably depicted squatting with a meditation band, and holds a twig in his raised right hand and a flute in the left. Just opposite the Central Tibetan teacher, and shown frontally, he must be considered his teacher. He is therefore the crucial figure for deciphering the religious history of the early 13th century monuments of Alchi.42 37 The local teachers on the side walls of the Small Chörten, instead of being depicted as a Buddha himself, are surrounded by the five tathÀgata headed by Vairocana, while underneath them a row of further local monastic figures is shown (Luczanits 2003a: Fig.5). 38 Whatever the social and political circumstances which supported such a move, the need to justify a teaching by its link to the Indian tradition, thus demonstrating its authoritative derivation, is evidenced by the prominent position given to the lineage in the literature and painting of that time. 39 The evidence in this regard is summarised in Luczanits (2003a), Example 1. 40 This development can also be seen as preconditioning the establishment of the first reincarnation lineage after the second Karmapa (Kar-ma-pa) Karma Pakshi (Karma pak-shi; 1204–83) in the course of the 13th century (cf. the fascinating account in Kapstein (2000: in particular 97–100). 41 Amy Heller suggested this identification in a personal communication to me on 10 November 2002 on the basis of the thangka published by P. Pal mentioned in note 35, for which she read the fragmentary inscription on the back. 42 For depictions of this siddha—usually identified with NÀropa—in the two chörten cf. Goepper (1993: Figs.12,13) and Luczanits (2004: Fig.219). This siddha, is also represented in a prominent position at the bottom of the dhotÈ of Bodhisattva MañjuorÈ in the Alchi Sumtsek (Goepper and Poncar 1996:102,109) and is also depicted in the niche of the Assembly Hall of Sumda Chung.

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The depiction of MahÀsiddha as they accompany the Central Tibetan teacher is a topic new to the western Himalayas. Even more significant, the representation of the group of 84 such siddha on the dhoti of MañjuorÈ in the Alchi Sumtsek is the earliest representation of this topic so far known. As Rob Linrothe (2001) has shown, in this case only a few of the depictions are individualised while generic types abound. Davidson (2002:303–9) has pointed out that lineages or groups of siddha only become prominent in Tibet in the course of the 12th century. The archetypical lives of a group of 84 MahÀsiddha as found in the Grub-thob brgyad-cu-rtsa-bzhi’i lo-rgyus narrated by a certain AbhayadattaorÈ were translated into Tibetan by sMon-grub-shes-rab, no secure dates being known for either of them.1 The number 84 is rather symbolic and the names and the numbers of siddha mentioned in different texts and commentaries vary. Besides these observations, Goepper (2003) has collected further support for his dating of the Sumtsek and the Kashmiri derivation of its painters. Among them is a certain iconographical emphasis on the goddess TÀrÀ to be observed in the murals. Of the many representations of this goddess, the one in the centre of the left wall of the second storey takes the most prominent position. It shows a standing TÀrÀ as Saviour from Eight Kinds of Fear, flanked by scenes actually showing the dangers or fears and the salvation from them (Goepper & Poncar 1996:158-163). According to Goepper, this predilection for the goddess may be interpreted as a reflection of the revival of her cult in Kashmir. When nÀkyaorÈbhadra (1140s-1225) after his return from Tibet reorganised the decaying Buddhist religion and ritual in Kashmir, he promoted especially the cult of Avalokiteávara and TÀrÀ (Naudou 1980:246–49). Another Kashmiri priest named TathÀgatabhadra was active in China during the 13th century and translated a sÀdhana on TÀrÀ as Saviouress from the Eight Kinds of Fear, originally composed by the Kashmiri Sarvajñamitra (late 8th century; Naudou 1980:252). Indeed, as Eva Allinger (1999) has shown, it is SarvajñÀmitra’s description of the Saviouress from the Eight Kinds of Fear that is closest to the representation of this subject in the first floor of the Sumtsek as it is the only text that describes different manifestations of TÀrÀ rescuing from the dangers. One may need to add here that TÀrÀ is not depicted in

1 Around 1100 appears to be the earliest possible date for the translation, but Davidson appears to favour a 12th century date.

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the Tabo Main Temple at all and in western Himalayan art only becomes more prominently depicted in the 12th century monuments (cf. Luczanits 2004:216). Alchi rebuilt Although Alchi is certainly the most studied and best known monument of Ladakh, many aspects of it have not yet been looked into. This may be demonstrated by summarising one of the findings of recent research visits to Alchi monastery in co-operation with architects of the University of Technology in Graz, Austria.2 A detailed survey of the buildings and their artistic decoration makes it possible to extract a more complex picture of the earliest development of the monastic complex, in particular the area in front of the Assembly Hall or Dukhang (’Du-khang, Fig.8). This monument is certainly the oldest preserved of the Alchi group, but there is no decisive clue for the time that elapsed between its construction and that of the Sumtsek. While the sculptural configuration centred on Vairocana in the apse at the back of the temple and the murals appear rather close in style, other forms of decoration indicate a considerable interval in timing. Most remarkable in this regard are the extensive carvings of the doorframe (Francke 1914: pl.xxxix,a) as well as the remaining parts of the veranda, the sides of which are closed up today. In addition to the veranda, the area in front of the Dukhang testifies to a long history of alterations (Fig.8). As the on-site survey with the Graz architects has revealed, these alterations include the addition of flanking buildings and the courtyard in a relatively clear chronological sequence. First, two tower-like structures were added to the sides of the veranda, of which only the left one is preserved in original proportions. This curious structure has not been decorated at the bottom but contains a painted upper chamber.3 While the main wall of this chamber remains undecorated, the side- and entrance walls are covered with paintings. These murals, executed in a rather dark colour palette with shades of brown and yellow dominating, and thus considerably different from that of the other Alchi temples, are today in a deplorable condition. However, stylistically they certainly go back to the early period. 2 The research visits to Alchi and Wanla were particularly rewarding due to the interdisciplinary composition of the research team visiting the sites. 3 The chamber is used as a storage room today.

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Figure 8: Central structures of the monastic complex at Alchi with the Dukhang and its courtyard in the centre (detail of a plan made by a team from the Graz University of Technology with adjustments by the author).

What could have been the function of this room? The undecorated main wall retains several horizontal rows of holes once containing pegs supporting something, possibly a bookshelf. It is thus quite likely that the structure was added to the Assembly Hall to house the Kanjur or words of the Buddha, or rather that part of it that was assembled at that time. This theory is also supported by the fact that the murals are almost exclusively dedicated to teaching Buddhas and their assemblies. At a third stage the courtyard was added in front of the Dukhang and the tower-like structures. This is evident from the relationship of the courtyard murals to the architecture. The murals depict mainly— so far unidentified—narrative scenes, which today are largely repainted following the original. Stylistically and iconographically, they are closer to the Sumtsek paintings than to those of the Dukhang. Also, the entrance as it is preserved today was part of the courtyard extension, as is shown for example by the—again repainted—murals of the Wheel of Life. Instead of representing the twelve-fold chain of Dependent Origination, usually represented on the outer circle of the

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wheel, it shows the stream in which beings float after death until they are reborn in one of the six realms.4 On the other side of the courtyard, the relationship of the murals to the tower shows that the tower today housing a recent image of Bodhisattva Maitreya, has been extended beyond its original size at a later stage. In the course of the 13th century, a chörten was placed in an unusual manner on pillars in the middle of the courtyard. This structure is certainly simpler in shape and in its decoration than the two earlier chörten discussed above but, like them, it contains a smaller chörten placed inside the chamber of the larger one. However, its paintings are stylistically completely different from those discussed until now as they clearly derive from Central Tibetan painting. This is just one of the results of the detailed interdisciplinary survey undertaken in recent years in the monastic complex of Alchi. Once all information collected in this survey has been analysed in comparison to other relevant sites such as Mangyu, Sumda and Wanla, the history of the monastic complex and its interrelationship with other monuments will appear in a new light.5 The wood carvings of Alchi in context It is well known that the early Alchi monuments have rich wooden decoration, with lion brackets, capitals, pillars and basements in the interior and more or less elaborate carvings in the verandas in the front of each temple. The Alchi Dukhang also preserves a richly carved doorframe, the only one that appears to be preserved today in Ladakh, with sets of deities and scenes of the life of the Buddha carved on them.6 This door, to be attributed to the mid-12th century at the earliest, certainly had its predecessors, among them the façade of the Chigtan temple documented by A.H. Francke (1914: pl.xliii,b), and the fragments of a door in a temple at Lhachuse, near Kanji. The wooden fragments of Lhachuse are the only remnants of what must once have been an extremely impressive temple. Inside the temple, huge capitals and basements made of a single piece have 4

Comparable depictions of the Wheel of Life are known from the Tabo Entry Hall, where only fragments are left (Klimburg-Salter 1997), and a cave in Phyang, north of Tholing in West Tibet (Neumann 2002). 5 A detailed chronology of the temples and chörten within the monastic complex in Alchi is in preparation. 6 E.g. Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977:pl. 3, Figs. 24, 25). A publication of the Alchi Dukhang door is currently being prepared by Heinrich Pöll for the Journal of the Asiatic Society in Mumbai (no. 79).

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partly been reused. The present entrance is made up of sections of what was once a much larger door, again carved with the life of the Buddha and single deities in separate fields (Fig.9).7 Further, fragments of the former veranda have been reused for the living rooms of monks built just in front of the entrance to the temple (Fig.10).

Figure 9: Two scenes of the Life of the Buddha; the Bodhisattva in the palace and the Great Departure (photo: John Harrison 99 9,37; WHAV).

Figure 10: Fragments of a former veranda construction re-used (Photo: J. Harrison 1999 9,14; WHAV). 7

The monuments of Kanji and Lhachuse were first noticed by Vitali (1996). In 1998 a joint team of the Achi Association and the Vienna research project visited and documented the place for the Vienna archives. I documented them a year later.

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How such a veranda once looked is clear from a comparison to the Alchi and Wanla temples. In all these cases, the veranda is tripartite, with the sections defined by pillars supporting the roof or a two-tiered wooden structure in the upper part with small supporting pillars between the two levels. In the case of the Alchi Dukhang and Wanla,8 this two-level structure is interrupted in the centre to mark it and the door behind. At the Sumtsek the clerestory is not interrupted and triangular ornaments are placed above all three parts. It would be interesting to study the presumed Kashmiri origin of this type of veranda and the elements comprising it.9

Figure 11: Front lintel of the Sumda door with three Buddhas in medallions flanked by stupas (Photo: C. Luczanits 1998 109,50. WHAV).

It is clear that the Alchi carvings represent a late stage in this woodcarving tradition when one also considers the contemporaneous carvings of Mangyu. Although the small Mangyu temples are structurally built the same way as those at Alchi, the carvings on the doors and the parts of the veranda are much less sophisticated. Sumda, by contrast, may once have had a veranda similar to those at 8 Cf. the construction of the veranda at the temple of Wanla (Kozicz 2002; Luczanits 2002). 9 The doors of Ribba, Kojarnath (cf. Luczanits 1996a) and Tholing (cf. KlimburgSalter 1988) also have to be considered in establishing a forerunner for the Ladakh doors.

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Alchi, but almost nothing remains of it since the whole front of the Sumda Assembly Hall collapsed at some point and has been rebuilt.10 A temple ruin on the hill below the Sumda Assembly Hall still preserves a beautifully carved doorframe with deity-bearing medallions between stupas (Figure 11). Remarkably, stupas have been used extensively at Sumda for ornamental purposes (cf. Luczanits 2004:175–90, 246–47). Further, the extensive but less sophisticated carvings of the Wanla temple clearly refer back to earlier examples, as predecessors for almost all details can be found at Alchi.

Figure 12: The image of a Bodhisattva carved in wood from the forgotten depot in Alchi monastery (photo: CL98 99,42; WHAV).

Alchi and related monuments also preserve a number of now independent wooden images that must be seen as products of a widespread tradition that Ladakh shares with the regions of Lahul and Kinnaur.11 Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977: Fig.26; 1980: Figs.20,24) 10 As can be seen from the architecture and decoration of the temple, the collapse included the front walls of the main temple and the two side chapels (Luczanits 2004). 11 The smaller images could once have been part of the veranda as evidenced by

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published some of the Ladakhi wooden images and stupas in Sumda Chung, where at least some of them are still to be found in the apse. Attempted and successful thefts and sales of such images have resulted in their being hidden away along with bronzes in locked up parts of the temples and/or cabinets, and this has so far made it impossible to document and study them. In the case of Alchi, such images are so well hidden that even the caretakers of the monastery do not know about them any more (Fig.12).12 These images are of different ages but many appear to retain an old style peculiar to the earliest monuments, possibly copying and replacing earlier images. The only wooden image that has received wide attention is the wooden sculpture of a two-armed Maitreya in the temple ruin of Sumda Chen. This image, in a rather crude and comparatively flat style has been attributed to the 8th century on the basis of a Carbon 14 dating of the wood (Vohra 1993). I recently learned, however, that this attribution is based on a misinterpretation of the C14 result by the author, who took the measured result as the AD date.13 In fact, the C14 analysis dates the wooden fragment taken from the image to 760 +/- 155 years prior to 1950, i.e. the period from 1035–1345.14 the images set into the triangular spaces of the Sumtsek veranda. On the early wood carvings of Kinnaur and West Tibet cf. Luczanits (1996a). 12 We discovered a depot of fragmented wooden images in Alchi itself while doing research there. This depot was not known to the caretaker. 13 The mistake in Vohra’s interpretation was pointed out to me recently by Heinrich Pöll (e-mail of 29th August 2004), who noticed that the quoted result in Vohra’s article contradicts his interpretation. Vohra took the measurement result (the years before BP) as being the date of the fragment itself. He presents the following results: Sample No. PRL-1430; Site: Ladakh Wood Sample; C14 Date (uncorrected) Counted in Liquid Scintillation System; Half Life – 5568 Yr: 740+/-150 Yr BP; Half Life – 5730 Yr: 760+/-155 Yr BP, whereby the latter measurement is considered somehow more accurate. Vohra quotes—he erroneously gives the year 1989/90 instead of 1990/91—a report of the Archaeological Survey of India, who undertook the measurement which only gives the result of the latter measurement in the form of the years before present, stating that present is to be taken as prior to 1950 (Mahapatra 1995:97, 99). 14 In an earlier version of this paper, before Vohra’s mistake was brought to my attention, I had expressed my suspicions regarding C14 dates of wood in general terms: “One may express a word of caution in this regard, as what is dated by this method is the time when the respective rings in the tree used for the sculpture grew, and not when the image itself was carved. The sample for testing may have been taken from the core and the tree may have reached an age of 200 years before it was cut, making a carved piece using core wood 200 years younger than its C14. Further, it is quite possible that a wooden object is carved out of an older beam.”

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Remarkably, there are a number of other images at the same locality, placed along the remaining wall of the former temple. These images have the bizarre beauty of weathered wood: they are of a different, more sophisticated style, and are also rather flat. While many of these fragmentary images do not permit a conclusion regarding their cultural context, the sculpture of the Jina Amoghasiddhi (Fig.13) may be compared to the latest clay sculptures of the Alchi group of monuments. Particularly characteristic for this phase is that the vehicle, in this case a pair of garuÉa, is represented on top of the lotus with the image sitting cross-legged above it. Incidentally, this comparison suggests an attribution of these images conforming to the range of the C14 sample mentioned above.

Figure 13. Sculpture of Jina Amoghasiddhi at Sumda Chen

It can be assumed that these woodcarvings are the remnants of once numerous carvings found throughout Ladakh and particularly in the Kargil region, which is much closer to the sources of wood. It would not be surprising if fragments of former wooden verandas and interior

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decoration are still to be found reused in mosques, temples or private houses at places like Chigtan or Mulbek. These carvings are an extremely important aspect of the cultural heritage of Ladakh that is largely underestimated. Unfortunately, many of them, even when superstition does not come into play as in the case of the Sumda Chen sculptures, are exposed to weather and wither away year by year.15 The Alchi group Decorated by artists of the same cultural background as the early Alchi monuments, the oldest temples of Mangyu and Sumda are equally important. In fact, although in principle representing the same cultural heritage, each of these places preserves unique features, and until now it has only been possible to establish the same workmanship for a small group of temples at these sites.16 However, it still remains to compare the murals of the sites in sufficient detail to establish their succession and interrelationship, and to differentiate between workshops.17 Roughly, the three sites can be considered contemporaneous with most temples and chapels built around 1200. As additional ruins at Sumda Chung and Sumda Chen show (see below), the preserved monuments represent just a part of the temples erected during the Alchi kingdom. The influence and establishment of the new schools of Tibetan Buddhism, which is first evident in the latest Alchi monuments, resulted in an almost complete replacement of the earlier western Himalayan tradition during the 13th century. Nevertheless, religious change alone is not sufficient to explain why the artistic tradition of the Alchi group of monuments was not continued in any form. As one can see from the Alchi Sumtsek and the two early Alchi chörten, the artists of the Alchi monuments certainly were capable of representing new iconographic themes in a satisfying manner. Thus, it can be assumed that, if this artistic school had still been affordable and/or

15 In 1994 the Sumda doorframe was still part of a ruined structure with the wall above the door preserved. In 1998 the door was freestanding and even more exposed to weather than before. 16 The unique features of Mangyu and Sumda and the case of the same sculptors working on all three sites are elaborated in Luczanits (2004). 17 The Western Himalayan Archives Vienna (WHAV), which presently also contain the documentation of Alchi by Jaroslav Poncar, allow for such a comparison to some extent. However, for a detailed analysis more documentation at Mangyu and Sumda is necessary.

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available to the later founders, they would have availed themselves of it as well. The replacement was not as sudden as it appears at first sight. When the chronology of the Alchi Group monuments is considered in more detail, it becomes apparent that temples like the MañjuorÈ Temple in Alchi show a decline in material and artistic quality. Further, the Lotsaba Lhakhang, which was added to the side of the MañjuorÈ temple at some later stage,18 combines the earlier western Himalayan stylistic features with the foreign central Tibetan ones. However, the artistic quality of the murals is much poorer than in any of its predecessors. In addition, there are a number of chörten throughout Ladakh, commonly those associated with Rinchen Zangpo, that may be interpreted as less sophisticated examples of the Alchi painting style.19

Figure 14: Wall of the Priests’ Chörten at Lamayuru with a priest or nobleman in the central panel (Photo: C. Luczanits 1998 58,03; WHAV).

It may suffice here to demonstrate this by examining one example: the painted inner chamber of a chörten that is part of the chörten cluster near the village houses of Lamayuru. This chörten, which I propose to 18

This too is a result of on-site interdisciplinary work with the Graz architects. The gateway chörten at Basgo and the ruined chörten in front of it may also be counted among these. 19

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call the ‘Priests’ Chörten’, is located closer to the cluster than the chörten with the 13th century foreign painting style that I have published elsewhere (Luczanits 1998), and thus presumably precedes it. The painting style of the Priests’ Chörten is close to that found in the later monuments of the Alchi group (Fig.14). Sadly, only two of the painted walls are preserved in poor condition, both covered with repeated representations of Buddha Akßobhya and a small central panel dedicated to a local personality—in one case apparently a monk (Fig.15) and in the other a priest and/or noble man (Fig.14)—seated in meditation on a flat throne with geese.

Figure 15: The white haired priest in the other central panel wears a white cape with a blue rim (Photo: C. Luczanits 1998 58,18; WHAV).

The priest wears a distinctive hat, a tight-fitting undergarment and a heavy scarf with a blue border that is depicted like the scarf of a monk’s habit, all light brown (Fig.14). He also has beautifully ornamented boots and an ËrÖÀ marks him as a great being (mahÀpurußa). The meditating monk has short white hair and is dressed in bright garments (Fig.15). A red cloth wrapped around the waist holds the dress, light brown with a black border. The white mantle with a blue rim is furry at the top and has two rows of short coloured and pointed tassels attached to it. He further wears beautifully ornamented white boots and possibly large circular earrings. If one compares these depictions to those in Alchi discussed above, one can conclude that

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both the iconography of the Lamayuru chörten in general—as well as the way the priests are depicted—suggest an attribution of the Lamayuru chörten shortly after the Alchi Sumtsek. Ladakhi painting In the course of the 13th century, art influenced by Central Tibet becomes prominent. The second painted chörten in the Lamayuru cluster just mentioned is evidence of foreign painters working in Ladakh during that period (Luczanits 1998).20 However, what finally becomes dominant are indigenous versions of Central Tibetaninfluenced painting which were used up to the 16th century, and thus far into the period of the Ladakhi kingdom. As I have shown in a short article, the Auspicious Three-storeyed Temple at Wanla (that is the name used in the foundation inscription there—bKra-shis-gsum-brtsegs) is probably the earliest of the monuments that can be termed genuinely Ladakhi (Luczanits 2002). According to an inscription to the side of the Maitreya image, the Wanla temple was erected by a certain ’Bhag-dar-skyab, the eldest son of a minister of an unnamed government. This occurred most probably in the late 13th or early 14th century, an otherwise wholly obscure period of Ladakh’s history (see Vitali: this volume). The murals at Wanla also display a marked shift away from earlier iconographic programmes such as those of Alchi. The inscription mentions that all aspects of the Buddhist teachings of the time—‘old and new’—are present in the decoration assembled in the extensive pantheon covering the walls. Indeed, the decoration is characterised by a mixture of deities that had been prominent in earlier western Himalayan monuments and deities deriving from iconographic themes that were ‘new’ to the region and are characteristic of the Kagyüpa (bKa’-brgyud-pa) schools. Related painting styles are found in a large number of monuments that can only be listed here. Well known are the Lhakhang Soma (lHakhang So-ma) at Alchi (for pictures cf. Snellgrove & Skorupski 1977:64–70, 79, col.pl. xvii, Figs.55–64; Khosla 1979:pl. 41; Klimburg-Salter 1982:165,167, Figs.14,17,26,45; Pal & Fournier 20 The complete documentation of the two chörten at Lamayuru and another almost ruined chörten at Alchi Shang-rong is found on my research website: http://univie.ac.at/ITBA/. Another relevant chörten, combining two Central Tibetan-derived painting styles with two clay sculptures, is located at Karsha in Zangskar and has been published as Karsha Kadampa Chorten (Linrothe and Kerin 2001).

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1982:62, Figs. LS1–37; and Béguin & Fournier 1986: Figs.10–14), the Senge Lhakhang (Seng-ge lHa-khang) at Lamayuru (Khosla 1979: pl.53; Genoud and Inoue 1982: ‘Lamayuru’ 1–6) and the Guru Lhakhang at Phyang (Genoud & Inoue 1982: ‘Guru Lha khang’; and Béguin & Fournier 1986: Figs.19–21). Major monuments of similar styles are those of Alchi Shang-rong (Béguin & Fournier 1986: Figs.3– 9) and Kanji (Vitali 1996), the latter most closely associ-ated with Wanla. Also the somewhat different painting styles in the cave at Saspol (Snellgrove & Skorupski 1980: col.pl.iv, Figs.69–73; Genoud and Inoue 1982: ‘Saspol’; Béguin & Fournier 1986: Fig.22) and the temples of the Alchi Tsatsapuri complex need to be considered. It appears that most of these genuinely Ladakhi monuments were created under some branch of the Kagyüpa schools, most prominently among them the Drigungpa, which still have a strong presence in the area. That the latest of these monuments, the Guru Lhakhang, may date to the 16th century has already been suggested some time ago by Béguin & Fournier (1986), and their attribution has recently been supported by Lo Bue.21 The other monuments mentioned above still await a more detailed study. As for Alchi, Wanla and the Guru Lhakhang, the traditional attributions of a temple need to be reviewed in the light of the development of Tibetan Buddhism in general and the specific historical circumstances of Ladakh. Also for other monuments such a review may reveal new information about the social, cultural and religious history of the area that is not preserved in any of the historical sources known so far. In fact, these monuments are the products of small, rather local principalities and/or religious groups with a wide range of cultural, economic and religious links with neighbouring areas. However, rock carvings, wooden images and monuments are far from being the only heritage that can help us to decipher these international connections. Portable works of art, such as bronzes, thangkas and other objects are certainly also important sources. However, their interpretation and historical value is more difficult to evaluate as they may originally have been produced for a different environment and just happen to be preserved in Ladakh.

21

Lo Bue presented his recent research on the Guru Lhakhang at the 10th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies, St. Hugh’s College, Oxford, 6– 12th September 2003.

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Conclusion With Ladakh more and more taking on the excessive speed of the socalled ‘First World’, its cultural heritage is increasingly coming under pressure. Year by year, evidence of the early history of Ladakh gets further distorted or lost due to repair, reconstruction, negligence and/or natural damage.22 I think all local and foreign scholars interested in this heritage have their own story to tell in this regard. Modern needs, such as building a more appropriate bridge over the Indus at Kargil, often entail some loss of heritage, such as the damage and loss of some of the rock engravings at this historic bridge site. Detailed surveys and documentation of different aspects of this heritage before something is altered are therefore an extremely important task today for those interested in this heritage and the information it provides. In this short study I have attempted to provide an overview of the most important remains of early architectural and art historical evidence that can help to improve our knowledge of Ladakh’s more distant past, once a sufficiently dense documentation is available for study.23 I have stressed the largely ignored aspects of this heritage because a holistic approach, as demonstrated by the work of A.H. Francke, appears out of fashion today. The importance of minor artistic heritage such as rock- and stone-carvings, stone-engravings and wood carvings and ruins of all kinds for evaluating Ladakh’s distant past—as has been demonstrated by the pioneering works of Francke, Giuseppe Tucci, David Snellgrove and Tadeusz Skorupski—appears 22 While negligence and natural damage have always taken its toll, the excessive speed of reconstruction and restoration efforts are characteristic of present-day Ladakh. Obviously, there was and still is a need for primary measures to ensure the preservation of a structure, but many of these measures go beyond the primary task of preservation and the rate at which such measures are taken at some monuments is threatening by itself. It is certainly sufficient to recapitulate the works done on Alchi monastery alone in the last three decades, the latest being the cleaning and varnishing work done on the veranda structures. However, the main structural problem to the Alchi monuments, the excessive roof load, has apparently not even been recognised. In the absence of detailed documentation, clues to the original appearance of the structures get lost with each measure. Luckily, with the exception of the exemplary preservation measures taken by the Save Alchi project at the murals of the two oldest chörten and the extremely poor repainting effort by a local artist in a restricted area, the murals of Alchi remained untouched. 23 It cannot be over-emphasised that any study based on art historical methods needs a sufficiently large body of documentation to yield results of value (cf. Luczanits 2001; Luczanits 2003a). Work with other scientific methods, such as epigraphy or the study of building techniques, equally profits from a larger body of evidence.

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to be underestimated today. However, only the consideration of the major and minor monuments together with the fragmentary remains will do justice to the fascinating early history of Buddhism in Ladakh, as well as its economic and cultural relationships. Only in this way will we be able to judge the extent and duration of local principalities, their military strength,24 their international relations and their cultural and religious affinities. It needs to be emphasised that the examples in this article focus only on documentation that I have done in the last decade and the available published material. The regions that I have not covered, such as much of the Kargil and Zanskar districts as well as Nubra and the vast area towards the border of West Tibet, will yield additional clues to the early history of the region—particularly if one does not focus solely on well-preserved material.25 Further, only very few excavations (the results of which have not been published) and no systematic recordings of any discoveries or losses during construction work and similar enterprises have been done so far (or they are not accessible). An innovative approach, combining an excavation-like scholarly enterprise with the religious needs of the community, has been demonstrated by the documentation and research done on the Karsha chörten by Rob Linrothe and Melissa Kerin (Linrothe and Kerin 2001). Documentation of Ladakhi monuments and other artistic heritage already exists spread all over the world, but there is no place in Ladakh, where those willing to make their documentation locally available to scholars can deposit a copy of it.26 This drastically contrasts with the fact that documenting a monument even for scholarly use has become more and more difficult and in recent years practically impossible. It can only be hoped that the Ladakhis find solutions for both these problems in the near future.

24

See the exemplary work on castles and fortresses by N. F.Howard (1989; 1995). See the description of the upper Indus area by Francke (1914:54 ff.). 26 From different discussions with local scholars it becomes clear that no institution is unanimously accepted as being a possible place for such an enterprise. 25

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Acknowledgements I owe the existence of this article to the initiative and patience of John Bray. The study incorporates information generously provided by Amy Heller and Heinrich Pöll in personal communication and some results of fieldwork done in cooperation with architects from the University of Technology in Graz, Austria, headed by Holger Neuwirth. The research results incorporated here have been developed during a three-year research grant of the Austrian Academy of Sciences (APART), which also supported field research in the area in summer 2003. Further, one research trip in spring 1994 was supported by a ‘Stipendium für eine kurzfristige wissenschaftliche Arbeit im Ausland’ awarded by the University of Vienna, while another in 1998 was privately funded by Edoardo Zentner (Achi Association; www.achiassociation.org). The Austrian Research Funds (FWF) generously supported my research in Ladakh and other regions of the western Himalayas for more than a decade. REFERENCES Allinger, Eva. 1999. “The Green Tara as Saviouress from the Eight Dangers in the Sumtseg at Alchi.” Orientations 30, 1:40–44. Beckwith, Christopher I. 1987. The Tibetan Empire in Central Asia: A History of the Struggle for Great Power among Tibetans, Turks, Arabs, and Chinese during the Early Middle Ages. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Béguin, Gilles. 1995. Les Peintures du Bouddhisme Tibétain. Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux. Béguin, Gilles, and Lionel Fournier. 1986. “Un Sanctuaire Méconnu de la Région d’Alchi.” Oriental Art 32, 4: 373–387. Copeland, Carolyn. 1980. Tankas from the Koelz Collection. Vol. 18, Michigan Papers on South and Southeast Asia. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan. Davidson, Ronald M. 2002. Indian Esoteric Buddhism: a Social history of the Tantric Movement. New York: Columbia University Press. Denwood, Philip. 1980. “Temple and Rock Inscriptions of Alchi.” In The Cultural Heritage of Ladakh, 2: Zangskar and the Cave Temples of Ladakh. Edited by D. L. Snellgrove and T. Skorupski. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Denwood, Philip T., and Neil F. Howard. 1990. “Inscriptions at Balukhar and Char Zampa and archaeological observations on the fort of Balukhar and its environs.” In Indo-Tibetan Studies. Edited by T. Skorupski. Tring: The Institute of Buddhist Studies. Filigenzi, Anna. 1999. Il Bodhisattva Maitreya nell'arte rupestre dello Swat. Appunti sull'iconografia e sul culto del Buddha venturo. Vol. 13, Conference IsIAO. Roma: Istituto Italiano per l’Africa e l'Oriente.

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Fisher, Robert E. 1989. “Later Stone Sculpture (Ninth-Twelfth Centuries).” Art and Architecture of Ancient Kashmir:105-116. Fontein, Jan. 1979. “A Rock Sculpture of Maitreya in the Suru Valley, Ladakh.” Artibus Asiae 41, 1:5–8. Francke, August Hermann. 1905. “The Rock Inscriptions at Mulbe.” Indian Antiquary 35:72-81. ———. 1914/repr. 1992. Antiquities of Indian Tibet, Part I: Personal Narrative. Vol. 38, Archaeological Survey of India, New Imperial Series. Calcutta/New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India/Asian Educational Services. ———. 1926 / repr. 1992. Antiquities of Indian Tibet. Part II: The Chronicles of Ladakh and Minor Chronicles. Vol. 50, Archaeological Survey of India, New Imperial Series. Calcutta/New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India/Asian Educational Services. Genoud, Charles, and Takao Inoue. 1982. Buddhist Wall-Paintings of Ladakh. Genève: Olizane. Goepper, Roger. 1990. “Clues for a Dating of the Three-Storeyed Temple (Sumtsek) in Alchi, Ladakh.” Asiatische Studien: Zeitschrift der Schweizerischen Gesellschaft für Asienkunde/Études Asiatiques: Revue de la Société Suisse d'Études Asiatiques 44, 2:159–175. ———. 1993. “The ‘Great StËpa’ at Alchi.” Artibus Asiae LIII (1/2):111-143. ———. 2003. “More Evidence for Dating the Sumtsek in Alchi and its Relations with Kashmir.” In Dating Tibetan Art. Essays on the Possibilities and Impossibilities of Chronology from the Lempertz Symposium, Cologne. Edited by I. Kreide-Damani. Wiesbaden: Ludwig Reichert Verlag. Goepper, Roger, and Jaroslav Poncar. 1996. Alchi. Ladakh's Hidden Buddhist Sanctuary. The Sumtsek. London: Serindia. Himalayan Art 2004. [Website]. Shelly and Donald Rubin Foundation 2004 [cited 14th February 2004]. Available from http://www.himalayanart.org/. Howard, Kath. 1995. “Archaeological Notes on mChod-rten Types in Ladakh and Zanskar from the 11th-15th Centuries.” Recent Research on Ladakh 4&5: 61-78. Edited by Henry Osmaston and Philp Denwood. London: School of Oriental and African Studies. Howard, Neil F. 1989. “The Development of the Fortresses of Ladakh c. 950 to ca. 1650 A.D.” East and West 39, 1-4:217-288. ———. 1995. “The Fortified Places of Zanskar.” Recent Research on Ladakh 4&5: 79-99. Kapstein, Matthew T. 2000. The Tibetan Assimilation of Buddhism. Conversion, Contestation, and Memory. New York: Oxford University Press. Khosla, Romi. 1979. Buddhist Monasteries in the Western Himalaya. Bibliotheca Himalayica, Series III, Vol. 13. Kathmandu: Ratna Pustak Bhandar. Klimburg-Salter, Deborah E. 1982. The Silk Route and the Diamond Path: Esoteric Buddhist Art on the Trans-Himalayan Trade Routes. Los Angeles: UCLA Art Council. ———. 1988. “The Tucci Archives Preliminary Study, 2: The Life of the Buddha in Western Himalayan Monastic Art and Its Indian Origins: Act One.” East and West 38 (1-4):189-214. ———. 1997. Tabo—a Lamp for the Kingdom. Early Indo-Tibetan Buddhist Art in the Western Himalaya. Milan/New York: Skira/Thames and Hudson. Kossak, Steven M., and Jane Casey Singer. 1998. Sacred Visions. Early Paintings from Central Tibet. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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Kozicz, Gerald. 2002. “The Wanla Temple.” In Buddhist Art and Tibetan Patronage Ninth to Fourteenth Centuries. Edited by D. E. Klimburg-Salter and E. Allinger. Leiden: Brill. Linrothe, Robert N. 1999. Ruthless Compassion. Wrathful Deities in Early Indo-Tibetan Esoteric Buddhist Art. London: Serindia Publications. ———. 2001. “Group Portrait: MahÀsiddhas in the Alchi Sumtsek”. In Embodying Wisdom. Art, Text and Interpretation in the History of Esoteric Buddhism. Edited by R. Linrothe and H. H. Sørensen. Copenhagen: The Seminar for Buddhist Studies. Linrothe, Robert N., and Melissa Kerin. 2001. “Deconsecration and Discovery: The Art of Karsha’s Kadampa Chorten Revealed.” Orientations 32, 10:52-63. Luczanits, Christian. 1996a. “Early Buddhist Wood Carvings from Himachal Pradesh.” Orientations 27 (6):67-75. ———. 1996b. “A Note on Tholing Monastery.” Orientations 27 (6):76-77. ———. 1998. “On an unusual painting style in Ladakh.” In The Inner Asian International Style 12th-14th Centuries. Papers presented at a panel of the 7th seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies. Edited by D. E. KlimburgSalter and E. Allinger. Wien: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. ———. 2001. “Methodological Comments Regarding Recent Research on Tibetan Art.” Review article of: Heller, Amy (1999) Tibetan Art. Tracing the Development of Spiritual Ideals and Art in Tibet 600–2000 A.D.Milano, Jaca Book. Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde Südasiens 45, 2001:125–145. ———. 2002. “The Wanla Bkra shis gsum brtsegs.” In Buddhist Art and Tibetan Patronage Ninth to Fourteenth Centuries. Edited by D. E. Klimburg-Salter and E. Allinger. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2003a. “Art-historical aspects of dating Tibetan art”. In Dating Tibetan Art. Essays on the Possibilities and Impossibilities of Chronology from the Lempertz Symposium, Cologne. Edited by I. Kreide-Damani. Wiesbaden: Ludwig Reichert Verlag. ———. 2004. “Early Tibetan Clay Sculpture.” Aziatische Kunst 33, 2:2-15. ———. 2004. Buddhist Sculpture in Clay: Early Western Himalayan Art, late 10th to early 13th centuries. Chicago: Serindia. Naudou, Jean. 1980. Buddhists of KaomÈr. First English Edition. Delhi: Agam Kala Prakashan. Neumann, Helmut F. 2002. “The Wheel of Life in the Twelfth Century Western Tibetan Cave Temple of Pedongpo.” In Buddhist Art and Tibetan Patronage Ninth to Fourteenth Centuries. Edited by D. E. Klimburg-Salter and E. Allinger. Leiden: Brill. Orofino, Giacomella. 1990. “A Note on Some Tibetan Petroglyphs of the Ladakh Area.” East and West 40, 1-4:173-200. Pal, Pratapaditya. 2003. Himalayas. An Aesthetic Adventure. Chicago: The Art Institute of Chicago in association with the University of California Press and Mapin Publishing. Pal, Pratapaditya, and Lionel Fournier. 1982. A Buddhist Paradise: The Murals of Alchi Western Himalayas. Hong Kong: Visual Dharma Publ. Panglung, Jampa Losang. 1983. “Die Überreste des Klosters Ñar ma in Ladakh.” Contributions on Tibetan Language, History and Culture. Proceedings of the Csoma de Körös Symposium held at Velm-Vienna, Austria, 13-19 September 1981:281-287, plate III-XIV. Petech, Luciano. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh C. 950–1842 A.D. Vol. LI, Serie Orientale Roma. Roma: Istituto Italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente. Rossi, Anna Maria, and Fabio Rossi. 1994. Selection 1994. London: Rossi publications.

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Singer, Jane Casey. 1997. “Taklung Painting.” In Tibetan Art. Towards a definition of style. Edited by J. C. Singer and P. Denwood. London: Laurence King Publ. Snellgrove, David L., and Tadeusz Skorupski. 1977. The Cultural Heritage of Ladakh, 1. Central Ladakh. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. ———. 1980. The Cultural Heritage of Ladakh, 2. Zangskar and the Cave Temples of Ladakh. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Stein, Marc Aurel. 1900 (repr. 1989). Kalhana’s R®jataraØginÈ, a chronicle of the Kings of KaomÈr. 2 vols. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Uhlig, Helmut. 1976. Buddhistische Kunst aus dem Himalaya. Kaschmir-Ladakh-Tibet-NepalBhutan. Berlin: Kunstamt Berlin-Tempelhof. Vitali, Roberto. 1996. “Ladakhi Temples of the 13th-14th Century: Kan-ji lha-khang in sPu-rig and its Analogies with Gu-ru lha-khang.” Kailash 18, 3&4:93-106. Vohra, Rohit. 1993. “Dating of a Maitreya Relief in the mid-8th Century from Sumda Chen.” South Asian Studies 9: 97–103. Yang, Han-sung, Yün-hua Jan, Shotaro Iida, and Laurence W. Preston. 1984. The Hye Ch’o diary: memoir of the pilgrimage to the five regions of India. Vol. 2, Religions of Asia Series. Berkeley, California/Seoul, Korea: Asian Humanities Press/Po Chin Chai.

SOME CONJECTURES ON CHANGE AND INSTABILITY DURING THE ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF DARKNESS IN THE HISTORY OF LA DWAGS (1280s-1380s) ROBERTO VITALI The one hundred years in the history of La dwags from the fourth quarter of the 13th century to the fourth quarter of the 14th century were a time that defies attempts to come to terms with its supreme obscurity. For reasons that I have not been able to identify, little is known in the historical literature about those years. As I said in The Kingdoms of Gu.ge Pu.hrang (Vitali 1996:139,145,501), the same fate befell other lands of the vast territorial expanse of mNga’ ris from Glo bo to Gu ge, and one is left to wonder about the causes of such a concurring state of affairs. The obscurity is so deep that the literature does not even allow one to say much more than that La dwags passed under the Sa skya pa alliance at the same time in which the rest of mNga’ ris skor gsum did so, for it was lost to the authority of local rulers and their bKa’ brgyud pa bla ma-s (see Si tu bka’ chems in Rlangs kyi Po ti bse ru, p.113, line 11 to p.114, line 8, and Vitali 1996:556-564).1 The fact that those years of 1

A trace of the takeover of La dwags on the part of Sa skya pa is provided by Gu ru lha khang at Phyi dbang in Mar yul, whose extant murals celebrating Sa kya pa masters seem to have been executed during the one hundred years of darkness in the history of La dwags. The inscriptions which identify their portraits on the rear and right walls of Gu ru lha khang read with many spelling mistakes as follows (in sequence from left to right): 1) “mChos rje ’Jam yang phyag tshan chan zhugs (sic for ’Jam dbyangs phyag mtshan can bzhugs)”, “the one bearing the name ’Jam dbyangs is [depicted] here”; 2) “Sa lding pa (i.e. Sa skya lding pa?) bla ma sTob (sic for sTobs) brtan zhugs (sic for bzhugs)”, “Sa lding pa bla ma sTobs brtan is [depicted] here”; 3) “slab bzang pan mchen zhugs (sic for slob bzang pan chen bzhugs), “the noble disciple pan chen is [depicted] here”; 4) “bZang ldan khan po zhugs (sic for mkhan po bzhugs)”, “bZang ldan mkhan po is [depicted] here”; 5) “Sa skya’ (sic for Sa skya) pan chen zhugs (sic for bzhugs)”, “Sa skya pan chen is [depicted] here”; 6) “mChos rje bla ma dam ’ba zhugs (sic for dam pa bzhugs)”, “Chos rje bla ma dam pa is [depicted] here”. The presence of Sa skya pandi ta Kun dga’ rgyal mtshan (1182-1251) among them is a terminus post quem for their execution which coincides with the beginning of the period of Sa skya pa dominance in Tibet. The bla ma dam pa of the last inscription

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historical darkness correspond to the period of Sa skya pa tenure of mNga’ ris skor gsum through their feudatories seems to me utterly coincidental and cannot be imputed to the control of Sa skya, a school whose historiographical interest was protracted and impeccable. The few pale traces preserved in the sources allow me to draw an extremely sketchy picture of the situation that unfolded during those one hundred years, and only conjectures can be proposed, based as they are on scanty notions about Upper West Tibet and the political scenario of the neighbouring territories. This brief paper therefore asks more questions than it answers but, despite its limitations, aims to raise hypotheses on a time of great historical importance for the Tibetan plateau and North-west India. Fragments of the dynastic history of La dwags The names of several La dwags rulers are preserved in the dynastic literature of the land during that period, but practically nothing else is known about them. As I was able to assess in The Kingdoms of Gu.ge Pu.hrang (Vitali 1996; see, inter alia, pp.246-247 and pp.498-500), a major historical trait of the royal history of La dwags was the fragmentation of power between several lineages. I need to repeat this concept here because the understanding of this fragmentation could be bla ma dam pa bSod nams rgyal mtshan (1312-1375). If so, the murals of Gu ru lha khang could have to be dated sometime later, i.e. towards the end of the Sa skya pa period when their power also collapsed in mNga’ ris skor gsum, an event that I have dated to after 1363 basing myself on a prophecy in bTsun mo bka’ thang (Vitali 1996:479-481 and n.809, 810 and 811). One needs to note that the epigraphical and pictorial programme in Gu ru lha khang does not end with the depictions of the Sa skya pa masters. Fourteen brief inscriptions accompany a row of fourteen portraits, six of them being of male noblemen or rulers, seven of queens or princesses, and one of the religious master Rin zangs (sic), epigraphical reference to the latter possibly being at the basis of the traditional belief that the founder of Gu ru lha khang was lo chen Rin [chen] bzang [po], which is not confirmed by textual evidence. The six male personages are identified in the inscriptions as Phe co sKyid sring mo rGyos (sic), Ar ’Od ma, jo Khyi tsug sde, jo Ar ’Bum sde, jo Ar rGyal sde and jo Ar bTsan (this one probably being the ruler at the time of the making of Gu ru lha khang and its builder, given that his portrait is of larger scale). The noblewomen are a ma jo jo dNgos grub, jo jo Srid ’dzin, jo jo rGya gar, jo jo bSam grub rgyal mo, jo jo ’Ag tsus tsha (sic), jo jo U ’ab (sic) and jo jo dPal srid ’dzom. These portraits and inscriptions firmly establish the presence, at least in upper La dwags, of the Ar clan, to which the notorious Ar tsho ban de bco brgyad belonged. As is well known, they were masters of heresies, and are indicated as one of the reasons that led the mNga’ ris skor gsum intelligentsia to introduce bstan pa phyi dar in Upper West Tibet.

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documented by the available sources is at the root of my attempt—not so much at reconstructing the secular reality of La dwags during the obscure period—but at raising some critical points. Turning one’s attention to the lineage of La dwags rgyal rabs, one cannot fail to notice that this text has extremely few rulers for some 200 years from dNgos grub mgon (active in 1215), the Pu hrang pa who became a king of La dwags (see Vitali 1996:380-383), until Grags pa ’bum lde and Grags pa ’bum, who were active during the 15th century. The rgyal rabs mentions rgyal bu Rin chen—a brief reference in that only his name is recorded, but whose notoriety derives from Kalhana’s Rajatarangini (see below about him)— and two rulers of Sa bu, lha chen Shes rab and Khri gtsug lde (La dwags rgyal rabs p.44, lines 14-19).2 Another dynastic history of major significance, gDung rabs zam ’phreng, known through the citations of Joseph dGe rgan (1976) in his Bla dwags rgyal rabs ’chi med gter, a work vastly underrated but of great relevance to many aspects of the history of La dwags and mNga’ ris skor gsum in general, has a very interesting succession of royal generations in Mar yul (with its seat of power centred in Shel, also spelled She ye in ancient documents—on the latter spelling see Vitali 1996:n.352) during the dark years in the history of La dwags (Joseph dGe rgan 1976:338, lines 11-13; 339, line 2; 339, line 11; 339 line 13; 340, line 1; 340, lines 7-11; 340, lines 18-20; 341, lines 3-4; 341, lines 14-18; and again Vitali 1996:n.833). Reigning before the rulers of La dwags during the one hundred years of darkness, bla chen De khyim, the Dard monarch of Mar yul (known to the gdung rabs under the name of Dzi di gin), was king during the 1257-1258 sojourn of grub chen U rgyan pa Senge dpal/Rin chen dpal (1230-1309—see again Vitali 1996:389-390). He was followed by several rulers, none of them being rgyal bu Rin chen, which seems to confirm that, even in the period under examination, the power structure of La dwags was fragmented. gDung rabs zam ’phreng continues with the genealogy, adding that the next rulers—again mere names to modern readers—were bKra shis mgon, lha chen Di gin and De mur. The first of them was obviously a La dwags pa of Tibetan origin, the second manifestly another Dard, while the presence of De mur in the genealogy is most puzzling. 2 The rule of bla chen Shes rab and Khri gtsug lde at Sa bu in Mar yul is another sign of the fragmentation of the secular power not only in the whole region of La dwags but also in its upper side known as Mar yul, where the lineage of the rulers of Shel, with whom I deal with at some length in the present paper, also reigned.

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The genealogy appended to the gNam rtse edition of rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (p.548 lines 2-p.551 line 3, and Vitali1996:575-579) has a version of the dynasty of Mar yul centred in Shel, which is similar to the lineage of gDung rabs zam ’phreng but with some interesting differences during the obscure period. The lineage includes Di mgon (the De khyim of U rgyan pa’i rnam thar rgyas pa and Dzi di gin of gDung rabs zam ’phreng), bKra shis mgon, lha chen Di win (the lha chen Di gin of the latter source), and Di mur (the De mur of the latter source). The next ruler, missing in gDung rabs zam ’phreng, makes the presence of De mur even more significant, for he is named Mo gol. The peculiarity of the names De mur and Mo gol obliges me to look at the secular panorama of that time by analysing the fragments of secular history of La dwags and mNga’ ris stod in general, as well as the events that took place in North-west India, to understand whether such inclusions in the regnal line of Mar yul alongside Dard and Tibetan rulers are historically justified. Looking at the wider context The one hundred years of obscurity in the history of La dwags were marked by several campaigns of the sTod Hor (Chaghatai Mongols)3 into mNga’ ris skor gsum. These invasions were not confined to Upper West Tibet and to the period under study: they also targeted regions of Central Tibet at an earlier time, but the latter are beyond the scope of the present paper.4 A further military campaign not recorded in the Tibetan literature—and whose nature and aim has puzzled authors for a long 3 As is well known, the identity of the sTod Hor has been debated for a long time among Tibetologists, and the accepted view is that this name applies to the Mongol occupants of the dominions in Southern Turkestan—see, inter alia, Wylie (1977)—and thus in a location somewhat limitrophous to mNga’ ris skor gsum. Hu la hu is considered by the Tibetan tradition to have been a sTod Hor rgyal po, and his proto-Ilkhanid to have been the sTod Hor, when they were in the lands of North-west India and contiguous Central Asian territories before they left in order to seize Baghdad (for a list of Tibetan principalities assigned in iron dog 1250 to various Mongol princes, including Hu la hu defined as the sTod Hor rgyal po, see Si tu bka’ chems in rLangs Po ti bse ru p.449, lines 3-17, and also Vitali 1996:418-419 and n.696). Soon thereafter, the Chaghatai are addressed as sTod Hor. The divide is iron monkey 1260, when the unity of the Mongol tribes broke up after Se chen rgyal po was made emperor, and several conflicting clans came into existence. 4 The 1290 ’Bri gung gling log sealed a phase of major turmoil in Tibet ravaged by the antagonism between the sTod Hor and the Yuan. Tibet, including mNga’ ris skor gsum, was shattered by more Mongol expeditions than traditionally acknowledged.

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time—should also be taken into consideration for several reasons, including those that pertain to temporal closeness with the other events and geographical contiguity. Its study from the Tibetan perspective may help to suggest possible explanations of a few aspects of this conflict which remains one of the most enigmatic episodes in the history of Central and South Asia. The sTod Hor’s military campaign, which I wish to introduce as a prologue to the subsequent ones in order to clarify the scope and aim of these interventions into the lands of Upper West Tibet, still fell during the period when the ’Bri gung pa, who were allies of the sTod Hor, exercised influence in this region. Hence it occurred before the ’Bri gung pa’s religious and secular authority was replaced by the Sa skya pa, the allies of Se chen rgyal po’s Yuan (on this change of control see Vitali 1996:391, 446, 452, 560, and 556-564). This sTod Hor campaign is documented to have been in full swing some time after 1266 and before 1270, for it fell between the events in the life of U rgyan pa recorded during those years. The military activities which U rgyan pa witnessed on the latter occasion were undertaken by Mongols different from those he had met during his visit to the lands of North-west India in the years 1255-1257 (see Vitali 1998). This campaign took place when he went as far as U rgyan (Uddiyana), his appellative deriving from this pilgrimage. U rgyan pa’i rnam thar rgyas pa provides a masterful assessment of the military forces on the field when, in 1255-1257, the future Hu la hu’s Ilkhanid-s and Mongol splinter groups (the Qarauna) were on the move towards the west in order to open the way that eventually brought the former to conquer Baghdad in 1258. The biography says that the Mongol advance took place in 1255 and confirms that it was headed by Hu la hu (but probably undertaken by the Qarauna). It adds that from the area of Dza lan dha ra (corresponding in antiquity to the territory of Kangra) up to the southern bank of the Indus was the land controlled by the Muslims, which is a reference to the forces of the Delhi Sultanate. North of the river was the land under the Mongols who controlled Kashmir. This frontline was only hypothetically in control of the Tughluq sultans of Delhi. The Mongols had been able to cross it in a quite stable way because they had built a temple at Ma la ko ti, due south of the Indus. The Mongols had also come to exercise their authority in U rgyan at that time. The account of U rgyan pa’i rnam thar is thus an indication preserved in the Tibetan sources of the warring relations between the Mongols and the Delhi Sultanate that were to affect those lands for many decades, with

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different Mongol tribes active on this war front, as will be shown below. Going back to the first case of the sTod Hor presence in mNga’ ris skor gsum that I wish to refer to, U rgyan pa’i rnam thar rgyas pa says that La dwags was affected by this sTod Hor campaign that occurred at an unspecified time after 1266 and before 1270.5 A ruler of the tract of the land traditionally known as Mar yul was the same De khyim who had been U rgyan pa’s patron some ten years before in 1258. De khyim had tried to persuade him to remain in La dwags, but U rgyan pa refused, partly because his teacher rGod tshang pa (1189-1258) had died in the meantime (U rgyan pa’i rnam thar rgyas pa, p.78, lines 5-7 and Vitali 1996:390-391). On the occasion of his second invitation of U rgyan pa to Mar yul, De khyim had to submit to the sTod Hor and was treated with fairness, but it is difficult to say whether this was due to the good terms existing between the sTod Hor and the bKa’ brgyud pa of mNga’ ris skor gsum, and their common hostility for the Yuan and their Sa skya pa feudatories. The religious activities in La dwags were subverted and the monks indulged in a layman’s lifestyle, a state which U rgyan pa 5 Zla ba seng ge, U rgyan pa’i rnam thar rgyas pa (p.115, line 7 to p.116, line 5): “Again, the rtsad po invited [U rgyan pa] to the rgyal sa [of] bla chen De khyim (sic, i.e. rtsad po De khyim invited him to his gdan sa), and [the former] turned the wheel of the teachings. He was honoured with uncountable offerings (p.116) [and] made the victorious teachings shine like the day. Hence [U rgyan pa] went to mNga’ ris upon the invitation of bla chen De khyim. At that time, this Mang yul (sic for Ma r yul) having been seized by the Hor, the teachings of Sangs rgyas had been disrupted. All the dge ’dun having broken the khrims (“[’Dul ba] code of conduct”) [and] the dge slong having taken a wife, rje grub chen rin po che restored the noble [religious] law. With bla chen De khyim’s support, he made the shower of religious nectar annoint all the laymen to their satisfaction. He restored the [’Dul ba] rules of 500 monks on one occasion. On one day, he admitted 150 monks [into religion]. It is said that bla chen De khyim offered [to him] innumerable wealth; 100 horses, 100 gold srang, and 100 [bundles] of brocade and silk being the main ones. At the time of his departure downwards (i.e. towards Central Tibet), the consciousness (rnam shes, i.e. the defunct’s consciousness during the intermediate state) of the deceased daughter of Chag tshang Seng ge became manifest to him (gzigs pa). At Ru thog, having met the sTod Hor gser yig pa, he sent both rTog (sic for rTogs) ldan Sher mgon and dPal seng to bla chen [De khyim], and gave [them] a bka’ lung (‘orders’, sent by the sTod Hor?) and good gifts [for De khyim]. Since Sher sgom got drunk (gzi sic for bzi) with grape chang, he died falling [from the horse]. [U rgyan pa] said: “It seems that something went wrong with Sher sgom or else he died killed by a man. It so happened that he appeared [in my vision] in miserable conditions with a bandage around his head”, and added: “If the time of dPal seng’s arrival [to the court of bla chen De khyim] is calculated, he reached [there] only after [Sher sgom’s] death”. The latter sentence is proof of U rgyan pa’s prophetic power.

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was called to correct. Ru thog, too, was affected by the presence of the sTod Hor (and this may be a sign of the route taken by the sTod Hor to reach Upper West Tibet), but there is no account in either territory of any—almost inevitable—major havoc created by the Mongols. I am inclined to think that the sTod Hor presence in La dwags and Ru thog was only marginally concerned with the unfolding of political events in Tibet which had yet to turn progressively in favour of the Sa skya pa and the Yuan. The relatively gentle treatment meted out to the Tibetan and Dard rulers of Ru thog and Mar yul respectively, bonds of common political interest left aside, seems to me to indicate that the ultimate aim of the sTod Hor was beyond the plateau (no trace of any sTod Hor advance into more central regions of Tibet is preserved in the account). A possible reason for the absence of fierce treatment inflicted on the population of the lands they invaded, so customary with the Mongols, is that the campaign was focused on an ulterior target, the North-western Indian sector. After the death of Möngke (known to the Tibetans as Mong gor rgyal po), the unity of the Mongols was lost; their tribes were in open antagonism; and the Delhi Sultanate regained the territories on its northern border that it had lost. Following the ascent to the throne of Sultan Ghiyath-u’d-din in 1265, the Tughluq of Delhi became embroiled in a long-lasting warfare against the Chaghatai (sTod Hor) who had become their major foe in Khurâsân (see, e.g., Siddiqui, 1983:288-306).6 The military campaign in La dwags and Ru thog, falling between 1266-1270, suggests the possibility that they were part of an overall sTod Hor design. Was mNga’ ris skor gsum a strategic alternative in order to attack the Sultanate on a different flank from Khurâsân where they were more often involved in warfare? This is a first hypothesis that needs corroboration when and if material dealing with these events in greater detail becomes available in the future. The next phase was marked by a progressive transition in the military aims of the sTod Hor. Possibly because mNga’ ris skor gsum was taken over by the Sa skya pa and their feudatories in 1277-1280 at the expense of local sovereign rulers and their bKa’ brgyud pa allies, this land was no longer such a transit point for the sTod Hor’s attempt to launch their campaigns against Central Tibet and elsewhere.

6

The extension of Khurâsân covered a considerable expanse of land north-west of the Indus, but authors later than Baranî tend to use this geographical name as a designation for the dominions of the Chaghatai.

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On the occasion of the military expedition led by Sang gha to Tibet in iron snake 1281 in order to punish the Sa skya dpon chen, Kun dga’ bzang po, embroiled in the affair that had caused the death of ’gro mgon ’Phags pa (1235-1280), rGya Bod yig tshang says that Yuan troops were left behind in Tibet to be deployed at the border of the land of the sTod Hor.7 This event assumes the connotations of a step taken by the Yuan/Sa skya pa administration of Tibet to protect mNga’ ris skor gsum from hostile raids soon after its take over of the region. The sTod Hor continued to frequent the western side of the Tibetan plateau in the following decades after Sa skya secured control of mNga’ ris stod, including La dwags. They conducted their military activity with a different attitude towards Upper West Tibet now that this region had forcibly become a hostile territory. As is well known, the hostility that the bKa’ brgyud pa and the sTod Hor nurtured for the Sa skya pa and their Yuan overlords climaxed with the gling log in iron tiger 1290. ’Bri gung gdan rabs gser phreng (125, lines 12-17) says that sgom pa dBon po (the secular head of ’Bri gung) went to the “upper side” to get sTod Hor troops when the ’Bri gung hermit, ri pa Nag po, sent several fierce letters to Se chen rgyal po (see also Vitali 1996:705). These events show that the Sa skyaYuan alliance was unable to prevent the unfolding of the plans of the sTod Hor and their ’Bri gung pa allies in mNga’ ris skor gsum, despite their having controlled this region for a decade or so. The episode under study happened in the three years (1290-1292) when the new ’Bri gung abbot, bCu gnyis pa rin po che rDo rje rin chen (1278-1315), was in Kong po (’Bri gung gdan rabs gser phreng p.125, lines 10-12). Si tu bka’ chems in Rlangs kyi Po ti bse ru (p.254 lines 9-13) has a passage in which it is said that the sTod Hor were repulsed, but does not indicate a date. It adds that they were headed by rgyal bu Rin chen (not to be confused with the homonymous ruler of La dwags) and sgom pa dBon po, which manifestly refers to the events mentioned above, coinciding with the apex of the ’Bri gung gling log. In 1295, soon after this military failure, the sTod Hor renewed their offensive against the main area in Tibet in the hands of the Yuan’s Tibetan feudatories, and this is indirectly recorded in Deb ther rdzong dmar. The text says that Ag len, the Sa skya dpon chen well known for his major role in the ’Bri gung gling log, raised taxation in Central Tibet in

7

rGya Bod yig tshang (p.291 lines 11-13): “700 among the 7,000 Hor (i.e. Yuan) troops [led by Sang gha to Tibet] were left (bzhags) as the men in charge with the protection of the sTod Hor border”.

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correspondence with the sTod Hor’s raid in that year.8 It is quite probable that the sTod Hor, in order to advance towards Central Tibet, proceeded to mNga’ ris skor gsum first. An event preserved in the literature is the invasion of Upper West Tibet on the part of the sTod Hor that occurred in wood snake 1305. It is mentioned in rather vague terms in the biography of the first Karma Zhwa dmar pa, Grags pa seng ge (1283-1349), and found in Si tu Chos kyi ’byung gnas’s Karma kam tshang gser ’phreng. Its record is entrusted to a dream that occurred to him when he was in Khams, and was wondering whether it was safe to proceed to dBus for futher study. His dream told him that dBus was safe, which seems to indicate that the sTod Hor invasion did not penetrate deep into Tibet, but was confined to a more peripheral area, near their own border.9 This 8 Deb ther rdzong dmar (f.177a line 6-f.177b line 1): “Thereafter, in the autumn of the sheep year (1295), when the sTod Hor troops came, dpon chen Ag glen increased [the taxation imposed] on each rta mgo, which became twelve srang (f.177b) and two zho, whereas the supply of provisions remaind fixed to sixty khal of barley”. The economic situation must have improved in the course of a dozen years from water sheep 1283, when a tax exemption for dBus gTsang was proclaimed by the Yuan/Sa skya pa rulership of Tibet, and wood sheep 1295, when Ag len imposed heavier burdens on the population of Central Tibet, recorded in the passage of Deb ther rdzong dmar mentioned in this note. For the 1283 tax exemption see Nel pa pandi ta, sNgon gyi gtam me tog phreng ba (p.53 lines 2-5): “By means of his graciousness like a curtain of white silk, dpon chen Kun dga’ gzhon nu, the compassionate one, sanctioned a three-year tax exemption (dar rgan) and monastic laws in favour of the religious and lay communities of dBus gTsang”. On the translation of the term dar rgan as ‘tax exemption’ see Uebach 1987: n.1064. 9 When, in 1305, Grags pa seng ge was in Khams ready to leave for dBus, Grags pa seng ge’i rnam thar (in Si tu Chos kyi rgya mtsho, Karma Kam tshang gser phreng p.237 lines 2-4) says: “The Karma skor pa (“members of the Karma retinue”) heard the rumour that there were the sTod Hor, and such a rumour was a big one. Having discussed whether it was better for a group of companions (zla bo) to go back to their place (yul), and for another group to proceed upwards (i.e. to Central Tibet), [Grags pa seng ge] did not feel comfortable. One night, towards dawn, a black man wearing a silk dress told him: “This time, the sTod Hor will not come. Go to dBus gTsang! I will make in a manner that there will be no obstacles on the way.” The following morning, he disclosed to one or two companions that he had had such a dream. All the companions said: “This [dream] of yours is a sign [sent] by the chos skyong. Since whatever else you said earlier came true, we will go up together with you”, and they left [together]. When [Grags pa seng ge] was twenty-three years old (1305), he reached sTod lung mTshur phu without obstacles on the way. After coming to dBus, since he asked where giving teachings and debating was most popular, he was told that gSang phu Ne’u thog was [where they were popular], and thus he went to gSang phu Ne’u thog”. Che tshang bsTan ’dzin padma’i rgyal mtshan (’Bri gung gdan rabs gser phreng p.127 lines 19-21) says that the eighth ’Bri gung gdan sa, bCu gnyis rin po che rDo rje rin

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shows well enough that the sTod Hor had again not made Central Tibet the target of this campaign, and one can conjecture that they had preferred to remain far from the antagonist Mongol seat of power. Was their military objective outside the boundaries of Tibet? There are more evident signs of the sTod Hor in mNga’ ris skor gsum on another occasion. Years later, in earth horse 1318, the first Zhwa dmar pa, Grags pa seng ge, again concerned with their presence in Upper West Tibet, saw in a dream that the sTod Hor, who had been roaming around Ma pham g.yu mtsho, had turned away from there.10 The 1318 episode belongs to the changed political panorama. rGyal bu Chos dpal, the Yuan emissary of Mongol nationality in charge of Tibetan affairs, proceeded towards sTod in order to expel the sTod Hor from the Ma pham g.yu mtsho area.11 Si tu bka’ chems in Rlangs kyi chen, sent a group of at least one thousand ri pa each to Ti se, La phyi and Tsa ri just before reaching twenty-four years of age (wood snake 1305). Leaving aside the usual exaggeration in statistics, a wave of ri pa-s seemingly left for Ti se after mNga’ ris skor gsum had passed under the Sa skya pa, and thus during the period when the secular conditions were not particularly favourable for the bKa’ brgyud pa in the region. Did the unsettled situation in Upper West Tibet, caused by the presence of the sTod Hor, traditional allies of the ’Bri gung pa, encourage the ’Bri gung pa to dispatch a group of ri pa-s to Ti se? 10 Grags pa seng ge'i rnam thar (in mKhas pa’i dga’ ston p.975 line 19 to p.976 line 5): “In iron dog (1310), when [Grags pa seng ge] was aged twenty-eight, Tshal pa dGa’ bde died. When rje Rang byung rdo rje was the gral dbu mdzad (‘head of the row’) of the chos ’khor, since [Grags pa seng ge] met him for the first time, he developed unfailing faith in him. He studied with him for seven years (1310-1317). In particular, after chos rje rin po che, some ten dpon slob [altogether], left since he was tired of the jealousy of the new and old [disciples], [Grags pa seng ge] met him when [Rang byung pa] was staying at sKungs. The latter said: “Last night, Ber nag can appeared [to me]. You will be protected by the chos skyong” (p.976). In that year, the chos rje founded mTshur bDe chen. After receiving the khrid of [Na ro] Chos drug, [Grags pa seng ge] meditated one-pointedly, and uncountable spiritual realisations arose [in him]. His mind stood steady in whichever meditation [he practised]. He had uncountable pure visions of [his] yi dam and chos skyong. Since he meditated at bDe chen in winter (i.e. early 1318?), being well versed in dreams which are illusory bodies, he saw that the troops of the sTod Hor had turned away from mtsho Ma pham”. Grags pa seng ge’i rnam thar (in Si tu Chos kyi rgya mtsho, Karma Kam tshang gser phreng p.240, lines 4-5): “Again, on one occasion, [Grags pa seng ge] saw in his dream that many lay people were at the foot of a snow mountain at the back of La stod. Since they reported to him that there was a rumour that the sTod Hor [would come], he said that he would still look into [the matter], and examined [the signs] basing [himself] on his dreams, [and realised that the sTod Hor chieftain] had turned back and returned to his palace.” 11 Grags pa seng ge’i rnam thar (in Si tu Chos kyi rgya mtsho, Karma Kam tshang gser phreng p.240 lines 5-6): “At that time, rgyal bu Chos dpal left to fight against the sTod

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Po ti bse ru confirms this turn of events, saying that rgyal bu Chos dpal was in Sa skya ready to intervene against the sTod Hor, and offers the detail that this happened sometime after the lo gsar of 1318.12 Grags pa seng ge’i rnam thar (in mKhas pa’i dga’ ston) has an account, garbed as another prophecy by sGrol ma to Grags pa seng ge. She appeared to him in one more dream of the first Zhwa dmar pa who planned to go to mNga’ ris and U rgyan. She advised him not to go to the latter land because it was ravaged by war and was unsafe, which shows that, at the same time when the sTod Hor were active at Ma pham g.yu mtsho, U rgyan was devastated by much fiercer warfare than Upper West Tibet. These events seems to be too coincidental not to represent a coordinated military enterprise, given that the contenders in U rgyan in Hor, but no need of fighting being there, he came back”. However, rGya Bod yig tshang (p.166 line 18-p.267 line 1) says that rgyal bu Chos dpal was the conqueror of the sTod Hor, which manifestly does not match with the unfolding of the 1318 events, unless it refers to another occasion. 12 Petech (1990) says that the presence of rgyal bu Chos dpal in Tibet coincided with the activity of the sTod Hor in the area of Ma pham g.yu mtsho, which did not result in an open confrontation. Petech dates these events to 1321 because he links them to the bird year in which a bka’ shog was issued by rgyal bu Chos dpal in favour of Zha lu sku zhang Kun dga’ don grub. The latter was not Zhwa lu sku zhang in that year, as I think to have proved in my Early Temples of Central Tibet (1990:101-102). In line with the handover system of the Zhwa lu sku zhang-s, Kun dga’ don grub succeeded his father Grags pa rgyal mtshan and was the Zhwa lu sku zhang in the next bird year, 1333, when, in my view, the bka’ shog was issued. This not only disproves that rgyal bu Chos dpal’s military response to the sTod Hor happened in 1321, but helps ascertain that the state of turbulence prevailing in vast tracts of North-west India and the plateau before or around 1333 (see the section below in this article, entitled “The Qarâchîl Expedition”) was closely monitored by the Yuan to the point that rgyal bu Chos dpal had come to Tibet. Si tu bka’ chems in Rlangs kyi Po ti bse ru clarifies with remarkable precision the chronology of the events that led rgyal bu Chos dpal to make preparations to fight the sTod Hor in Upper West Tibet. When this work comes to discuss the events of earth horse 1318, it begins with lo gsar (ibid. p.132 line 20). It then introduces events occurring during the second month (roughly April 1318), and adds notions during that spring (ibid. p.133 line 1). At that time, the text says, rgyal bu Chos dpal was at Sa skya ready to intervene so that the sTod Hor would be repulsed (ibid. p.134 lines 1112). Si tu bka’ chems in Rlangs kyi Po ti bse ru adds other events of the same year, and recounts that, in the fourth month (around June) of 1318, rGyal mtshan skyabs was elected Phag mo gru khri dpon, a nomination in which rgyal bu Chos dpal had some part. Petech suspects that rGyal mtshan skyabs was removed from his assignment in 1322, a fact clearly mentioned by Si tu bka’ chems in Rlangs kyi Po ti bse ru. The text states that rGyal mtshan skyabs was khri dpon until the eighth month of 1322 (ibid. p.134 p.20-p.135 line 1).

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the same 1318 could not have been other than the Chaghatai and the Delhi Sultanate (indeed the latter are indicated as Du ru ka in the passage).13 Once again, they were at war in the Khurâsân sector. 13

Grags pa seng ge’i rnam thar (in mKhas pa’i dga’ ston p.976 lines 5-20): “Since, again and again, he saw in his dreams the holy places of O rgyan as well as rDo rje rnal ’byor ma, she advised him to go the latter [land] and said: “[This] experience is wondrous [like] the behaviour of a wild horse!” After accompanying the chos rje rin po che who was going to sNye mo, he proceeded to gTsang and met Byang sems chen po rGyal ba ye shes, who earlier was the teaman of Karma Pakshi and then became the abbot of Jo nang. He received Dus ’khor gyi dbang gong ma and sByor drug. Since he shared (phul, lit. “offered”) his previous experiences [with him], he said: “You have reached the completion of sor bsam srog ’dzin gyi yon tan (“the ability of bringing prana to discriminative thoughts”) and you are getting into rjes gting gi dus (“the stage of subsequent meditational realisations”)”. In his dream sGrol ma told him not to go to O rgyan. Since Byang sems chen po too told him: “The teachings are destroyed in rGya gar. Do not go to O rgyan since the calamity of the Tu ru shka (spelled as) has come”, he abandoned his proposition. He received Don dam bsnyen pa and Grub thabs rgya mtsho from Shong lo tsa ba Blo gros brtan pa. He received a few teachings from a good rnal ’byor pa who had true knowledge. He expanded his meditational [skills] during his three year pilgrimage to [Mi la ras pa’s] rdzong drug. He met in dreams people such as rje btsun Mi la and rGod tshang pa. He went up to sKyi rong (spelled as). He met people such as Bal ras (“Newar ras pa”) sNyi ston chen po, grub thob Ring mo, mkhas btsun bSod nams ’od zer, grub thob Dam zhig, and the incarnation of O rgyan pa”. Grags pa seng ge’i rnam thar (in Si tu Chos kyi rgya mtsho, Karma Kam tshang gser phreng p.240 line 6- p.241 line 3): “Again, when he was meditating at bDe chen, he said that he awakened his consciousness, could apprehend other people’s mind and had many cases of visions of ’od gsal (“pure light”) in his dreams. This became known as mDor bsdus tsam bkod pa (“the somewhat concise manifestations”). The journey to U rgyan and the rdzong drug appeared again and again in his consciousness and dreams. He thought that going to those holy places would benefit his meditation, and asked the chos rje whether he could go to U rgyan and the rdzong drug, but the latter replied that he had to have miraculous powers in order to go to U rgyan, and told him the gtam rgyud (“story”) of rje btsun Ti lo pa. At that time, his meditation was focused on Chos drug and the solitary [form of] rje btsun ma (p.241). According to his song, the reason [of this] was: “Since I myself, sgom chen Grags pa seng ge, have obtained the teachings of Na ro chos drug, the blissful warmth of gtum mo is burning inside [me]. My discriminative understanding is dissolved into bliss and emptiness”. So said he. Again later, since he earnestly requested the chos rje that he [wished] to go to U rgyan and La stod, he replied: “It is not good to go to U rgyan. You should go on pilgrimage to the rdzong drug. On the way up, you should receive sByor drug from bla ma Byang sems”, and gave him such orders. Then, since the drung chos rje went up to the ru mtshams [of dBus, given bDe chen’s location?] to accompany him, at sNye mo, he drunk chang served to him by sixty or seventy junior monks, [meant to be] chang for the journey given by those who were with him, but was not drunk. Since he was mentally very aware (’ur ba), he left playing the da ma ru, and said that the dpon slob marveled [at that]”. See also Grags pa seng ge’i rnam thar in lHo rong chos ’byung (p.286 lines 11-12) for a much abridged version of the same events.

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Was Upper West Tibet again used to pressure on the Delhi Sultanate on the opposite flank? Possible ulterior military objectives did not prevent the sTod Hor, on this occasion, from creating some nuisance in mNga’ ris stod, a land that had passed under the control of their other enemies, the Yuan, and their Tibetan allies. Otherwise, the readiness of rgyal bu Chos dpal to move west and fight the sTod Hor would be inexplicable. The reason for the sTod Hor to have left Ma pham g.yu mtsho without the need of rgyal bu Chos dpal’s intervention was not so much the mercy of sGrol ma who had appeared to Grags pa seng ge and had told him that they were not going to be a nuisance, but must have been the quriltai held at that time to choose the new head of the Chaghatai. As is well known, it was Mongol custom to interrupt their military campaigns in order to attend a quriltai. The head of the Chaghatai, Isen Buqa (r. 1310-1318), died in 1318 and was succeeded by Khan Kebek (1318-1326) in the same year (see, inter alia, “Table IV: Chaghatai Khanate” in Boyle 1971:345, and the entry Chagatâi Khân in Encyclopedia of Islam, Vol.1, p.813b-814a). Were the cases of sTod Hor’s presence in Upper West Tibet during those decades, if taken into consideration as a whole, not necessarily related to the change of secular control that occurred in mNga’ ris stod in the meantime? This is the impression that one gleans from the concomitant Chaghatai activity on the Khurâsân front (U rgyan) and farther to the east in mNga’ ris skor gsum, but this hypothesis should be corroborated by more stringent evidence. rGyal bu Rin chen/Rinchana Bottha Petech (1977:21) considers the inclusion of rgyal bu Rin chen, a personage whose identity and origin remain mysterious, in the royal genealogy of La dwags rgyal rabs to be an interpolation. He says that the people of La dwags would have never called one of their kings only rgyal bu (‘prince’).14 Petech’s argument in dismissing the idea that rgyal dPa’ bo gtsug lag ’phreng ba is somewhat more circumstantial than Si tu Chos kyi ’byung gnas in adducing the cause of the turmoil in U rgyan, which he manifestly attributes to the Delhi Sultanate (the Tu ru shka of mKhas pa’i dga’ ston), while the latter author does not identify even one of the players involved in the conflict. This confirms that, in 1318, warfare had burst out between the Tughluq and their Chaghatai foes who were deployed along the Khurâsân front in those decades. 14 In the other argumentation that he uses to dismiss the reliability of the presence of rgyal bu Rin chen in the genealogy of La dwags rgyal rabs, Petech suggests that Rinchana was included in the genealogy of La dwags for reasons of local pride

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bu Rin chen was the king of La dwags is invalid because being addressed as rgyal bu does not preclude the possibility that he became the rgyal po of La dwags. On the contrary, it seems to indicate that he was from a territory different from La dwags where he was initially a rgyal bu before becoming the rgyal po of La dwags. This would explain the fact that La dwags rgyal rabs retained the term rgyal bu in his name. Addressing him as rgyal bu may imply, in my view, that his origin was not necessarily La dwags pa, but he is considered a Bottha by Jonaraja in his Rajatarangini (Dutt 1986:20-21) because he came to Kashmir from a Tibetan region where he held sway. As mentioned above, gDung rabs zam ’phreng ignores rgyal bu Rin chen, for this source has rulers with entirely different names in the period in which rgyal bu Rin chen must have reigned. gDung rabs zam ’phreng records a genealogy different from La dwags rgyal rabs, and so the absence of rgyal bu Rin chen’s name in the former source is not sufficient proof that he did not hold sway in a territory of La dwags not covered by this gdung rabs. It seems to me that La dwags rgyal rabs pieced together evidence of royal/princely tenure in various principalities of La dwags, and made of this fractured secular panorama a single royal genealogy. Typical is the above mentioned case of Sa bu, a small principality that becomes in La dwags rgyal rabs the entire universe of La dwags’ secular situation of that time. The historiographical approach used in La dwags rgyal rabs has some advantages, in that it did not neglect people who left a significant mark in the region, but has the disadvantage that it may have created a genealogy which did not exist in reality. In my view, rgyal bu Rin chen was a stranger to La dwags, who established his sway in an area not corresponding with the one controlled by the ruler of the genealogy of Mar yul, dealt with in gDung rabs zam ’phreng. rGyal bu Rin chen appeared in the lands of North-west India at the time of the sTod Hor invasion that reached Ma pham g.yu mtsho in 1318. He seized the throne of Kashmir in 1320, but the prelude to this event had taken place either in 1318 or 1319, when he had come to the Valley.15 His reign in Kashmir was preceded by his tenure as king deriving from the fact that a local man sat on the throne of Kashmir. This implies that the anonymous author of this text (or an interpolator) must have known and read Jonaraja’s Rajatarangini, a possibility nowhere documented in any form, or else that this source was so popular in La dwags to have become common lore. 15 Jonaraja, Rajatarangini (Dutt 1986:17) says that Dulucha, the other invader of Kashmir of that time, left the Kashmir Valley during the winter of 1319-1320, fearing

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of a part of La dwags, if his inclusion in the royal genealogy of La dwags rgyal rabs is reliable, because he died in 1323 while sitting on the throne of the former territory. The turn of events which favoured his takeover of the throne of Kashmir does not directly concern La dwags but still has significant implications for its history. He faced a local rebellion by an unidentified state of the Himalayan hills whose people are called Kâlamânya in Jonaraja’s Rajatarangini (Dutt 1986:16-17),16 that led to the killing of his father. He avenged the latter’s death, but had to move to Kashmir. Probably those unspecified Kâlamânya (Tib. sKal Mon) had managed to grow in strength to the point of obliging him to leave, but rgyal bu Rin chen was not weakened (alternatively he was able to regroup), or else he could not have taken Kashmir. It cannot be ruled out that the critical time in the Mongols’ system of governance, occurring in correspondance with a quriltai which the sTod Hor troops went to attend after leaving the Ma pham g.yu mtsho area in 1318, may have encouraged the local rebellion against rgyal bu Rin chen and his father. I wish to introduce here several clues provided by Jonaraja’s Rajatarangini that do not establish anything conclusively, but are simply points on which one needs to ponder. x The title rgyal bu. Often Tibetan sources use Tibetan names and Tibetan nobility terms (such as rgyal bu) to refer to Mongol princes, but do not always do the same for noblemen of other ethnicities. The case of the above-mentioned rgyal bu, also bearing the name Rin chen, is symptomatic. He was the chieftain of the sTod Hor troops that were summoned by the ’Bri gung sgom pa, dBon po, in the time of the 1290 gling log (Si tu bka’ chems in Rlangs kyi Po ti bse Kashmir’s winter cold, after causing much havoc and spoliation, but Rinchana stayed on. One can therefore say that the military phase characterised by the presence of two armies in Kashmir, recorded at some length in the same source (Dutt 1986:16-18), dates to 1319 at the latest. Rinchana took the throne of Kashmir after Dulucha left. 16 They are the sKal Mon, Ha le Mon etc. (spelled in several variants) of the Tibetan literature. For instance, La dwags rgyal rabs (p.7 lines 5-8) includes this population, feasibly corresponding with the inhabitants of the lower areas of nonTibetan origin in the West Himalaya and the Karakorum among the four ancestral tribes of the borders (mtshams kyi mi’u rigs bzhi), said by this source to be Gam shang rGya, Gyim shang Hor, Ha le Mon, and sPu rgyal Bod. The inclusion of sPu rgyal Bod among the people at the borders of the plateau should not be considered surprising, because the integration of the proto-Tibetan tribes had not yet been accomplished and the Tibetan race had yet to be formed (on this issue see Vitali 2003). The internal ancestral tribes (nang gi mi’u rigs) were, according to the same source, sMra Zhang zhung, sTong Sum pa, lDong Me nyag and Se ’A zha.

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ru p.254 lines 11-12). His troops were defeated by the Sa skya dpon chen Ag len.17 The contemporaneous presence of two armies in Kashmir that did not fight one another. The somewhat surprising attitude of the armies of Dulucha and Rinchana who had come to Kashmir at roughly the same time (Dutt 1986:16-18) is another aspect that deserves attention. Their non-belligerent stance might indicate a common origin or shared objectives. However, a sentence of Jonaraja’s Rajatarangini, missing in Dutt’s translation, describes the composition of Dulucha’s army as amounting to “Mleccha, Turuska and Tajika” (see Jackson 1975:138), and should leave little doubt as to who Dulucha was. The notion that the Tu ru shka (Du ru ka, i.e. the Delhi Muslims) brought warfare to O rgyan in 1318 is a precious contribution from the Tibetan sources (see above n.13 for mKhas pa’i dga’ ston p.976 lines 5-20). Hence it would seem that Dulucha torched the Kashmir Valley before leaving in the winter of 13191320 by what Jonaraja defines as a “good military road” (Dutt 1986:17), feasibly by the southern exit of the Kashmir Valley on the way to rejoin the dominions of the Delhi Sultanate. This probably explains why his temporary presence in the Valley did not antagonize the troops of Rinchana, who evidently opted for delaying tactics and was left alone to seize the throne of Kashmir. The north and the east. Jonaraja says that the armies of Dulucha and Rinchana appeared in Kashmir from the east and the north (Dutt 1986:17). It is not clear who came from the east and who from the north. These directions correspond to the two sectors at war prior to the siege of Kashmir. The events of 1318 mentioned in the Tibetan sources make it clear that army movements affected U rgyan, rather destructively, and the Ma pham area, possibly in a less devastating manner, these war fronts being respectively situated in the north[-west] and the east of Kashmir. The geographical localisation of warfare before the events that affected Kashmir and the closeness in time may be a sign that all those troop activities were part of the same military design. I am therefore inclined to suggest that Dulucha came to Kashmir from

17

Petech (1990:30-31) says that, after the defeat of the sTod Hor, rgyal bu Rin chen was brought to the Yuan capital, but he does not say which source he has used as his authority.

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the north (the Khurâsân sector), while Rinchana came from the east (the La dwags sector). Turning Kashmir into a “grass land”. Jonaraja says that, at the time of Dulucha and Rinchana’s invasions, Kashmir became “full of grass” (Dutt 1986:17-18). I am not the first to note that turning a territory into pasture land was a tactic typical of the Mongols. They used to transform cultivated fields into grassy grounds to provide fodder for their horses. Aziz Ahmad (1979:5) reads the account of the turning of Kashmir into a grassland as only refering to Dulucha and, like some authors, is adamant in recognising him as a Mongol, (see ibid., where he says that he was a Chaghatai who invaded Kashmir from La dwags, basing himself on the authority of Stein 1979: Vol.II:408 n.21). As discussed above, several other authorities dismiss the idea that he was a Hor (e.g. Jackson [1975:138], who also mentions Jahn [1975:lxxxviii-lxxxix, n.10]), in this regard. All I wish to say on this issue is that the reading of Jonaraja’s passage concerns Rinchana as well, not only because Jonaraja’s sentence allows one to do so, but also because the two invasions were practically concomitant, and thus it should not be ruled out that Rinchana had a part in turning Kashmir into a grassland. If ever turning territories into grasslands was an exclusive prerogative of the Mongols, then it was not Dulucha’s, an army chief at the service of Delhi. Sending Tibetans inside the fort of the king of Kashmir to open the way to its seizure. Jonaraja says that Rinchana infiltrated several Bottha inside the fort of the Kashmir King Râmacandra (Dutt 1986:18). Had the former’s invading army been Tibetan, it would have been suicidal for the king of Kashmir to let some of them come inside his fortress, even if they were simple traders. I am inclined to think that, given their apparent inoffensiveness, those infiltrated into the palace were Tibetans, but sent by a chieftain of different ethnic origin at the head of mainly non-Tibetan troops. Rinchana’s conversion to Islam. Another tenuous sign about the origin of Rinchana Bottha comes from the fact that he converted to Islam during his three-year reign in Kashmir. The reason for this conversion could have been sheer political opportunism, as mentioned by several authors, but the Mongols, after coming into contact with Islam earlier than the period in which Rinchana lived as well as around his time, did convert to Islam, whereas Tibetan individuals did not do so to the best of my knowledge. The subsequent conversion to Islam of regions of Tibetan culture

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contiguous to Kha che and La dwags (such as sBal ti)18 were not personal enterprises but the outcome of Muslim pressure or conquest. Two further notions in Jonaraja’s account need closer scrutiny from the Tibetan perspective inasmuch as his Rajatarangini attributes them to rgyal bu Rin chen, who he does not hesitate to define as a Bottha several times. One is that Rinchana sold people of Kashmir to the Bottha, a trade that earned him huge profits (Dutt 1986:17). The Tibetans of mNga’ ris stod to whom the statement manifestly refers (if accepted at face value) never engaged in slave trade to the best of my knowledge, for no traces of this activity are found in the sources that I have read. The second is a general consideration. The people of Upper West Tibet equally did not pursue wars of conquest outside their boundaries after sKyid lde Nyi ma mgon took ethnically different La dwags by force to found the kingdom of mNga’ ris skor gsum in the 10th century (Nyang ral chos ’byung, p.458, lines 11-14, and Vitali 1996:552-555). They fought wars with other Tibetan principalities, sometimes moving their troops—almost invariably of insignificant dimensions—to other regions of Tibet. I think they never had the military strength to lead a war of conquest. If rgyal bu Rin chen had been a Tibetan, he probably would not have had sufficient power to intervene in the ongoing warfare between two major powers such as the Chaghatai and the Tughluq of Delhi who were vying for supremacy in an expanse of territory from Khurâsân to Punjab. Moreover, there is no trace in the sources (Tibetan, Mongol and Muslim) of a third power strong enough to dispute the supremacy of the Chaghatai and the Delhi Sultanate. In this light, the statement that rgyal bu Rin chen was a Tibetan does not sounds entirely convincing to me. If the slave trade could have been an unusual (and regrettable) episode in Tibetan Buddhist history, the conquest of Kashmir on the part of a Tibetan ruler of La dwags at a time when the Mongols had set foot in the latter region more than once, and the Tughluq were extremely assertive in the vicinities of Kashmir should be read with a good dose of scepticism. The above-mentioned factors, if considered individually, are not sufficient to establish Rinchana’s identity conclusively. If considered 18 Bru zha, on the other hand, had undergone a process of Islamisation already during the 11th century when Turkic converts to Islam took control of this land and caused serious trouble to the kingdom of mNga’ ris skor gsum (see Vitali 1996:281293).

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together, they do not let one propound a La dwags pa identity for him with absolute confidence. I reiterate here my view that he was a stranger to La dwags. Was rgyal bu Rin chen a nobleman from elsewhere on the Tibetan plateau? The above mentioned signs are not entirely in favour of this suggestion. Jonaraja, writing centuries after the brief reign of Rinchana, was not a personal witness to the latter’s identity, and relied on the accounts that tradition had preserved. He records the Kashmiri tradition according to which he was a Tibetan, but not all details about him concur, in my view, to accept this beyond dispute. Should one think that he was a Hor pa?19 This hypothesis is conceivable, but needs to be better proved with fresh evidence. The Qarâchîl expedition One more historiographical obscurity should be added to the already unclear situation that I have outlined above because I am compelled, at this stage, to take into consideration one of the most mysterious campaigns staged in the history of North-west India. I am unable to elaborate the matter in extenso because little can be speculated about it. This was the Qarâchîl expedition, a military action undertaken around 1333 by the Delhi Sultanate against the Chaghatai in order to cope with the latter’s advance into North-west India (See, in particular, Baranî, Târîkh-i-Mubârakshâhî:113-116; and Ibn Battûta in Gibb, The Travels of Ibn Battûta A.D. 1325-1354 Vol.II:274; Vol. III:713, 762-763). The Qarâchîl expedition raises insurmountable problems as far as the stage where it took place is concerned. The reason behind this enterprise, although mentioned in the sources, has led several Muslim writers and modern scholars to nurture some scepticism on the interpretations offered. Baranî, the author who provides one of the most comprehensive treatments of the Qarâchîl expedition, says that the army sent by Delhi disappeared without trace in a mountainous region where poisonous weeds are said to grow. Baranî is the only author linking the 19 Cases of mistaken identity were not unusual, especially between Mongols and Tibetans, even in the area of Kashmir, the theatre of rgyal bu Rin chen’s activity. It is not an entirely appropriate comparison, because it refers to an individual rather than an army of conquest, but U rgyan pa was taken for a Mongol in the public square while Hu la hu was in Kashmir on the way to conquer Baghdad. He narrowly escaped a miserable end by dressing in local garb and fleeing in great hurry (Zla ba seng ge, U rgyan pa’i rnam thar rgyas pa p.71, line 7-p.72, line 3).

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Qarâchîl expedition to the military activity in Khurâsân, thus implying that the expedition was sent to counteract the Chaghatai activities in Khurâsân but not necessarily that it took place in that area. Several different interpretations have been offered,20 the only point of agreement being that the Qarâchîl expedition was not targeting Khurâsân but was aimed at taking on the Mongols in another sector. Given the obscurity surrounding the identity of the land to which the expedition marched, one is compelled to proceed by exclusions. Indeed it is unlikely that the troops of the Delhi sultan advanced farther west of the Karakorum range, otherwise the target of Khurâsân would have been mentioned, as in many other cases of warfare between the two powers. The same argument applies to Kashmir as a possible destination of the expedition because it was part of the Khurâsân military front. The way a passage of Ibn Battûta describes the lofty montain range to which the campaign was directed (at the distance of three months and ten days’ journey from Delhi) led P. Jackson (1975:135) to propose that it is the Himalayan range. The same author (Jackson 1975:137 and n.98) contributes the idea that the poisonous weeds said to exist in the territory where the expedition met a tragic end grow in the lower La dwags area of the Zoji la, as documented by other Muslim sources (Mirza Haidar Dughlat 1898:430-432 and n.1 on p.432; and Alî Yazdî, Zafar-nâma p.180:13-16; for the latter see Jackson 1975:137, n.98). However, he concludes that the troops of the Delhi Sultanate attacked Kashmir for reasons not entirely clear to me. In my view, the lofty mountain range cannot be Kashmir; it could be either the Himalaya or the Karakorum. Jackson (1975:139-140) opines that the Qarâchîl expedition could be identified with the takeover of Kashmir on the part of Achala, which took place around the same time (Dutt 1986:25). This is hardly tenable because Achala’s enterprise met with success, and, only after insistence on the part of the Kashmiri queen Kotâ did his troops leave the Valley, whereas the Qarâchîl expedition was a disaster and the Delhi troops never returned. 20

For instance, Husain (1963:178-184) identifies Qarâchîl with the GarhwalKumaon region on the basis of a passage from Ibn Battûta (Defrémery and Sanguinetti 1938: vol.IV, p.2). Ibn Battûta’s reference to the Sarju river, whose sources are in West Nepal, is marred by geographical inconsistencies, found in the passage where the river is mentioned, that invalidate its reliability. Consequently it is unlikely that Garhwal-Kumaon was the target of the expedition. Umarî (Spies 1943:23) says that the Qarâchîl range was in the south of the Delhi dominions; and Jackson (1975) argues for Kashmir (see below in the text).

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More than the argument of the poisonous weeds, the statement of both Ibn Battûta (see Gibb 1971, Vol II:274) and Umarî (see Spies 1943:23) that the Qarâchîl region was rich of gold mines is significant in that it points to the upper course of the Indus as the area rich in gold, thus corresponding to La dwags and beyond (see also Jackson 1975:136, n.94 citing Mirza Haidar Dughlat 1898:411-412). Baranî (see Jackson 1975:133) says that the Qarâchîl mountains lay on the direct route between India and China, acting as a screen between the two empires, thus again pointing to the Himalaya and the Karakorum which separated the Yuan dominions (i.e. Tibet during the time of the Qarâchîl expedition) from the Delhi Sultanate. I cannot offer a less tentative understanding than any other author before me who has studied the expedition from a different cultural angle from mine. I am inclined to credit P. Jackson’s identication of the region to which the expedition was sent but not his conclusions, owing to the historical scenario that I have outlined above and the weight of the combined presence of gold and poisonous weeds in the Western Himalaya. Given the activity of the sTod Hor in mNga’ ris skor gsum and the description of the land where the ill-fated military campaign of the Delhi Sultanate was staged, can one suggest that the Muslim expedition met a bitter destiny in La dwags or environs where the Delhi troops had no familiarity in terms of frequentation and fighting?21 Was the Qarâchîl expedition led against the La dwags front to seal the north-east sector from the encroachments of the Chaghatai Mongols (sTod Hor), via mNga’ ris skor gsum, into the dominions of the Delhi Sultanate? The reason that led the Delhi Sultanate to venture in the opposite direction of Khurâsân, where warfare against the Chaghatai was undertaken, would otherwise be quite incomprehensible. Bharanî’s notion that the Qarâchîl expedition was

21

Although La dwags, if the hypothesis that its lower part was the military target of the Qarâchîl expedition is admissible, may have been, in principle, supportive of the Delhi Sultanate (Upper West Tibet was controlled by the sTod Hor’s arch-rivals, the Yuan), the strategy that I think was adopted by the Tughluq rulers (the often mentioned counteraction against the Chaghatai’s activity on the flank opposite to Khurâsân) made a military expedition on that side of the Delhi dominions necessary. I cannot say whether the land of the Bhotta, where the king of Kashmir, Udyanadeva (1323-1339), sought shelter under the pressure of Achala’s invasion of the Valley (see Jonaraja’s account in Dutt 1986:25), should be identified with La dwags, as several authors rather simplistically do. If this was the case, given that La dwags was under the control of the Sa skya pa alliance and the Yuan, it must have been a safe refuge against any further advance by Achala, but not entirely safe against the activities of the sTod Hor.

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part of the general military plan that involved Khurâsân could be explained by the hitherto ignored military activity of the Chaghatai in Upper West Tibet, a contribution of the Tibetan sources that has not been taken into consideration so that the presence of the Chaghatai on the north-eastern border of the Delhi Sultanate has been neglected. De mur and Mo gol, rulers in Mar yul Going back to the dynastic issue in Mar yul, I wish now to devote my attention to the names of the two rulers (De mur and Mo gol) in the genealogy of this land found in gDung rabs zam ’phreng and rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (gNam rtse ed.) during the one hundred years of historical obscurity. They do not fit into the sequence of Tibetan and Dard kings who alternated in Mar yul at that time. Neither source gives regnal years for any king in their genealogy, and one can hardly approximate a tentative period in which they ruled, given the absence of other historiographical support concerning them. Their names De mur and Mo gol are as heavy as stones in terms of the secular situation that developed in those years marked by the sTod Hor’s activity in Upper West Tibet.22 Either one should disregard the occurrence of their names in the genealogy, and consider them as mere interpolations (for which there is no apparent reason) or, in the light of the sTod Hor’s enterprises in the two-pronged sector that extended from U rgyan to Ru thog, one should consider that foreigners came to hold sway in Mar yul. They would have superimposed themselves over the alternance of Dardic and Tibetan rulers of the period. De mur/Di mur and Mo gol seem to have been rulers who broke this alternance, and affirmed Mongol power in Mar yul in line with the military activity that the sTod Hor undertook in the districts of Upper West Tibet. It is again supremely difficult to suggest a more precise identity for De mur and Mo gol. Nowhere in the documents is a Yuan dignitary indicated to have been the ruler/governor of a Tibetan principality. As is too well known to require elaboration here, Tibet was ruled by the Sa skya pa on behalf of the Yuan, and its governance was based on the khri skor-s, the chol kha gsum, several administrative units in China in charge of the Tibetan affairs, and Mongol princes delegated to run 22 In the decades subsequent to the 1290 ’Bri gung gling log, the few other invasions of the sTod Hor mentioned in these pages occurred in a limited span of time, thus showing that they exercised a more marked pressure, and it is not entirely surprising to find Mongol names in the genealogies of the La dwags pa principalities.

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those affairs from distance apart from visits to the region. Is it thus legitimate to think that De mur and Mo gol were not Yuan loyalists? The royal lineage of Mar yul (Shel) (1270s-1380s) gDung rabs zam ’phreng:

rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (gNam rtse ed.): Dzi di gin (i.e De khyim r.1266- Di mgon (i.e. De khyim) 1270) bKra shis mgon bKra shis mgon lha chen Di gin lha chen Di win De mur Di mur Nyi ’od rdo rje Mo gol Go de khyim La ldan mnga’ Jo btsun mnga’ bdag Jo btsun mnga’ bdag bTsan pa lde mnga’ bdag bTsan ’bar lde lha chen sKyob pa chen po mnga’ bdag sKyobs pa chen po (a.k.a. sPyi Se rgan) rTse rgan mnga’ bdag gNyan po jo mnga’ bdag Nyan po jo Jo bo Ras chen (r. in 1376) Jo bo Ras chen

The unsubstantiated and shattering hypothesis that De mur could have been the Tamerlane from ulus Chaghatai is to be dismissed categorically. The Tamerlane appeared on the scene of Central/South Asia around 1383, having consolidated his power internally in his ulus by that year (see, e.g., Forbes Manz 1983:99), and invaded India in 1398 (Siddiqui 1983:306). The sources record that his raids into Kashmir and Punjab were so frequent that hardly a single year passed without one of his incursions. Chronological considerations disprove that De mur was the Tamerlane, as fancy might suggest. The De mur/Di mur of gDung rabs zam ’phreng and rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (gNam rtse ed.) is placed too early in the genealogy of Mar yul to be him. Yar lung Jo bo chos ’byung says that Jo bo Ras chen was the king of Mar yul at the time of completion by its author, Rin chen sde, in fire dragon 1376.23 After De khyim (still on the throne sometime between 1266-1270), gDung rabs zam ’phreng counts two rulers of Mar yul before 23 Yar lung Jo bo chos 'byung (p.70 lines 9-11): “As it happened that the eldest of the three brothers, dPal gyi mgon, ruled Mang yul (sic for Mar yul), its lineage [continued] until the present jo bo Ras chen, the uncle and nephew (khu dbon)”. See also Vitali (1996:454-455 and n.755).

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De mur, and six between the latter and Jo bo Ras chen. rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long equally has two rulers between De khyim and Di mur, and seven between the latter and Jo bo Ras chen. As for the successor to De mur on the throne of Mar yul, the discrepancy between gDung rabs zam ’phreng and rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (gNam rtse ed.) may hide significant undertones. While the appearance of the name Mo gol leaves little doubt about the foreign identity of the ruler mentioned by the latter source, the former work has Nyi ’od rdo rje, a Tibetan, which could indicate that a local ruler had to accept the sovereignty of a foreign authority. Again the two sources diverge on the identity of the successor to Mo gol/Nyi ’od rdo rje. He was La ldan according to rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (gNam rtse ed.) and Go de khyim in the view of gDung rabs zam ’phreng. The identity of La ldan remains difficult to ascertain, while Go de khyim was manifestly a Dard, and thus one cannot say whether they were two different rulers or the same one with different names. The appearance of Go de khyim in the lineage of rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (gNam rtse ed.) seems to indicate that the Dards regained some sort of control of Mar yul after the interregnum of De mur and Mo gol. What remains to be established is the nature of Mongol sway in La dwags. Was De mur and Mo gol’s control limited to military campaigns? Or is the fact that the two who, according to rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (gNam rtse ed.), held Mar yul one after another, a sign of a slightly more continuous control over the Mar yul throne during that period? The invasions mentioned in these pages show that the Yuan could not keep the sTod Hor at bay in Upper West Tibet during those decades, and their control of the region was broken several times. The task of assessing the exact tribal and political affiliation of the foreign rulers of La dwags bearing Mongol names remains to be accomplished: the unsettled situation created by the frequent sTod Hor invasions into the region of mNga’ ris skor gsum under Sa skya on behalf of the Yuan does not allow one to document the evolution of power control beyond conjectures. The one hundred obscure years in the history of La dwags following the reign of De khyim until the reign of Jo bo Ras chen were thus marked by a situation of change and great instability: x Change inasmuch as La dwags passed from a more authonomous local rulership supported by the bKa’ brgyud pa to a centralised

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government run by the Sa skya and its feudatories on behalf of the Yuan; x Instability inasmuch as it was affected by several Mongol military campaigns, and the throne of Mar yul changed hands frequently (no less than ten rulers should be accommodated in the period from 1266-1270 to before 1376). Many of the questions I have raised in these pages have no clear answer and, although today’s queries can be tomorrow’s answers, I regret the absence of any definitive assessments. Nevertheless it is at least hoped that the present effort can contribute to a review of the troubled relations between the Chaghatai and the Delhi sultans from a different angle. This is the perspective provided by the history of La dwags and, more generally, of Upper West Tibet frequented by the sTod Hor during the years of warfare between those two major powers. From the viewpoint of the dynastic history of La dwags, feeble traces exist that the Mongols held sway in the land during those obscure one hundred years, but the turning of mNga’ ris skor gsum, and La dwags in particular, into a region that was in the military orbit of the sTod Hor and their wide ranging martial designs has been documented to some extent. REFERENCES

(1) Tibetan Sources Si tu Cos kyi ’byung gnas, Karma kam tshang gser ’phreng: Si tu Chos kyi ’byung gnas, Karma Kam tshang gser ’phreng (completed by ’Be lo Tshe dbang kun khyab): Si tu Chos kyi ’byung gnas, bsGrub rgyud Karma Kam tshang brgyud pa rin po che’i rnam par thar pa rab ’byams nor bu zla ba chus shel gyi ’phreng ba, A History of the Karma bKa’ brgyud pa Sect (vol.1), D.Gyaltsan and Kesang Legshay eds., New Delhi 1972. gNas rnying skyes bu rnams kyi rnam thar (also known as Gyen tho chen mo): bSwi gung nyams med Rin chen, sKyes bu dam pa rnams kyi rnam par thar pa rin po che’i gter mdzod ces bya ba gzhugs so, xylograph. mKhas pa’i dga’ ston: dPa’ bo gTsug lag phreng ba, Dam pa chos kyi ’khor lo bsgyur ba rnams kyi byung ba gsal bar byed pa mkhas pa’i dga’ ston, rDo rje rgyal po ed., Mi rigs dpe skrun khang, Beijing 1986. Gung thang gdung rabs: Kah.thog rig.'dzin Tshe.dbang nor.bu, Bod.rje lha.btsad po'i gdung.rabs mNga'.ris.smad Gung.thang du ji.ltar byung.ba'i tshul.deb gter.dwangs shel 'phrul.gyi me.long zhes.bya.ba bzhugs.so, in Bod.kyi lo.rgyus deb.ther khag.lnga, Chab.spel Tshe.brtan phun.tshogs ed., Gangs.can rig.mdzod vol.9, Bod.ljongs Bod.yig dpe.rnying dpe.skrun.khang, lHa.sa 1990. rGya Bod yig tshang: dPal ’byor bzang po (Shribhutibhadra), rGya Bod yig tshang chen mo, Dung dkar Blo bzang 'phrin las ed., Si khron mi rigs dpe skrun khang, Chengdu 1985.

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rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long (gNam rtse ed.): Sa skya bSod nams rgyal mtshan, rGyal rabs gsal ba’i me long, with an Account of the Mnga’ bdag pa lineage and its descendants in Sikkim (from the Gnam rtse Monastery in Sikkim), Sherab Gyaltsen Lama and Sonam Rabten eds., Zigar Drukpa Kargyud Institute, Mandi 1985. Nyang ral chos ’byung: Nyang ral Nyi ma ’od zer, Chos ’byung me tog snying po sbrang rtsi’i bcud, Chab spel Tshe brtan phun tshogs ed., Gangs chen rig mdzod vol.5, Bod ljongs mi dmangs dpe skrun khang, lHa sa 1988. gDung rabs zam ’phreng, in Joseph dGe rgan, Bla dwags rgyal rabs ’chi med gter zhes bya ba bzhugs so. New Delhi-Jullundur: Sterling Publishers, 1976. Deb ther rdzong dmar: Anonymous, [Deb ther rdzong dmar] ’di nas mar la khri skor stong skor brgya skor dang grangs mnga’ ’og ’cha lug (sic for ’chag lugs) dang bcas pa’i thob (sic for tho) yod, manuscript copy. ’Bri gung gdan rabs gser phreng: Che tshang bsTan ’dzin padma’i rgyal mtshan, ’Bri gung gdan rabs gser phreng, Gangs chen rig mdzod vol.8, Chab spel Tshe brtan phun tshogs ed., Bod ljongs mi dmangs dpe skrun khang, lHa sa 1989. Zhwa lu yig cha, in Tucci, Tibetan Painted Scrolls, Libreria dello Stato, Roma 1949. La dwags rgyal rabs: La dwags rgyal rabs, Chos ’dzoms ed., Bod ljongs mi dmangs dpe skrun khang, Zi ling 1987. Bla dwags rgyal rabs ’chi med gter: Joseph dGe rgan, Bla dwags rgya rabs ’chi med gter zhes bya ba bzhugs so. New Delhi-Jullundur: Sterling, 1976. Si tu bka’ chems in Rlangs kyi Po ti bse ru: Rlangs kyi Po ti bse ru rgyas pa, together with Ta’i si tu Byang chub rgyal mtshan, Si tu bka' chems, Gangs chen rig mdzod vol.1, Chab spel Tshe brtan phun tshogs ed., Bod ljongs mi dmangs dpe skrun khang, lHa sa 1986. lHo rong chos ’byung: rTa tshag Tshe dbang rgyal, Dam pa’i chos kyi byung ba’i legs bshad lHo rong chos ’byung ngam rTa tshag chos ’byung zhes rtsom pa’i yul ming du chags pa’i ngo mtshar zhing dkon pa’i dbe khyad par can bzhugs so, Gangs chen rig mdzod vol.26, Bod ljongs Bod yig dpe rnying dpe skrun khang, lHa sa 1995. Zla ba seng ge, U rgyan pa’i rnam thar rgyas pa: rTogs ldan Zla ba seng ge, Grub chen O rgyan pa’i rnam phar thar pa byin brlabs kyi chu rgyun zhes bya ba bzhugs so, Sherab Gyaltsen ed., Gangtok 1976.

(2) Muslim Sources (in translation) Bharanî: Khan, S.A. (Ed). 1860-62. Târikh-i-Firûzshâhî, S.A. Calcutta. Ibn Battûta: Gibb, H.A.R. (Trans.) 1971. The Travels of Ibn Battûta A.D. 1325-1354, 3 Vols. Cambridge. Mirza Haidar Dughlat, Târîkh-i-Rashîdî. In: Elias, N. & Ross E.D. 1898. A History of the Moghuls of Central Asia, London. Ibn Battûta: Defrémery, C. &.Sanguinetti, B.R. 1938. Voyages de Ibn Battoutah. Paris.

(3) Secondary Sources Aziz Ahmad. 1979. “Conversion to Islam in the Valley of Kashmir.” Central Asiatic Journal 23, Nos.1-2. Boyle, J. 1971. The Successors of Genghis Khan, New York and London. Dutt, J.C. (Trans. and Ed). 1986. Rajatarangini of Jonaraja. Rpt. Ed. Delhi: Gian Publishing House. Encyclopedia of Islam, Leiden and London 1913.

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Forbes Manz, B. 1983 “The Ulus Chagatay Before and After Temur’s Rise to Power: The Transformation from Tribal Confederation to Army of Conquest.” Central Asiatic Journal 27, Nos. 1-2. Husain, A.M. 1938. The Rise and Fall of Muhammad bin Tughluq. London. Husain, A.M. 1963. Tughluq Dynasty. Calcutta. Jahn, K. 1975. Rashid al-Dîn’s History of India. The Hague. Jackson, P. 1975. “The Mongols and the Delhi Sultanate in the Reign of Muhammad Tughluq (1325-1351).” Central Asiatic Journal 19, Nos.1-2. Petech, L. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh c.950-1842 A.D. Serie Orientale Roma Vol. LI. Roma. Petech, L. 1990. Central Tibet and the Mongols, Serie Orientale Roma Vol. LXV, Rome. Petech, L. 1990. “Princely Houses of the Yuan Period Connected with Tibet.” In Buddhica Britannica II. Edited by T.Skorupski. Tring, 1990. Siddiqui I. 1983. “Politics and Conditions in the Territories under the Occupation of Central Asian Rulers in North-Western India - 13th & 14th Centuries”, Central Asiatic Journal 27, Nos. 3-4. Spies, O. 1943. Ibn Fadlallâh al ‘Omarî’s Bericht über Indien in seinem Werke. Leipzig. Stein, A. (Trans. and Ed.) 1979. Kalhana’s Rajatarangini. rpt. ed. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Uebach, Helga. 1987. Nelpas Panditas Chronik Me-tog Phreng-ba. München: Kommission für Zentralasiatische Studien, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Vitali, R. 1990. Early Temples of Central Tibet. London. Vitali, R. 1996. The Kingdoms of Gu.ge Pu.hrang According to mNga’.ris rgyal.rabs by Gu.ge mkhan.chen Ngag.dbang grags.pa. Dharamsala. Vitali, R. 1998. “Accounts of the Journey to the “Western Regions” With Particular Reference to Khyung-Rgod-Rtsal and his ’Das-Log Experience. An Historical View.” Paper read at the 8th IATS Conference, Bloomington July 1998. Vitali, R. 2003: “Tribes which populated the Tibetan plateau, as treated in the texts collectively called the Khungs chen po bzhi”, Lungta 16, Cosmogony and the Origins. Wylie, T. 1977. “The First Mongol conquest of Tibet Reinterpreted.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 37.

SULTAN ZAIN-UL ABIDIN’S RAID INTO LADAKH NEIL HOWARD The raid into Ladakh by Sultan Zain-ul Abidin of Kashmir in the 15th century AD was first brought to the notice of historians by Pandit D. R. Sahni and Rev. A. H. Francke in an article they published in 1908, in Indian Antiquary (1908: 188-189), and their observations have been widely, though not universally, accepted since then. The raid was, on any measure, one of the minor events in the history of Ladakh, but it is now worth examining again in the light of later research. Referring to, and summarising part of, a letter which they had received from the distinguished historian Dr. J. Ph. Vogel, dated 11th August 1906, Sahni and Francke set down “the general contents” of a passage in Jonaraja’s Rajatarangini, recording Zain-ul Abidin’s campaign in “Bhottaland”, as follows: Zain-ul Abidin of Kashmir (1420-1470) invades Gogga-desa (Guge?), saves a golden image of Buddha from the hands of the Yavannas (Muhammadans) in Saya-desa, and takes the town of Kuluta (Kulu), which apparently at that time was occupied by Tibetans [Sahni’s and Francke’s own brackets].

They added Vogel’s comment from a subsequent letter that he found the passage “rather obscure” and so, he may have been saying, was not yet able to provide a more considered translation. In a brief discussion Sahni and Francke observed that Zain-ul Abidin’s invasion probably explains the apparently half-Muslim name of Prince Drung pa A li, son of King Grags ’bum lde of Ladakh according to the La dvags rGyal rabs (Francke 1926:102); that the rGyal rabs makes no mention of the conquest; and that it “may have taken place in the second decade of Zain-ul Abidin’s reign, and the fourth of king [Grags] ’Bum lde, that is between 1430 and 1440 AD.” They identified Sayadesa as being “probably” the village of Shey; stated that “Gogga-desa is doubtless Guge”; and confirmed Vogel’s suggestion that Kuluta was occupied by Tibetans at that time because historical sources in Ladakh indicated that “the king of Kuluta was in a loose way a vassal of the kings of Leh”. Finally, they stated that Zain-ul Abidin’s route of

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conquest—to Guge and back by way of Kulu and Lahul—was the same as that taken later by the Ladakhi king Tshe dbang rnam rgyal 1st. We may note the following before going any further. Vogel’s letter apparently offered no date for the raid, according to the summary by Sahni and Francke. Petech has pointed out that Drung pa is a Buddhist ecclesiastical title, so Prince Drung pa A li cannot have been a Muslim (Petech 1977:25 n.1). And the conquests of Tshe dbang rnam rgyal, recorded in the La dvags rGyal rabs, are not described as following any particular route; the places listed are only its geographical limits (Francke 1926:105). In the same paper Sahni and Francke also published their translation of a passage from Srivara’s Rajatarangini, Taranga 1, v. 51: Having conquered the outlying provinces of Sindhu and Hinduvata, the king (Zain-ul Abidin) marched with his army to conquer the Bhotta country.

They commented that this passage refers to a different campaign in Bhottaland from that to which Jonaraja is referring; and concluded that “it took place in the last or fifth decade of Zain-ul Abidin’s reign, i.e. between 1460 and 1470”. Again, they noted that it is not mentioned in the La dvags rGyal rabs and suggested that it may have been a campaign in Baltistan. In order to examine Sahni’s and Francke’s whole understanding of Zain-ul Abidin’s campaign in Ladakh, three questions must be answered. First, were there Tibetans in Kulu at that time? Secondly, where did the Sultan’s campaign take him – is it possible to make different identifications of the places named by Jonaraja? Thirdly, when did the campaign take place and where does it fit within the history of Ladakh? The questions will be taken in that order. The supposed presence of Tibetans in Kulu Francke believed that the rulers of Kulu (i.e. “Kuluta”) had remained in some way vassals of the King of Ladakh because the La dvags rGyal rabs states that King Utpala of Ladakh made a treaty of tribute with them after his invasion of Kulu, and that it remained in force “till this day” (Francke 1926:96). It is not known when this section of the La dvags rGyal rabs was put into its present form (commenting on the passage Francke suggests that it may have been during the reign of King bDe ldan rnam rgyal). However, it must have been long after the 15th century when Zain-ul Abidin’s raid took place. Utpala’s reign is

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not securely datable, but it is usually assumed to have been in the 11th century. In 1933, in their great compendium of the history of the old Himalayan states north of the Punjab, J. Hutchison and J. Ph. Vogel suggested that Utpala’s invasion may have been the same as the events recounted in the Kulu vansavali (royal chronicle) under the reign of King Uchit Pal of Kulu (Hutchison and Vogel 1933:438). However, they recognised that the vansavali frequently cannot be accepted as reliable for the centuries before 1500 A.D, in the absence of corroborative evidence (414-415), and no king named Utpala is recorded in that chronicle. There is no convincing documentary evidence elsewhere for the domination of Kulu by Ladakh in the 15th century. References in the Kulu vansavali to a people called Piti Thakurs living above the east bank of the Beas River in northern Kulu might, at first glance, seem to be an indication of Tibetan presence or domination there. I have discussed the Piti Thakurs at length elsewhere (N.Howard 1995:116119) and just a few observations will suffice now. The name Piti Thakurs means Chiefs from Spiti, or perhaps from beyond Spiti who came to Kulu through Spiti. In either case they would have been culturally Tibetan. References to them are found under the entries for the 12th to 16th Kulu kings. Several later kings up to Uchit Pal and Sikander Pal, the 49th and 50th kings, are recorded as fighting against—or having other political relationships with—assorted Tibetan and Ladakhi rulers and armies (Hutchison and Vogel 1933:432-439). Frequently mentioned in this context is a country named Gya-mur orr. It is not identified by Hutchison and Vogel, but it may be rGya Me ru. This is a well-known district, believed once to have been a principality itself, in the south-east of Ladakh at the end of the old trade route from Kulu to central Ladakh, and beyond that to central Asia. None of the Pal rulers of Kulu are given dates in the vansavali; but if Uchit Pal, number 49, was contemporary with King Utpala of Ladakh then he and his successor Sikander Pal were 11th century kings. There is no later mention of Piti Thakurs, or of war against Tibet or Ladakh, in Hutchison’s and Vogel’s summary of the vansavali after the reign of Sikander Pal. The Pal line of Kulu rajas apparently ceased with the death of the 73rd king about the middle of the 15th century. When a new line of kings was established after 1500 AD by one of their descendants, the vansavali tells of his overthrowing a powerful ruler of the head of the Kulu valley named Jinna Rana, who ruled from Manali, and another

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powerful chief at Baragarh, opposite Nagar. However, it does not mention his defeat of any Piti Thakurs. If they had still been there, his early career at Jagatsukh would have been in their heartland. Hutchison and Vogel suggest that they were still there (1933:447-450), but their evidence is very circumstantial and open to other interpretations. In my view, the Piti Thakurs had long since gone, or ceased to have any individuality. Nor is there any evidence in the vansavali itself that Kulu was under the suzerainty of Ladakh at that time. It may however have been Vogel’s prior belief in the Piti Thakurs’ continuing dominating presence which led him to say, in his letter to Sahni and Francke referred to above, that Zain-ul Abidin took “the town of Kuluta (Kulu), which apparently at that time was occupied by Tibetans”, as Francke summarised it. In their own work Hutchison and Vogel translate the relevant passage of Jonaraja as follows: “[Zainul Abidin] robbed by his splendour the glory of the town of Kuluta”, which place they identified with Nagar, believing it to have been then the capital of Kulu. But they make no mention of a Tibetan presence in Kulu here (1933:421, 442). Their identification of “Kuluta” with Nagar may in fact have been the basis of Vogel’s belief that Tibetans still dominated upper Kulu at that time1. However, as we shall see, it is probable that ‘Kuluta’ should not be looked for in Kulu at all. Before we leave this subject, brief notice must be taken of three intriguing passages in the important Phugtal ’bo-yigs which were edited and published by Dieter Schuh in 1983. In passages numbered PH1 lines 77-78, PH2 lines 17-18, and PH3 lines 11-13, we learn of a King of Kulu who gave certain districts in the upper Bhaga River valley of Lahul to Phugtal monastery in Zanskar, as follows: PH1, 77-78 – Concerning what was presented by the King of Ngung ti (Kulu): it was (the district) as far as (the monastery) Chos sku tse’i dgon pa, Lam khral, Zho gling, Gye mur, as well as the (valley) gZhi’i de’i lung pa of ’Gri-mo together with its upper and lower parts. PH2, 17-18 Concerning what was presented by the King of Ngung ti (Kulu): it was (the district) as far as (the monastery) Chos sku ce’i dgon pa, Lam phral, Zho ling up to sGyis mur, (as well as) the (valley) Zhis de’i lung pa of ’Gris mo, together with its upper and lower parts. PH3, 11-13 Concerning what was presented by the King of Ngung ti (Kulu): it was (the district) as far as (the monastery) Chos sku ce dgon pa, 1 I have now abandoned my earlier acceptance of the idea that Piti Thakurs still resided in Kulu in the late 15th century. See N. Howard (1997:129).

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Lam khral, up to Gye mur and (the land of) bZhi de Lung pa in Gri mo together with its upper and lower parts (Schuh 1983). 2

This source has not been previously noticed in the context of the history of Kulu, and is puzzling in a number of ways. The places given (presumably for tax revenues and religious affiliation) can be identified with some degree of certainty. Chos sku tse’i dgon pa and Lam khral/Lam phral are not shown on maps and have not been identified in published research. However, Tshering Dorje of Guskyar, Lahul, tells me that Chos sku tse’i dgon pa: …is considered to be one of the oldest gonpas in Lahul. It is located just above the village of Kangsar. The old building is now in ruins but some of its statues and ritual objects are kept in a room built recently. This lha khang may have been built in the 14th century by a lama of the sTag lung bKha’ rgyud pa school”. 3

Lam khral/Lam phral he explains thus: khral is a natural water course (not an irrigation channel) and is one of the most commonly-used natural features to define a boundary; “hence Lam khral is a path going along the side of a water course”, and he suggests that this particular path “is one of the streams outside Kangsar village separating it [i.e. its lands] from the next village.” Zho ling is the modern small settlement of Jholing (and various map spellings) on the south bank of the Bhaga River a little up-stream from Labjang monastery; it has a temple dating from the time of the Second Diffusion of Buddhism (Klimburg-Salter 1994:47). Gye mur/sGis mur must be the village of Gemur on the north bank of the Bhaga just east of Kangsar. The official spelling today is ‘Gemur’ but local pronunciation is ‘Gyemur’. There used to be a monastery here which is said by some to have been founded by Rin chen bZang po, but it was destroyed by an avalanche in about 1973 and rebuilt on a safer site (Luczanits 1994:83-84). gZhi’i de’i lung pa/ Zhis de’i lung pa/ bZhi de’i lung pa was identified for me in August 1999 by a lama at Piuker as ‘Shitilungpa’, a large valley embayment on the north bank of the 2

Schuh’s own brackets and Tibetan spellings; present author’s English translation from Schuh’s German. Passage numbers are cited in this instance as a more convenient reference than page numbers. The passages above are so similar that they are probably copyists’ variants on a common original. 3 Tshering Dorje personal letter. Tshering Dorje is a well-known authority on the history of Lahul. Over a period of many years he has helped several distinguished scholars with their researches as well as publishing the results of his own studies. I am very grateful indeed for his help with these otherwise insoluble problems of identification.

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Bhaga River up which the hair-pins of the motor road climb to Kolong and Kangsar villages. Finally ’Gri mo/’Gris mo may, in the lama’s opinion, be the village of Tinu, opposite to Shitilungpa on the south bank of the Bhaga, whose people, if this identification is correct, must have owned that valley. Before the present suspension bridge was built across the Bhaga River, the people of Tinu regularly built twig suspension bridges here (Tobdan 1984:92). All these places are in the Bhaga River valley, well above Kyelang; but without more information we cannot draw precise boundaries around the lands given4. The donor was certainly a king because he was given the Tibetan title rgyal po; and he was obviously a Buddhist under the influence of the Gelugpa missionaries of that time. The date of the grant is not given in the Phugtal documents and is not easily derived from its context. The Gelugpa lama who inspired the grant was the great missionary Byang sems Shes rab bzang po of sTod whose dates of birth and death are not known but who was a pupil of Tsong kha pa. Perhaps the grant was made in the 1440s (when he is known to have been in Ladakh) or as late as the early 1450s. However, as we have already noted, according to the Kulu vansavali there may have been no king in Kulu then. The last royal dates we have from the 15th century are contained in inscriptions of King Urdhan Pal, dated 1418 and 1428 AD. He was followed by King Kelas Pal for whom we have no dates and whose reign is presumed to have been over by about 1450. Thereafter, until about 1500 AD, there are no kings of Kulu recorded in the vansavali (Hutchison and Vogel 1933:441-445). Both Urdhan Pal and Kelas Pal have Hindu names and neither is recorded as ruling over Lahul. If we cast the net wider, we find no chronologically appropriate chief in the lineages of the local rulers of Lahul (Francke 1926:195-220) who might have been misrepresented as a king of Kulu. And no suitable person is found in the sources for Hutchison’s and Vogel’s treatment of the history of Lahul either (1933:474-483). Whoever this king was, he must have had close cultural relations with Zanskar which might imply some sort of nominal diplomatic subordination to the King of Ladakh, although the political relationships between Zanskar and Ladakh at this time are unknown. If he could be identified, useful light would be thrown on the 50-year 4

Francke offered a somewhat different interpretation in his study of The Chronicles of Zanskar; but it may be less satisfactory since he did not read the original ’bo-yig, only a copy made by his munshi (Francke 1926: 151, 160).

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gap in the Kulu vansavali’s record, but for our present purposes this historical fragment cannot be taken to imply the Tibetan occupation of Kulu postulated by Sahni and Francke. The route of Zain-ul Abidin’s campaign An English translation of Jonaraja and Shrivara by J C Dutt had been published 10 years before Sahni’s and Francke’s paper. It is not known why they did not refer to it. Dutt’s translations of the relevant passage from Jonaraja reads: Once upon a time, the king dyed his arrows in the hot blood of the people in the Gogga country in the land of the Bhauttas; and he pleased his own people by his virtues. Having won the battle in the country of Shaya, the king saved the golden image of Buddha from the yavannas by issuing severe orders. The power of the king was like a test-stone for the power of the Bhauttas. The king destroyed the beauty of the city of Luta. The hearts of the Bhauttas which were empty, were filled with the fear of the king, but their treasury where wealth had been accumulated since a long time remained empty (Sadhu 1993:68-69).

Footnotes identify “Gogga country: probably a place-name in Ladakh” (without explanation); and “Shaya” as Shey, Ladakh. “Luta” is unidentified; but Dutt gives the Sanskrit original as “Saluta town” (86, notes 193-195, although confusingly accompanied by a reference to Udhbhandapura). “Luta” is obviously a “Bhautta” city, from the context. Dutt’s translation from Shrivara reads: The king, after he had conquered Sindhu, Hinduvat, and other countries outside his dominions, went with his army to conquer the Bhutta country (Sadhu 1993: 92).

This sentence is followed by a miraculous tale indicating that Zain-ul Abidin was a saint. There is no more detail of his campaign; no means of dating it; and the whole of Shrivara’s short chapter on Zain-ul Abidin appears to be a summary of his reign and a paean of praise to the Sultan, not a sequel to the account by Jonaraja which was left unfinished at his death in 1459. Therefore it probably refers to the same event as that in Jonaraja, since both follow conquests in Sindhu and other places to the south, and not a later campaign as Sahni and Francke proposed. Jonaraja and Shrivara, and all later historians of Kashmir, describe Zain-ul Abidin as a just, cultured and tolerant ruler. It is, therefore, no surprise that he should rescue a statue of the Buddha belonging to

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people whom he considered to be his subjects, rather than destroy it out of greed or religious intolerance. It is quite possible that all powerful rulers of Kashmir liked to consider the people of Ladakh to be their subjects, although we do not have the evidence to demonstrate this. Certainly, Zain-ul Abidin would have considered them so after his raid although, in practice, perhaps rather nominally. The usual Kashmiri name for all people of Tibetan culture living east of Zoji La was ‘Bhautta’ or ‘Bhutta’ (Stein 1989, vol. 2:408). Yavannas, in this context, were not Kashmiri Muslims, but Muslim Turks from north of Ladakh (Sadhu 1993:17), also known as Kashgaris or Yarkandis and in Tibetan as Hor. The essence of Jonaraja’s narrative, therefore, seems to be that he defeated an enemy in the “Gogga country”; won a second battle and then rescued a valuable image of the Buddha in “the country of Shaya” from Turkish raiders (the “yavanna”, who may also have been the people he defeated in the Gogga district); and destroyed the city of “Luta”. All three places were in the lands of the “Bhauttas”. Subsequent commentators have accepted that “Shaya” or “Sayadesa” is the country of Shey, or Upper Ladakh in modern usage. Francke believed that Shey itself was the original capital of Ladakh, but his evidence is open to question (N. Howard 1989:243-244) and there appear to be no building ruins of suitable antiquity on the hill there which today bears the temple, the castle and the remains of bDe ldan rnam rgyal’s palace. Vitali, on the basis of his investigation of the royal chronicles of Guge, believes that there was a continuous kingdom based at Shey throughout the 600 years following the accession of King dPal gyi mgon (Vitali 1996 passim). Whether this kingdom was coterminous with the territory known in the old texts as Mar yul and how that territory was related to the lands known then and now as Ladakh are further questions. All await resolution in the light of evidence yet to be discovered. However, the immediate district of Shey, stretching from Shey village to Ranbirpur, is rich in antiquities. The ruins of Rin chen bZang po’s monastery of Nyarma are here and the early Gelugpa monasteries of Tikse and sTag mo lha khang; and the desert floor is covered with stupas and the ruins of other religious structures whose form indicates that they were built during the period between, roughly, 1000 and 1500 AD (K. Howard 1995:61-78). It is the largest assemblage of such sacred buildings in Ladakh and only less impressive than the much smaller collection at Alchi because it is so very ruinous. We do not know from where the ‘yavannas’ attempted to steal the golden Buddha

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but the temples at Nyarma must have had such images and there must have been other rich temples in the neighbourhood too. The splendid endowments in this small area can only have been made under munificent royal patronage and an identification of ‘Saya-desa’ and ‘Sheya’ with the neighbourhood of modern Shey seems incontrovertible. Identifying the ‘Gogga country’ is more difficult. Stein points out that in Kashmiri pronunciation the sounds ‘O’ and ‘U’ are almost identical (Stein 1989, vol. 1, 3:73 and note) so “Gogga” could have been a rendering of Guge. This is an identification others, as well as Sahni and Francke, have accepted—for example Petech in his The Kingdom of Ladakh (1977:23). But more recently Petech has observed that “As the scene [of Zain-ul Abidin’s activity] is limited to the Ladakh [i.e. “Bhautta” or “Bhutta”] area, I would suggest an identification of Gogga with the ’Gog gold fields in or near Ruthog, mentioned twice in the Ladakh Chronicle” (Petech 1997a:244). There we read that Lha Chen dPal gyi mgon’s territory included “Ru thogs of the east and the gold mines of ’Gog”; and that among the conquests of King Seng ge rNam rgyal “Ru thog and the districts as far as the gold mines were brought under his sway” in addition to Purang and Guge. (Francke 1926:94, 110).5 The remote and desolate upland gold fields of ’Gog were exposed to attack by Turkish raiding parties, either from Yarkand via the Karakoram Pass and Pangong Lake or from Khotan across the Aksai Chin and the Linzhithang Plains.6 Raids must have happened often 5 Gold fields were visited and their positions located by Pandit explorers in the late 1860s and early 1870s. They lie approximately 120 miles south-east of Rudok and 90 miles north-east of Gartok but neither the district nor individual names of mines contain the place-name element ’Gog (Burrard 1915: 81, 112 and passim, and Chart 2). However, a common place-name element in these gold fields on the map is “Thok”, and Francke has suggested linguistic reasons why ’Gog might be identical with “Thok”, or as he spells it Thog (Francke 1926: 94-95). Strachey appears to be referring to the same gold fields on the basis of hearsay topographical information which he collected during his journey of exploration to Manasorawar in 1846. He, too, did not know the name element ‘Gog (Strachey 1848: 244, 548-549). Other gold fields were noted by Rawling east of Pangong Lakes and about two degrees of latitude north of those noted in Burrard; interestingly they are almost due south of Khotan (Rawling 1905: 225227, 418-424). 6 This route was surveyed from Khotan to Noh near Pangong Lake by the explorer Pandit Kishen Singh in 1874. Notwithstanding an average altitude of 5000 metres, he reported that it was a generally good road with plenty of fuel and grass. The total distance was 446 miles, comprising 21 stages (Burrard 1915: 149-158). At that time Kishen Singh’s journey and its results were secret but Drew briefly mentions

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but they rarely appear in the extant records. From one which does we learn that a Guge King bKra shis rtse in the 12th century died fighting Gar log (Qarluq) Turks there (Vitali 1996:566). Also, Mirza Haidar Dughlat may have been referring to these gold miners among others he included in his description of the “Champa of Mar-yul”; and his master, Sultan Said Khan appears to have planned his own raid on them from Khotan in 1532 while Mirza Haidar campaigned independently in Nubra (Elias and Ross 1895:411-412, 417, 420). The gold fields might have been raided by Turks on an almost annual basis, during this period at least. While some residual doubt must remain over the identification of the “Gogga country”, recognising the third place is still impossible. Sahni and Francke rendered the name “Kuluta”; Parmu followed them (1969:140); Hutchison and Vogel also accepted “Kuluta”. On the other hand, as we have seen, Dutt gave “Luta”, alternatively “Saluta town”; and Petech (perhaps from understandable caution) does not mention this place in either of his treatments of Zain-ul Abidin’s campaign in Ladakh (Petech 1977:23; 1997a:244). It is, of course, not impossible to raid Kulu from Ladakh—at least two kings of Ladakh did it successfully—but to campaign deep into the borderlands towards ’Gog (or even Guge), then to swing round into Kulu and finally to return to Kashmir across hundreds of miles of mountainous country and through hostile populations would have been a feat of military genius without parallel, not excluding from comparison the exploits of Mirza Haidar Dughlat or Zorawar Singh the Dogra. Kulu, the kingdom and its capital, must be rejected. What is the alternative? Mirza Haidar certainly did raid deep into Tibet, perhaps even into the country east of the Mayum La. His memoirs list the chief places he subjected. Two of them, apparently east of Guge, have names superficially resembling “Luta”; they are “Lu” and “Labuk”. The latter might be “Lanuk”, and if “Lanuk” is correct Tsho Lanak at Manasorawar may be intended (Elias and Ross 1895:410-411, 457); but none of the places he passed through east of Guge has been securely identified and therefore the route of Mirza Haidar’s campaign cannot be used to substantiate the proposition that Zain-ul Abidin also campaigned into the historic state of Guge. For

hearing from a Ladakhi that the passage from Khotan to Rudok via the Kwenlun and Lingzithang Plains, a variant on Kishen Singh’s route, took 20 days (Drew 1875: 350 and note). The Pandit explorer Nain Singh reported that the distance from Noh to Khotan was 450 miles by “a good road” (Trotter 1877: 90).

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the time being Mirza Haidar’s campaign is unhelpful to our present purposes. Dutt’s translation of Jonaraja clearly indicates that “Luta” is in the land of the “Bhauttas”, but there is no place in Ladakh today whose name resembles “Luta”, or “Saluta” or “Kuluta”. There are, however, some clues elsewhere which, taken with evidence which may be turned up in the future, suggest an intriguing and highly speculative possibility. Firstly, in 1715 the missionary Desideri recorded the name of Second Tibet as “Lhatà-yul” and its capital as “Lhe or Lhatà”, i.e. Leh (Wessels 1924:212-213; Desideri 1932:75-78). The use of the same name for both country and capital seems to have been quite common in the western Himalaya in the 19th century,7 and perhaps it was so earlier too. Desideri himself refers to Srinagar as “the city of Kascimir [Kashmir]” (Desideri 1932:74). It seems possible, therefore, that “Lhatà” is not a corruption or alternative name for Leh, but Desideri’s rendering of the word Ladakh as he heard it—today many Ladakhis pronounce the final KH so softly as to be almost inaudible, while the second ‘A’ is strongly emphasised. Desideri’s use of a grave accent seems intended to indicate the Ladakhi pronunciation (unless it is the editor’s interpolation?). He clearly used the name as an equally valid alternative for the name Leh, as he says: “On the 20th June 1715, we arrived at the city of Leh otherwise Lhatà.” If the reasoning is correct, his name for the whole country, “Lhatà-yul”, is a very close rendering of the Ladakhi-Tibetan La dvags yul. This argument should not yet be pushed too hard since Desideri’s companion Freyre records the name of Leh as both “Lê” and “Ladâka” (Desideri 1932:353); the circumflex accents over the E and the ‘A’ presumably indicate full-sounding vowels. Not too much can be made of this since Freyre wrote in Latin and these accents may be the work of the translator. However Freyre too accepts the country’s name as an alternative for the name of the capital city. On the other 7

See, for example, in Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, Vol. 19, 1850: 372-385: “Route from Kashmir, via Ladakh, to Yarkand, by Ahmad Shah Nakshahbandi. Translated from the Persian MS. by Mr. J. Dowson”, Nakshahbandi calls Srinagar “the city of Kashmir” and Leh “the city of Ladakh”. Cunningham calls Srinagar “the city of Kashmir” in one of his letters published as “Correspondence of the Commissioners deputed to the Tibetan Frontier, etc” (Cunningham 1848: 96); and I have seen this usage elsewhere in East India Company correspondence. John Walker’s Map of Kashmir, Ladakh and Little Tibet, [etc], chiefly from the surveys of G. T. Vigne, Esq.[and others], published by the East India Co. in 1846, plainly marks the town of Leh thus: “LADAK properly LEH”.

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hand, the earlier missionary, Azevedo, in 1631, records the town as “Lee” and the country as “Ladac” (Wessels 1924:108, 110, 304). Furthermore, some linguistic scholars have suggested that the older pronunciation of the name Ladakh was perhaps ‘Ladax’ (the full consonant cluster pronounced, as also can still be heard today; and see below) rather than ‘Lada’. None of these renditions contains a long ‘U’ sound; but in Desideri we do have two syllables ending in ‘TA’. More exact phonetic research may produce confirmatory results. A second curiosity is that Mirza Haidar, who seems usually to be reliable in his topographical record, lists “Ladaks” as part of “Balti”, and then lists “Balti” as one of the territories he subdued along with Zanskar, Maryul, Rudok, Guge, etc (Elias and Ross 1895:410-411). In other words, “Ladaks” was not, in his understanding, part of Mar yul. This might seem to be a simple mistake, were it not for the fact that in Deb ther dmar po gsar ma we find Ladakh given as a distinct kingdom: “From them the kings of Shel [Shey] in Mang yul [i.e. Mar yul8] and Nubra are descended and also those of Glo pa, La dags and Zangs dkar. These (last) five rulers honoured, in their heart, as their chaplains, only the dGe lugs pa” (Tucci 1971:169). The life of Pan chen bSod nams grags pa (1478-1554), the author of Deb ther dmar po gsar ma, spans the lifetime of Mirza Haidar. Almost a century later, in 1626, another Jesuit missionary, Antonio de Andrade, listed the component kingdoms of Tibet, including “the kingdom of Gogue [Guge] where we are, those of Ladac, Mariul (Mar yul)…… Rudoc (etc)” (Wessels 1924:70-71). Once again, Ladakh is understood to be separate from Mar yul.. Finally, in Inscription 7 at Alchi we read: “here at Alchi of Ladakh in Lower Mar yul of Upper Nga ri” (Snellgrove and Skorupski 1980:148). We cannot yet define the boundaries of a Ladakh which was distinct from Mar yul in the 16th century, if that was the case. To do so would involve a much clearer understanding than we have of the dynastic history of Ladakh (as we understand the name today) between the 10th and the 16th centuries9. One wonders if at that time people 8

Mang yul is a frequent variant on the name Mar yul, see for example Uray 1990: 220. There are several variant spellings of Mar yul. 9 It is now obvious that the La dvags rGyal rabs is quite unreliable for the first dynasty. The side-lights thrown on Ladakh by Vitali’s study of the mNga’ ris rGyal rabs indicate possibilities for a radically different interpretation of the history of Ladakh during these centuries; it is urgently needed. Reviewing Vitali’s study Petech has already made the same observation himself (Petech 1997b: 109).

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understood Shey, ‘Seya-desa’ and Mar yul to occupy the eastern, or upper, part of what is called Ladakh today10, and Ladakh and its chief place, Leh, to occupy the western, or lower. This is extremely speculative; but at least Leh must have had a much longer history than is recognised in the La dvags rGyal rabs. The numerous religious antiquities to be seen in the countryside around Leh suggest that it was already a place of importance in the first millennium and the early second millennium AD. As a well-watered desert grazing ground at a meeting of transmontane trading routes it might have been a more suitable site for a principal trade mart than the fertile oasis of Shey or the religious centre spread out over the sandy desert from there to Nyarma. There appears to have been a settlement of some importance at Leh in 1399 when the people of Leh rebelled against their ruler Khri bstan lde of Mar yul (Vitali 1996:491). It is perhaps at about that time that a King of Ladakh known to the La dvags rGyal rabs as Lha chen Khri gstug lde built a row of 108 stupas at Leh (and two more rows at Sabu). This is the first mention of Leh in the La dvags rGyal rabs; and the first thing we are told about Lha chen Khri gstug lde’s successor, Grags ’bum lde, is that he ruled from Leh, which must mean that his predecessors did not. If one were to guess the identity of Jonaraja’s “Luta”, one might propose Leh, possibly even then the chief place of Ladakh, in greater Mar yul but outside “Saya-desa”. Much evidence is still needed to support this suggestion. The date of Zain-ul Abidin’s raid and its place in the history of Ladakh Neither Jonaraja or Shrivara give the date of Zain-ul Abidin’s campaign. He came to the throne at the age of 19 and the latter part of his reign was marred by quarrels with his sons. On grounds of his youth and energy, as well as freedom from family distractions, the most likely period in which the Ladakh campaign took place was after his initial struggles to secure the throne and before he reached the age of 40, that is between the early 1420s and about 1440. Ferishta implies that the campaign took place close to the beginning of his reign (Briggs 1910:469); and Parmu follows him in placing it early, after the Sultan had sorted out the problems which immediately followed his accession (Parmu 1969:140). Petech at first suggested that he launched his raid immediately after his accession and that it 10 Petech comments “I think that the Mariul of the Jesuits corresponds more or less to parts of Upper Ladakh and Rupshu” (Petech 1977: 54 note 1).

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“happened during the reign of King Grags ’bum lde” of Ladakh (Petech 1977:23); later he suggested a date in the 1440s when it is well-known that parties of Hor (Turks) were raiding the gold fields of Rudok and elsewhere deeper inside Tibet (Petech 1997a:244). Vitali provides a good deal of information on the Turkish presence in Mar yul in the 1440s, even going so far as to suggest on linguistic grounds that the ruler of Lower Ladakh known to the La dvags rGyal rabs as Bha-ra was himself a Turk (Vitali 1996:514-516). But there is no documentary evidence to involve Zain-ul Abidin in the tumults of this particular decade, and on a priori grounds it looks a bit too late. We have too little information at present to pursue this interesting question further. Both Francke and Petech believed that Zain-ul Abidin’s raid occurred during the reign of King Grags ’bum lde of Ladakh because both believed that he was ruling during the 1420s and 1430s. Francke gives no reason for his belief; but Petech notes the statement in the La dvags rGyal rabs that the king received an image of Amitayus from Tsong kha pa “made from the blood of his nose”, and sent in the care of two ascetics (Francke 1926:99), and he concludes that “as a tentative dating we may suggest c.1410-1435” as the period of his reign since Tsong kha pa died in 1419 (Petech 1977:22). More recently however a Ladakhi scholar has pointed out that Tsong kha pa would not have made such an image with his own blood “because traditionally no Tibetan Lama would openly represent himself as holy. Of course, having great faith in Tsong kha pa and in the Buddha, his disciples could make such a holy object and send it to a pious Buddhist [king]” - presumably after Tsong kha pa’s death. He argues that the emissaries were in fact those sent by dGe ’dun grub dpal bzang po (posthumously recognised as the First Dalai Lama) to collect contributions towards the building of Tashilhunpo monastery who returned with a large turquoise given by a King of mNga’ ris named Jo bo Grags ’bum lde. The date of their return is 1461 (Losang Jamspal 1997:141, referring to the biography of dGe ’dun grub dpal bzang po). The king, he assumed on the basis of present knowledge, was Grags ’bum lde of Ladakh (see also Vitali 1996:517) although it is not explained why it is stated in the biography that he was a king of mNga’ ris (Guge, etc, in western Tibet), not of Mar yul or Ladakh.11 Was the meaning that he

11 I am very grateful to Dr. Joan Kutcher for allowing me to read her unpublished English translation of dGe ’dun grub rnam thar.

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was one of several kings of the countries of mNga ’ris which is sometimes taken, in the widest sense, to include Ladakh? Thus we have two quite different dates proposed for this important event in the reign of King Grags ’bum lde. If we were to suppose that he did, in fact, receive an image from Tsong kha pa himself and then four decades later send a turquoise to dGe ’dun grub pa he must have had a very long reign—not impossible, but unlikely. If we accept Losang Jamspal’s interpretation as the true one then we must recognise that the reign of Grags ’bum lde took place a generation or more after the period proposed by Petech. The choice is difficult to make; the entry for the king in the La dvags rGyal rabs contains no dates, and no independent source provides us with a date for any event recorded there. However, a close study of the King’s achievements and the events of his reign listed in the La dvags rGyal rabs leads to some potentially useful observations. They are, in their given sequence: he ‘held’ (i.e. ruled in) Leh; he built the Red Monastery with fine images of Maitreya, ’Jam dbyangs and Phyag na rdo rje, and fresco paintings; he built a triple temple on the pattern of that at Tholing; he had sacred texts copied; he built Tiseru stupa; he settled and endowed four lamas in a community on a crag resembling an elephant. “Then he said, ‘If I die now, it matters not.’” Tsong kha pa sent two ascetics with an image of Amitayus Buddha made of his own blood, to be given to “Grags pa, or the one called Lde.” The ascetics went first to Grags pa in Nubra who refused to receive them, so they went to Leh and were received by Grags ’bum lde, and they gave him the image. Inspired by the gift, he (re-)built Spitok gonpa. “Having built it, he caused many brotherhoods of lamas to settle [in the country]” (Francke 1926:99100). Tradition in Leh identifies the Red Monastery with the large red temple below the royal palace at Leh, next to the white Avaloketeshvara Temple; but the present structure is not the original: it was rebuilt in the 1950s (Snellgrove and Skorupski 1977:102). The triple temple has not been identified. Neither temple, therefore, can provide us with evidence, such as inscriptions, to help us date them precisely. Tiseru stupa has been excavated and partially rebuilt by the Archaeological Survey in recent years but the published reports on that work do not mention any inscriptions or other evidence of precise date. The crag resembling an elephant on which the brotherhood of four lamas was settled is described in the La dvags rGyal rabs as being “in the lower part of the Leh valley” and Francke suggested an

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identification with Glan chen dgon pa in the Dgar ba (Skara) suburb of Leh (Francke 1926:99-100). However, there seems to be a tradition in Leh that the crag is the hill on which Spituk monastery stands (Kaul and Kaul 1992:44), in fulfilment of a prophesy of Tsong kha pa (Vitali 1996 note 899). We will return to this point. Grags ’bum lde is the first king we know of who ruled from Leh, and his munificent building works and other endowments suggest both a desire to add magnificence to the new capital and a religious zeal inspired by the new doctrines of the reformer Tsong kha pa. The story of the Amitayus relic was probably included in the rGyal rabs to explain his motivation and is usually taken to suggest that he was the first royal patron of the reformer’s doctrines in Ladakh/Mar yul. Two great Gelugpa teachers are known to have worked in Ladakh and either might have converted the King to the new doctrines; they are Byang sems Shes rab bzang po of sTod and gSang phu ba Lha dbang blo gros. Neither is mentioned in the La dvags rGyal rabs. Shes rab bzang po was a pupil of Tsong kha pa. The dates of his life and death appear to be unrecorded but he was teaching in Guge with another pupil, named Ngag dbang grags pa, who converted the royal family there to the Gelugpa sect earlier than 1424, the year his patron, King rNam rgyal lde of Guge, abdicated (Vitali 1999:37-38). Ngag dbang grags pa was appointed Abbot of Tholing monastery, refurbished it, and may still have been at work in the third quarter of the century. It is not known when Shes rab bzang po returned to his homeland, Ladakh; but once there he founded the temple of sTag mo lha khang north of Tikse and established Gelugpa teaching in Nubra and Zanskar. His nephew dPal ldan shes rab (another pupil of Tsong kha pa) founded Tikse monastery. We have no dates for any of this, but building work is known to have been going on at Tikse in 1447 (Panglung 1983:284).12 Petech offers direct evidence that he was in Mar yul in the 1440s (Petech 1977:168). For want of any better information, we may assume that his most active period of life was the second quarter of that century and that he may have died early in the third. If his (unknown) royal patron in Ladakh was, in fact, King Grags 12

Panglung, quoting from Khri tshogs Tshul khrims rnam par dag pa’i gling gi mkhan brgyud rnam ther dad pa’i rgyan chog (a history of the abbots of Tikse monastery in Ladakh) by Blo bzang bzod pa (1976: 14a4-6, published in Thimpu), says that “building timber, such as balconies and so forth, the ruins of Nyarma, destroyed by flooding and the effects of war” (and hence abandoned) were used in the building of the ’Du khang dkar mo of Tikse in 1447; and that in doing so they removed the remaining ceilings and exposed the buildings to hundreds of years of weathering. At least some of the warfare must have involved the marauding Turks.

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’bum lde, we may have a pointer to a reign a little later than Petech’s suggested dates. But we would also have a problem in that the foundation of Tikse monastery is not mentioned in the La dvags rGyal rabs. Surely, if Grags ’bum lde had been ruling both upper and lower Ladakh when it was being built, he would have been its patron? gSang phu ba Lha dbang blo gros was not a pupil of Tsong kha pa, but of his pupil mKhas grub rje (1385-1438). He was instructed to undertake missionary work in Ladakh/Mar yul by Ngag dbang grags pa, and was active at Tabo in the third quarter of the century (Vitali 1996:notes 896, 898, 899). He therefore belongs to the next generation of teachers. The Vaidurya Serpo tells us that in Ladakh the patron of Lha dbang blo gros was King Blo gros mchog ldan (successor of Grags ’bum lde) who sent considerable financial assistance to dGe ’dun grub dpal bzang po (1391-1475) for his work in Central Tibet.13 The same source tells us that he was the re-builder of Spituk monastery for the Gelugpas; but Ladakhi tradition maintains that that work was carried out during the reign of King Grags ’bum lde and that the Amitayus relic which the King received is kept inside a statue of the Buddha there (Thupstan Paldan 1982:15).14 It would be not unreasonable to guess that the building work was spread over both reigns. Ladakhi tradition also suggests that the unnamed crag resembling an elephant “in the lower part of the Leh valley” below which the King established a brotherhood of four lamas (according to the La dvags rGyal rabs) was, in fact, the hill on which Spituk monastery stands. In Guge, Ngag dbang grags pa told Lha dbang blo gros “The people you have to tame are in Mang yul La dwags. There is a mountain looking like an elephant facing to the south and having its trunk turning to the left. This mountain is to the right of where Sengge kha ’babs [Indus River] flows. Here there is a monastery called Thob [Spituk]…..As rgyal po Grags pa ’bum lde was the sponsor, he put his subjects (to work). The chos sde formerly built by chos rgyal ’Od lde was renovated and expanded” (Vitali 1996: note 899, quoting Thupstan Paldan’s dPe thub dgon dga ldan dar rgyas gling chags rabs kun gsal me long, Leh 1990). This is

13 Losang Jamspal interprets the passage in Vaidurya Serpo to mean that the assistance was sent to dGe ’dun grub pa’s reincarnation and successor (Losang Jamspal 1997: 142-144). Whatever the true interpretation should be, it need not affect the tentative indications for chronology proposed here. 14 However Thupstan Paldan believed that the image was given by Tsong kha pa himself.

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geographically correct, both when looking from the east and insofar as Spituk stands on the true right bank of the Indus. If Lha dbang blo gros was the teacher who inspired King Grags ’bum lde we have a pointer to a later dating of his reign. Several pieces of circumstantial evidence may lend support to this suggestion. In Guge, Lha dbang blo gros re-built the gSer khang (temple) at Tholing (Vitali 1999:129). It had three upper storeys, each of smaller floor area than the one below and each surrounded by external pillared galleries; and beneath the lowest was a cubical base containing a fourth temple room. Its appearance was quite different from standard multi-storey Tibetan temples, being somewhat reminiscent of (but very different in detail from) Newari temples in Nepal or wooden multi-storey temples in Himachal Pradesh. Some descriptions have stated that it was a three-storey temple but Vitali demonstrates that it had four, although allowing that its appearance might have misled observers into thinking that the lowest room was merely a solid base. One wonders if King Grags ’bum lde’s “triple temple on the pattern of the one at Tholing” might have been something similar. There were several three-storey temples in the usual Tibetan style at Tholing, but this was the only one so visually distinct that a Ladakhi writer might expect his readers to recognise the significance of his reference to Tholing. Tiseru stupa may provide another circumstantial clue. This enormous structure is the only one of its kind ever built in Ladakh, as far as we know. Its nearest surviving equivalents are the very large stupas in western Central Tibet: Riwoche (Ri bo che), rGyang and Jo nang stupas, and the rGyantse sKu’ bum bkra shis sgo mang. Riwoche was built between 1449 and 1456; rGyang in the early 15th century; Jo-nang a century earlier; and the rGyantse sKu’ bum between 1427 c.1440 (Vitali 1990:123-136; Ricca and LoBue 1993:25-31). Riwoche stupa was built by gTsang stong rgyal po; he may also have worked on the rGyang stupa as a young man, and he claimed to be a reincarnation of Dol po pa Shes rab rgyal mtshan, the founder of the Jo nang stupa (Vitali 1990:127 quoting his rnam thar). gTsang stong rgyal po visited Ladakh in 1459 (Vitali 1996:515 and note 873, again quoting his rnam thar). mKhas grub rje worked at rGyantse until 1431, and Lha dbang blo gros was his pupil. Either gTsang stong rgyal po or Lha dbang blo gros could have suggested the idea of building a great stupa at Tiseru to King Grags ’bum lde. gTsang stong rgyal po provides us with another line of evidence. While he was in Ladakh he “settled the dispute between the kings of Mar yul stod sma [upper and lower] by making prophesies and performing miracles”; and “imparted Ma ni’i lung [teachings] at

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about sixty settlements of the sTod Hor who had invaded the estates in Mar yul” (Vitali: as above). Again, the La dvags rGyal rabs makes no mention of this dispute; but there are two possibilities. At this time the kings of upper and lower Mar yul may have been Grags ’bum lde and an unknown Turkish chieftain (Bha-ra of the rGyal rabs?), respectively. On the other hand, there is in Ladakh a tradition that King Grags ’bum lde’s younger brother Grags pa ’bum took lower Ladakh for his own kingdom by a deceitful manoeuvre through Nubra and the threat of force. Grags ’bum lde acquiesced in a situation he could do nothing about. (Kaul and Kaul 1992:44; Shakspo 1993:114). At least, the rGyal rabs does tell us that Grags pa ’bum was in Nubra when he gave the emissaries with the Amitayus image a curiously churlish reception, and so they came to King Grags ’bum lde. Conclusion There is, at least, sufficient evidence to persuade us that we should consider the possibility that the immensely productive reign of King Grags ’bum lde began sometime before, and continued beyond, 1461. The foregoing discussion illustrates the magnitude of the problem and suggests lines of enquiry, any one of which might provide means for a new and more accurate dating; but we await the discovery of more sources. For the purposes of the present discussion, it must remain an open question whether he was the ruler of Ladakh or Mar yul when Zain-ul Abidin carried out his raid.15 However if the golden Buddha image which was rescued by the Sultan was at Nyarma, then his raid cannot have taken place later than the early 1440s.

15 He was, I have suggested elsewhere, a builder of strong forts which would have strengthened his defences greatly (N. Howard1989:256). Only the context that I suggested previously might now have to be changed. If it is accepted that Grags ’bum lde was reigning at some time between the late 1440s and the late 1460s, and that Zain-ul Abidin’s raid took place some decades earlier, then the enemy who inspired his programme of fortification might have been primarily the Turks rather than the rulers of Kashmir.

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Briggs, J. 1910. History of the Rise of Mahomedan Power in India till the year 1612. From the Persian of Mahomed Kasim Ferishta. Calcutta. Burrard, S. G. 1915. “Exploration in Tibet and the neighbouring regions 1865-1879.” Records of the Survey of India, Vol. 8 (in two parts): Part 1. Dehra Dun. Cunningham, A. 1848. “Correspondence of the Commissioners Deputed to the Tibetan Frontier; Communicated by H. M. Elliot, Esq., Secretary to the Government of India, Foreign Department.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 18, Part 1 (January to June 1848), pp. 89-132. Calcutta. Desideri. I. 1932. An Account of Tibet. Edited by F. de Filippi. London. Drew, F. 1875. The Jummu and Kashmir Territories. A Geographical Account. London. Dutt, J. C. 1898. See Sadhu, S. L. 1993. Elias, N. and E. Denison Ross. 1895. The Tarikh-i-Rashidi of Mirza Muhammad Haidar, Dughlat. London. Francke, A. H. 1926. Antiquities of Indian Tibet, Part 2, pp. 19-148. Reprint ed.: New Delhi: S. Chand and Co. 1972. Calcutta. Contains La-dvags rGyal-rabs. Howard, K. 1995. “Archaeological Notes on mChod-rten Types in Ladakh and Zanskar from the 11th to 15th Centuries.” In Recent Research on Ladakh 4 and 5:6178. Edited by H. Osmaston and P. Denwood. London: School of Oriental and African Studies. Howard, N. 1989. “The Development of the Fortresses of Ladakh c.950-1650.” East and West 39, Nos. 1-4 (December 1989): 217-288. Rome: Is.M.E.O. Howard, N. 1995. “The Fortified Places of Upper Kulu, Pt. 1”. South Asian Studies 11:107-120. London and New Delhi. Howard, N. 1997. “What happened between 1450 and 1550 AD? and other Questions from the History of Ladakh.” Recent Research on Ladakh 6:121-138. Edited by H. Osmaston and Nawang Tsering. Bristol: University of Bristol. Hutchison, J. and J. Ph. Vogel. 1933. History of the Panjab Hill States. Lahore. Kaul, S. and H. N. Kaul. 1992. Ladakh through the Ages. New Delhi: Indus Publishing Company. Klimburg-Salter, D. 1994. “Tucci Himalayan Archives Report, 2. The 1991 Expedition to Himachal Pradesh.” East and West 44, No.1 (March 1994):13-82. Rome: Is.M.E.O. Luczanits, C. 1994. “Another Rin chen bzang po Temple?” East and West 44 No. 1 (March 1994):83-98 Rome: Is.M.E.O. Lozang Jamspal. 1997. “The Five Royal Patrons and Three Maitreya Images in Basgo.” Recent Research on Ladakh 6:139-158. Edited by H. Osmaston and Nawang Tsering. Bristol: University of Bristol. Panglung, J. L. 1983. “Die Überreste des Klosters Nyar-ma in Ladakh.” Contributions on Tibetan Language, History and Culture: 281-287. Edited by E. Steinkellner and H. Tauscher. Proceedings of the Csoma de KIJrös Symposium held at Velm-Vienna, Austria, 13-19 September 1981. Vol.1. Vienna: Universität Wien. Parmu, R. K. 1969. A History of Muslim Rule in Kashmir 1320-1819. New Delhi. Petech, L. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh c.950-1842 AD. Rome: Is.M.E.O. Petech, L. 1997a. “Western Tibet: Historical Introduction.” In Tabo, a Lamp for the Kingdom:229-255. Edited by. D. Klimburg-Salter. Milan: Skira.

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Petech, L. 1997b. “A Regional Chronicle of Gu ge pu hrang”. Tibet Journal 21, No. 3, pp. 106-111. Dharamsala. Rawling, C. G. 1905. “Exploration of Western Tibet and Rudok.” Geographical Journal 25 ( January-June 1905), pp. 225-227; 415-424. London. Ricca, F. and E. Lo Bue. 1993. The Great Stupa of Gyantse. London: Serindia Publications. Sadhu, S. L. (Ed.) 1993. Medieval Kashmir. Being a Reprint of the Rajataranginis of Jonaraja, Shrivara and Shuka, as Translated into English by J. C. Dutt and Published in 1898 under the Title “Kings of Kashmira.” Vol. III. New Delhi: Atlantic Publishers and Distributors. Sahni, Pandit D. R. and A. H. Francke. 1908. “References to the Bhottas or Bhauttas in the Rajatarangini of Kashmir.” Indian Antiquary 37:188-192. Bombay. Schuh, D. 1983, “Historische Documente aus Zangs-dkar.” Archiv fur Zentral-asiatische Geschichtsforschung. Heft 1-6. Germany: Sankt Augustin. Shakspo N. T. 1993. An Insight into Ladakh. Leh: by the author. Snellgrove, D. L. and T. Skorupski. 1980. The Cultural Heritage of Ladakh. Vol. 2. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Stein, M. A. 1989 (1900), Kalhana’s Rajatarangini. A Chronicle of the Kings of Kashmir. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidas (reprint). Strachey, H. 1848. “Narrative of a Journey to Cho Lagan (Rakas Tal), Cho Mapan (Manasarowar), and the valley of Purang in Gnari, Hundes, in September and October 1846.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 17, Part 2 (July to December 1848). Calcutta. Thupstan Paldan. 1982. A Guide to the Buddhist Monasteries and Royal Castles of Ladakh. Leh. Tobden. 1984. History and Religions of Lahul. New Delhi: Books Today. Trotter, Capt. H. 1877. “Account of the Pundit’s Journey from Leh in Ladakh to Lhasa, and of his Return to India via Assam.” Journal of the Royal Geographical Society 47.London. Also reprinted in Burrard 1915, above. Tucci, G. (trans. and ed.). 1971. Deb-t’er dmar-po gsar-ma. Tibetan Chronicles by bSod-nams grags-pa. Vol. 1. Rome: Is.M.E.O. Uray, G. 1990. “The Old name of Ladakh.” Acta Orientalia Scientiarum Hungarica, 44, Nos.1-2, pp. 217-224. Budapest: Akademiai Kiado. Vitali, R. 1990. Early Temples of Central Tibet. London: Serindia Publications. Vitali, R. 1996. The Kingdoms of Gu-ge Pu-hrang, according to the mNga’-ris rgyal-rabs by Gu-ge mkhan-chen Ngag-dban grags-pa. Dharamsala: Tho ling gtsug lag khang, etc. Vitali, R. 1999. Records of Tho-ling. Dharamsala: High Asia. Wessels, C. 1924. Early Jesuit Travellers in Central Asia 1603-1721. The Hague, Netherlands; reprint: New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1992.

MUGHAL SOURCES ON MEDIEVAL LADAKH, BALTISTAN AND WESTERN TIBET JIGAR MOHAMMED Throughout its recorded history Ladakh has had close cultural links with Central Asia. These links intensified in the early 16th century when Ladakh experienced a series of invasions from the north. Later in the 16th and 17th centuries, the region came into contact with the expanding Mughal Empire whose rulers themselves came to India from Central Asia. This paper reviews four Mughal sources for the history of Ladakh and its relations with neighbouring regions: x The Tarikh-i-Rashidi was written in Persian by Mirza Haidar Dughlat, whose military forces occupied Ladakh from 1532 to 1536. It was translated into English by E. Dennison Ross and edited by Ney Elias (the former British Joint Commissioner in Ladakh) in 1895. x A second Persian work, the Ain-i-Akbari was composed by Abul Fazl, who served at the court of the Mughal Emperor Akbar for many years until his death in 1602: it gives information both on the Empire’s internal affairs and on its relations with its neighbours. x The Shahjahan Nama was written in the mid-17th century by Inayat Khan, the Royal Librarian at the court of the Emperor Shahjahan, and discusses military and political relations between Mughal Kashmir and Baltistan and Ladakh. x Finally, the travel accounts of François Bernier, a Frenchman who lived in India from 1656 to 1668, describe the visit of a Ladakhi embassy to Kashmir during the reign of the Emperor Aurangzeb. Originally written in French, Bernier’s work was translated into English in the late 19th century. These works are important sources for the history of Ladakh for two main reasons. First, they give the Mughal view of political and military relations with Ladakh in the 16th and 17th centuries. Secondly, they provide an external perspective on the region’s economic and social affairs.

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Mirza Haidar Dughlat’s Tarikh-i-Rashidi Mirza Haidar Dughlat, a relative of the Mughal Emperor Babur, was born in Tashkent. His father, Muhammad Husain Kenkan, was governor of Shash (the capital of Tashkent), but was assassinated by Uzbek leader Shaibani Khan in 1508. In 1514 Mirza Haidar entered the service of Sultan Said Khan, the ruler of Kashgar, and in 1532 joined forces with his master in a military expedition across the Karakoram, first to Nubra and subsequently to the rest of Ladakh and Western Tibet. For Mirza Haidar, all these regions were part of ‘Tibet’: Persian-language sources of the Mughal period generally use the terms Tibet-i-Kalan or Tibet-i-Buzur (Great Tibet) for Ladakh and Tibet-i-Khurd, (Little Tibet) for Baltistan.1 Mirza Haidar was not only a courageous military leader: he also took a keen interest in the lives and beliefs of the people he conquered. He recorded his adventures in a historical narrative, the Tarikh-i-Rashidi.2 Mirza Haidar claims that religious objectives inspired his expeditions to Ladakh and Tibet: Previous to this, the Khan’s Amirs had frequently invaded and plundered that country [Ladakh], but on account of their ignorance and folly, Islám had made no progress, and there were still numberless infidels in Tibet, besides those whom the Amirs had subdued. The Khan had always been animated by a desire to carry on holy wars in the path of God, and especially so now that he had just assumed the saintly ways of the Khwájas. He was always ready to devote himself to the cause of the faith, and felt that the holy war was one of the surest roads to salvation and union with God. Prompted by such pious feelings as these, at the end of the year 938 [hijri] he set out to invade Tibet (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 403)

The Mirza reports that the forces led by Sultan Said Khan and himself were relatively small: At the outset of his expedition (the Khán) knew that Tibet was no place for a large army. Five thousand men had been fixed [as the number], 3000 belonged to the Khán’s army and 2000 to mine (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 421).

1 More recent Urdu-language authors such as Hashmatullah Khan (1939) have used the same terminology. 2 For a discussion of the Tarikh-i-Rashidi in relation to Ladakhi and Tibetan sources see Petech (1939:119-127; 1977:25-27). The La dvags rgyal rabs chronicle does not mention Mirza Haidar, but there is a reference to him in the Zangskar chronicle (Francke 1926:158-159). Ed.

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During this period, Ladakh was divided into a number of small, loosely affiliated principalities. The common people of Nubra were mainly unarmed, and therefore gave little resistance. However, the ruler of Nubra decided to fight the Mughal forces: The Mirza reports: I set out in Zulhijja of the aforesaid year [1532], and in the beginning of Safar, reached Nubra, a dependent province of Tibet. I then sent a person all over that country to greet the people with a general invitation. … The greater number submitted, but not the chiefs of Nubra, who were refractory and rebellious, and retired to their castles and forts. A certain man named Bur Kápá, who was at the head of the chiefs of the infidels, strengthened himself within the castles of Mutadár, which is the chief fort of the country. I laid siege to this fort, and was some days employed in making ready the siege implements, such as catapults, shields [turá] etc. On the appointed day I approached the fort, and the talons of Islam seizing the lands of infidelity, the enemy were thrown into disorder and routed. Having deserted the fort, they fled in confusion and dismay…Bur Kápá was slain together with all his men; their heads formed a lofty minaret… Thenceforth no one dared to offer resistance. Having thus reduced the whole province of Nubra, a garrison was placed in the fort and order established (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 417-418).

Said Khan died in 1533, and Mirza Haidar was thereafter forced to act independently, without any back-up from Kashgar. From Nubra, he entered Maryul (i.e. the Indus valley) and did not face any resistance there. According to him, there were two rulers in Maryul. One was known as Lata Jushdán, and the other Tashikun.3 Both submitted without any armed struggle (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 418). Mirza Haidar then turned to Tibet proper, reaching within eight days of Lhasa. However, he was forced to withdraw—as much because of the weather as because of Tibetan resistance. He remained in Ladakh until 1536. Besides describing his invasion, the Mirza devotes a special chapter to Ladakh’s geographical features, its cultural and economic life and some aspects of its religion. For example, he noted the importance of the region’s passes for both trade and military purposes: The pass ascending from Yarkand is the pass of Sánju, and the pass descending on the side of Kashmir is the pass of Askárdu [Skardu]. 3 Petech (1977:26-27) suggests that ‘Tashikun’ transcribes ‘bKra-shis-mgon’, and thinks that he may have been a semi-independent ruler of Upper Ladakh. He suggests that Lata Jughdán may have been the ruler of the main portion of Ladakh between c.1510 and 1535. Howard (1996) presents alternative interpretations. Ed.

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JIGAR MOHAMMED [From the Saanju Pass to the Askárdu pass] is twenty days’ journey (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 405).

He notes that Yarkand, Khotan, Charchan, Lob, Katak, and Sarigh Ulghur were situated to the north-east of ‘Tibet’. Similarly, he describes the routes from Ladakh to other parts of India: In the direction of winter sunset from Khotan, are some of the cities of Hind, such as Láhur [Lahore], Sultánpur, and Bájwára, and the aforementioned mountain range lies between. Between Khotan and towns of Hind above-named are situated Arduk, Guga, and Aspati, which belong to Tibet; and it must be supposed that these mountains extend into Khitái. On the west and south of the range lies Hindustán; while Bhira, Lahur and Bangalá are all on the skirts of it. All the rivers of Hind flow down from these hills, and their sources are in the country of Tibet (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 405-406).

Mirza Haidar presents a gloomy picture of the crops cultivated in Ladakh: On account [of the height] Tibet is excessively cold—so much so that in most places nothing but turnips can be cultivated. The barley is generally of a kind that ripens in two months. In some parts of Tibet, the summer only lasts for forty days, and even then the rivers are often frozen over after midnight. In all Tibet, in consequence of the severity of cold, trees never reach any height; nor does the corn, for, being low on the ground, it is trodden down by the cattle (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 407).

Mirza Haidar divides the inhabitants of Ladakh and Tibet into two categories: Yulpa, who resided in the villages; and Champa, who were nomads and lived in the desert. A large part of Ladakh and Baltistan was inhabited by the Yulpa: …they (Yulpa) inhabited many districts such as Balti, which is a province of Tibet; Balti, in turn, comprises several (smaller) districts such as Purik, Khapula, Askardu (Runk) and Ladaks and each of these contains fortresses and villages (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 408)

Mirza Haidar’s description of the Champas includes their food habits, means of livelihood, their places of migration and their use of sheep as a means of transport: The inhabitants of the desert [nomads] of Tibet have certain strange practices, which are to be met with among no other people. Firstly, they eat meat and all other foods in an absolutely raw state, having no knowledge of cooking. Again they feed their horses on flesh instead of grain. They also use sheep exclusively, as beasts of burden. Their sheep carry, perhaps, twelve statute man. They harness them with pack

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saddles, halters, and girths; they place the load upon the sheep, and except when necessary, never take it off, so that summer and winter it remains on the animal’s pack (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 405)

As the editor of the Tarikh-i-Rashidi notes, this observation is misleading: the Champa may eat meat raw in the winter when it is frozen hard, but usually cook it after a fashion (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 407, n.2). Continuing his narrative, Mirza Haidar mentions that the Dulpa, a Champa tribe, alone numbered more than 50,000 families. He highlights the nature and objectives of the Champas’ migration: In winter they [Champa] descend towards the western and southern slopes of the aforesaid mountains—that is to say, to Hindustan—taking with them wares of Khitái, salt, cloth of goats’ hair (tana-kâr), zedoary [an aromatic root], kutás [yaks], gold and shawls which are Tibetan goods. They trade in Hindustán and in the mountains of Hindustán, and in the spring they return from that country, bringing many of the products such as cloths, sweets, rice and grain, loaded upon their sheep. After feeding their flocks, they advance slowly but continuously into Khitái which they reach in winter. Having laid in a stock, during spring, of such Tibetan products as are in demand in Khitái, they depose of the Indian and Tibetan goods there in winter and return to Tibet in the [following] spring, carrying with them Khitái wares. The next winter they again go on to India. The burdens which they load on the sheep in Hindustán are removed in Khitái and those put in Khitái are taken off in Hindustán. Thus they spend their winters alternately in Hindustán and Khitái. This is the mode of life of all the Champa. A Champa will sometimes carry as many as 1000 sheep loads, and every sheep load may be reckoned at twelve man. What an enormous quantity is this! That amount is loaded in one year, either in Hindustán or in Khitái. On every occasion wherever they go, they take all these loads with them. I have never heard of a similar practice among any other people. In fact, some do not even credit this story (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 408-409)

Mirza Haidar describes gold extraction as an important economic activity, generating income for both the ruling class and the common people. Other Mughal sources mention the extraction of gold through panning river silt (see below), but Mirza Haidar refers only to gold mines, most of which were in the Champa districts. One of the gold mines was called Altunji (or ‘Goldsmith’) by the Mughals. The people also extracted gold from some of the caves of Ladakh and Tibet. Mirza Haidar found 300 families living in these caves: Out of these caves they [people living in these caves] bring soil, which they wash and (the responsibility be upon those who tell this story) it is

152

JIGAR MOHAMMED said that in one sieve of the soil from these mines ten mithkáls of gold are sometimes found. One man digs the earth, carries it out and washes it by himself. Some days he sorts twenty sieves full. Although this may appear incredible, I have heard it confirmed all over Tibet (Tarikh-iRashidi: 411).

He was informed that Guga (Guge in western Tibet) was the most important centre of gold production: Guga has two hundred forts and villages. It is three days’ journey in length, and in it gold is everywhere to be found. Whenever they dig up the earth and spread it on a cloth, they find gold. The smallest pieces are about the size of a lentil (adas) or pea (másh), and they say that sometimes [lumps] are found as large as a sheep’s liver. At the time when I was settling tribute upon Guga, the headman related to me that a man was lately digging a piece of ground, when his spade stuck fast in something so that he could not, with all his efforts, draw it out. Having removed the earth, he saw that it was a stone, in the middle of which was gold; in this his spade had become fixed. Leaving the spade where it was, he went and informed the governor. A body of men went to the spot and extracted it, and having broken the stone and found in it, 1500 Tibetan mithkáls pure (mohri) gold (a Tibetan mithkál is worth one and a half ordinary mithkál), and God has so created this soil that when the gold is taken from the ground it does not diminish (in bulk), however much they beat it out and stamp it; it is only fire that has effect on it (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 411-412).

Mirza Haidar describes ‘breath-seizing disease’ (altitude sickness) as the most dangerous problem of Ladakh (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 412-413). According to him, it was called dam-giri and the Mughal called it Yas. The breath-seizing attacked the people severely where the population was very thin, whereas in the vicinity of forts and villages it had less effect. It mostly attacked the non-Ladakhi or non-Tibetans. Local people—even local doctors—did not know the cause of disease because they did not suffer from it. Mirza Haidar further mentions that animals—particularly horses—were more prone to dam-giri than men. Once either men or animals caught the disease, there was no remedy. Although Mirza Haidar appeals to religious motives to justify his invasion, he takes an interest in the religious practices of Ladakh. He mentions that the men of learning (ulema) were called lamas and he had long conversations with them with the help of an interpreter. He reports that the main thrust of the teachings of the lamas was to tell the people that the God existed in everything. They also taught the people the concept of heaven and hell, and believed in the

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transmigration of the soul. The Mirza describes these as the tenets of the religion of Shakiá Muni (Sakyamuni). He writes: All Khitái is of this faith and they call it the religion of Shakiá Muni, while in Tibet it is called Shaká Tu Ba and Shaká Muni. In histories it is written Shakiá Muni. In some histories Shaka Muni is reckoned among the prophets of India, and some hold that he was a teacher [hakim]. Also it is maintained that no one goes to Heaven by the mere acceptance of the faith and religion, but only in consequence of his works. If a Musalmán performs good acts, he goes to Heaven, if he does evil, he goes to Hell. This also applies to [these] infidels. They hold the Prophet in high esteem, but they do not consider it an incumbent duty of the whole of mankind to follow his religion. They say “Your religion is true, and so is ours. In every religion one must conduct oneself well. Shakiá Muni has said: after me there will arise 124,000 prophets, the last who will be called Jána Kasapa, an orphan, without father and mother. All the world will comprehend his religion” (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 415-416).

The Mirza adds that the image of Janá Kasapa was kept in almost every temple. He then gives a very vivid description of yaks, referring to them as kutás: This [kutás] is a very wild and ferocious beast. In whatever manner it attacks one it proves fatal; whether it strikes with its horns, or kick, or overthrow its victim. If it has no opportunity of doing any of these things, it tosses its enemy with its tongue, twenty gaz into the air, and he is dead before reaching the ground. One male [kutás] is a load for twelve horses. One man cannot possibly raise a shoulder of the animal. In the days of my forays (kazaki) I killed a kutás and divided it among seventy persons, when each had sufficient flesh for four days. The animal is not to be met outside the country of Tibet (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 416-417).

After giving a long description of the history and culture of Ladakh, Mirza Haidar turns briefly to Baltistan, which he calls ‘Balti’ or, as noted above, Tibet-i-Khurd. His conquest of Baltistan was relatively easy: there was no Dam-giri in Baltistan, and no passes to be traversed. His patron succeeded in getting the support of Bahram Cho, one of the chiefs of Baltistan. With his help he captured the fort of Shigar (Tarikh-i-Rashidi: 422). In 1536 Mirza Haidar left Ladakh altogether for Badakhshan (Afghanistan). He subsequently established control over Kashmir, which he ruled from 1540. In 1545 and 1548, he launched two more invasions of Ladakh and Baltistan and appointed governors for both regions. However, it is not clear how far their authority actually extended, and it lapsed altogether after Mirza Haidar’s death in 1551.

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The Ain-i-Akbari The Ain-i-Akbari is another important 16th century Mughal source containing material on Ladakh. It was written in Persian by Abul Fazl in 1595, and later translated into English by H. Blochmann and Colonel H.S. Jarret. Abul Fazl never visited Ladakh, but he was a historian who was ever willing to learn and record the historical events of different parts of the world. The Ain-i-Akbari is concerned with the administrative institutions, socio-economic developments, and the policies of the Emperor Akbar (r.1556-1605) The Ain-i-Akbari uses the term Tibet-i-Kalan for Ladakh, and refers to its geographical features, lamas, gold, and horses. It mentions a place called Lar on the border of Ladakh: To its [Lar’s] north is a lofty mountain which dominates all the surrounding country, and the ascent of which is arduous. At its foot are two springs, two yards distant from each other, the waters of one being extremely cold and those of the other exceedingly hot. They are considered sacred and the bones of bodies are here reduced to ashes: the bones and ashes of the dead body are cast into a lake on the mountain and this ceremony is regarded as a means of union with the Divinity. If the flesh of an animal falls into it, a heavy fall of snow and rain ensues (Abul Fazl/Jarret 1949:363-364).

Abul Fazl praises the purity of water of the Sind (Indus) river: The river called Sind which rises in Tibet, is wholesome to drink and is so clear that the fish in it are visible. They strike them with iron spears and catch them also in other ways (Abul Fazl/Jarret 1949:364)

Abul Fazl records the availability of the gold in abundance in the northern mountains of India and Tibet. It was obtained by sifting the silt of the Indus and Ganges rivers. Abul Fazl uses the term Saloni for this process (Abul Fazl/Blochmann 1873:38-39). He also records Akbar’s use of a garment fashioned on the Tibetan pattern. He mentions a cloth called Kapardhar as a Tibetan material: Akbar invented a new term for it: Kapurnur (Abul Fazl/Blochmann 1873:96). Abul Fazl mentions that some merchants brought horses of good quality from Tibet to the Mughal empire, and he also refers to the Qutas or Tibetan yak as ‘an animal of extraordinary appearance’ (Abul Fazl/Blochmann 1873:157). The Ain-i-Akbari reports that the Mughal emperor Akbar knew about Buddhist lamas’ way of life and that they influenced some of his own practices:

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…in Tibet there was even now a class of Lamas, or Mongolian devotees, and recluses, and hermits, that live two hundred years, and more. For this reason His Majesty (Akbar), in imitation of the usages of these Lamas, limited the time he spent in the harem, curtailed his food and drink, but especially abstained from meat. He also shaved the hair of the crown of his head, and let the hairs at the side grow, because he believed that the soul of perfect beings, at the time of death, passes out by the crown (which is the tenth opening of the human body) under a noise resembling thunder, which the dying man may look upon as a proof of his happiness and salvation from sin and as a sign that his soul, by metempsychosis, will pass into the body of some grand and mighty king (Abul Fazl/Blochmann 1973:211)

Akbar believed in the principle of Sulh-i-Kul (peace with all) and applied this concept in his state policies. He also tried to encourage a composite culture in the different parts of the empire. The Shahjahan Nama The Shahjahan Nama is a famous Mughal source dedicated to the Mughal Emperor Shahjahan (r.1628-58). It was written by Inayat Khan, who was superintendent of the Royal Library (Darogha-i-Kutub Khana) and the son of Zafar Khan, the Mughal governor of Kashmir. Among other things, the Shahjahan Nama describes political relations between the Mughals and Baltistan and Tibet, as well as the forts, the trade routes, agricultural and horticultural productions and zamindars of Ladakh and Tibet. Shahjahan’s father Jahangir (r. 1605-1627) had tried to establish Mughal sovereignty in Ladakh, but did not succeed: Although it had been a favourite project with the late emperor Jahangir to subdue the country of Tibet, the contemplated enterprise had never been carried into execution. During the period of his governing Kashmir, Hashim Khan, son of Qasim Khan Mir Bahr, once collected at the late emperor’s command an army of soldiers and zamindars, and set out on the expedition. However, finding it impossible to penetrate into the country, he completely failed in his attempt, and that after a great number of his force were killed and many more taken as prisoners, he effected a disastrous retreat (Inayat Khan 1990:213).

Jahangir, incidentally, had been aware of Ladakh’s economic importance: in his autobiography he notes that the best-quality wool for Kashmiri shawls came from Tibet and Ladakh, and that the goat which produced the shawls was peculiar to Tibet (Jahangir 1994:148).

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In 1637, Shahjahan ordered Zafar Khan to conquer Tibet—referring here to ‘Little Tibet’. To prepare for the invasion, Zafar Khan collected an army of 2,000 cavalry and 10,000 infantry, drawing on the provincial troops, his own followers and those of the local zamindars. He followed the difficult Gurach route, and reached a village called Sadpara (in Baltistan) where the local people used a gorge for defence purposes: …there (Sadpara) is a narrow gorge with a torrent flowing through. By throwing a dam across this, the enemy had formed a large lake which blocked up the road through the centre of the pass, while on both sides there were frowning precipices. On one side, where it was just possible to climb the steep ascent, they had built up a strong wall of stone and mortar from the water’s edge to the summit of the mountain so as to prevent anyone from passing that way—the opposite side being naturally so inaccessible as not to require the precaution. The natives of Tibat had fortified this place long ago, so that whenever any invading army might advance against their country, they could ascend the heights and arrest their further progress. In fact, it was at this very spot that Hashim Khan, when he marched against Tibet, was defeated and forced to retreat (Inayat Khan 1990:213)

Abdal, the chief (zamindar) of Baltistan, gave tough resistance to the Mughal force. He posted his army men along the height to check the advancement of the Mughal army. Consequently, Zafar Khan had to change his strategy and divide his army in three columns so that Abdal’s army was to be attacked from different directions. Inayat Khan mentions that when his father’s army reached Skardu, it became very difficult for him to advance any further. The local forts were the main obstruction in the way of Mughal victory. The Shahjahan Nama reports that there were 37 forts in Baltistan and Ladakh. Inayat Khan was very much impressed by the strength of the forts of Ali Rai, Shigar, Garewcha and Ganjak, and noted that these forts helped the local rulers and people resist the Mughal forces. As soon as my father (Zafar Khan) saw the loftiness and strength of the two forts, he felt convinced that it would be immensely difficult to capture them either by storming or siege. The whole period for military operations in Tibet does not exceed two months, and if an army were to stay longer than this, the passes would become closed by snow and return would be rendered impracticable. Moreover, should the winter happen to be a protracted one, the troops would all perish for want of provisions (Inayat Khan 1990:215).

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However, the soldiery and peasantry of Baltistan were dissatisfied with Abdal’s rule, and Zafar Khan was able to exploit this situation to capture Abdal and install his brother Adam Khan as ruler of Baltistan.4 Inayat Khan mentions that some local people were recruited into the Mughal army, and gives a long description of the battle between the Mughals and the Balti forces (Inayat Khan 1990:217-218). There were two major routes to Baltistan and Ladakh that attracted Inayat Khan’s attention: through Gurach and through Lar. Both routes crossed high mountains, difficult passes and innumerable gorges. He describes the region as poor in terms of cultivation. Wheat and barley were the chief crops. The total revenue was Rs100,000 (Inayat Khan 1990:218). However, it was a rich region for horticulture and the extraction of gold: It contains one stream from the bed of which minute particles of not over-pure gold are extracted by washing its silt, which privilege is formed out at a yearly rent of nearly 2000 tolas of gold. Most of the species of fruits indigenous to a cold climate such as apricot, peach, melons and grapes thrive well in Tibet and the fruit is of excellent flavour. There is also a variety of reddish apple, the inside of which resembles its skin in redness. The mulberry, cucumber, apricot, peach, melon and grape all blossom at the same season there (Inayat Khan 1990:218).

In 1639 Ali Mardan Khan, the new governor of Kashmir, sent a military expedition to Ladakh led by his relative Husain Beg (Petech 1977:50-51). Mughal forces fought a battle with King Seng-ge-rnamrgyal (r.1616-1642) of Ladakh near Karbu. The king of Ladakh was forced to sue for peace, and promised to send tribute to the Mughal court, but never actually did so. François Bernier’s travel accounts François Bernier was a French traveller and a physician, who came to the Mughal court in 1656 and remained in India up to 1668. He visited different parts of the Mughal Empire, including Kashmir. Bernier (1891:365,395) followed contemporary practice in referring to Ladakh as ‘Great Tibet’ and Baltistan as ‘Little Tibet’. He mentions that the tails of Ladakhi yaks—which he describes as ‘Great Tibet 4

Zafar Khan’s invasion of Baltistan is also discussed by Petech (1977:49-50) and Hashmatullah Khan (1939). For an English translation of the references to Baltistan in the latter, see Hashmatullah Khan (1987:19-23). Ed.

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cows’—were used as a mark of dignity in the Mughal Empire (Bernier 1891:365-366, n.4) For example, royal elephants were decorated with yak tails hanging from their ears ‘like immense whiskers.’ Similarly, the boundaries of the royal bazaar and the emperor’s quarters were marked by: … extremely long poles (canes très hautes) stuck in the ground at a distance of three hundred paces from each other, bearing red standards, and surmounted with the tails of the Great Tibet cows, which have the appearance of periwigs (Bernier 1891:365).

Bernier reports that during Shahjahan’s reign, one of the princes of Baltistan had sought to gain the throne with the help of the Mughal governor of Kashmir (a reference to the campaign described by Inayat Khan above). The Mughal army invaded Baltistan, eliminated other claimants, and installed the prince as the local ruler, subject to an annual tribute to be paid in the form of crystals, musk and wool. The ruler of Baltistan came to pay homage to Aurangzeb (r.16581707) during Bernier’s visit to Kashmir, and he records the information that he gave about his dominions: …his kingdom was bounded on the east by Great Tibet [Ladakh]; that it was thirty or forty leagues in breadth; that he was very poor, notwithstanding the crystals, musk and wool which he had in small quantities, and that the opinion generally entertained of his possessing gold mines was quite erroneous. The country in certain parts, he added, produces excellent fruit, particularly melons…The inhabitants heretofore were Gentiles, but the great majority have become Mahometan, as well as himself of the sect of Chias [Shias], which is that of all Persia (Bernier 1891:422)

Bernier refers to the earlier Mughal invasion of Ladakh under Shahjahan.5 He then recounts that Aurangzeb in his turn had threatened the king of Ladakh with war, whereupon the latter sent an ambassador to Kashmir. The ambassador promised on behalf of the king that a mosque would be built in Leh; that Ladakhi coins would bear Aurangzeb’s insignia; and that the king of Ladakh would send an annual tribute to the Emperor.6 However, Bernier expressed scepticism about the effectiveness of this agreement:

5

For this earlier invasion see Petech (1977:48-51). Ed. This was King bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal (r.1616-1642). Petech (1977:63) dates this episode to 1663. Ed. 6

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… no one doubts that this treaty will be totally disregarded as soon as Aureng-Zebe has quitted Kachemire, and that the King of Great Tibet will no more fulfil its stipulations than he did those of the treaty concluded between him and Chah-Jehan (Bernier 1891:424).

Bernier describes the embassy and the gifts that it brought: The embassy was accompanied by various presents, the production of the country [Ladakh]; such as crystal, musk, a piece of jade, and these valuable white tails taken from a species of cow peculiar to Great Tibet, which are attached by way of ornament to the ears of elephants. The jade stone presented upon this occasion was of an extraordinary size, and therefore very precious. Jachen [jade] is in great estimation in the court of the Mogol: its colour is greenish, with white veins, and it is so hard as to be wrought only with diamond powder. Cups and vases are made of this stone. I have some of most exquisite workmanship, inlaid with strings of gold and enriched with precious stones (Bernier 1891:422-423).

Bernier met a Buddhist lama, said to be from Lhasa, who had come as a member of the Ladakhi embassy, and was evidently a physician. He had a book, which Bernier wanted to purchase, but the lama refused to sell it. Bernier found that he believed in the transmigration of souls: He was an ardent believer in metempsychosis, and entertained us with wonderful tales. Among others, he mentioned that when his Grand Lama was very old and on the point of death, he assembled the council, and declared to them that his soul was going to pass into the body of an infant recently born (Bernier 1891:424)

Bernier mentions that the shortest route from Kashmir to Kashgar was through Ladakh, but that this was now closed, so that it was necessary to travel via Baltistan. Gurach was an important town on this route between Kashmir and Kashgar. Shigar also was on the route to Kashgar, and was famous for medicinal waters. Bernier also reports that Ladakh had been an important trade route between Kashmir and China, and mentions musk, crystals, jade and wool of Ladakh as the most important trade goods. He was impressed with the two kinds of fine wool of Ladakh, the first from the sheep of Ladakh and the second from the animal called touz.7 However, he adds that this trade no longer functioned during his visit to Kashmir: But since Chah-Jahan’s irruption into Great Tibet the King [of Ladakh] has not only interdicted the passage of caravans, but has forbidden any person from Kachemire to enter his dominions. This is the reason why 7

Toosh: fine wool from the Tibetan antelope. See Rizvi 1999:297-299. Ed.

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JIGAR MOHAMMED the caravans now take their departure from Patna on the Ganges so as to avoid his territories: they leave Great Tibet on the left and proceed direct to the kingdom of slaves, Lassa (Bernier 1891:425).

As Petech (1977:64-65, 79) points out, this blockade must have had a ruinous impact on Ladakh’s economy. The blockade appears to have been lifted following the king of Ladakh’s agreement with Aurangzeb, but the long-term economic damage that it inflicted may have contributed to Ladakh’s defeat in the Ladakh-Tibet-Mughal war of 1679-1684. REFERENCES Abul Fazl/Blochmann, H. (Trans.) 1873. The Ain-i-Akbari by Abul Faz ‘Allami. Translated from the Original Persian by H. Blochmann. Calcutta: Asiatic Society of Bengal; rpt. ed. Delhi 1994. Abul Fazl/Jarret, Col. H.S. (Trans). 1949. Ain-i-Akbari. Corrected and annotated by Sir J.N. Sarkar. Calcutta: Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal. rpt. ed. Delhi 1994. Bernier, François.1891. Travels in the Mogul Empire. Edited by A. Constable. London; rept.ed. Delhi, 1986. Francke, A.H. 1926. Antiquities of Indian Tibet. Vol.2. The Chronicles of Ladakh and Minor Chronicles. Calcutta: Archaeological Survey of India. Hashmatullah Khan. 1939. Tarikh Jammun, Kashmir, Laddakh aur Baltistan. Lucknow: Noor Alimad Malik and Mohammed Tegh Bahadur. Hashmatullah Khan. 1987. History of Baltistan. Islamabad: Lok Virsa. Hashmatullah Khan Lakhnavi, Maulvi. 1994. Mukhtasar Tarikh-i-Jammu wa Kashmir. Jammu. Howard, Neil. 1996. “What Happened Between 1450 and 1550 AD? And Other Questions from the History of Ladakh.” In Recent Research on Ladakh 6:121138. Edited by Henry Osmaston and Nawang Tsering. Bristol: Bristol University Press. Inayat Khan. 1990. The Shah Jahan Nama of Inayat Khan. An Abridged History of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, Compiled by his Royal Librarian. The Nineteenth Century Manuscript Translation of A.R. Fuller. Edited and Completed by W.E. Begley and Z.A. Desai. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Jahangir. 1994. Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri. Trans. Alexander Rogers Ed. H. Beveridge. Delhi Mirza Haidar Dughlat.1895. The Tarikh-i-Rashidi of Mirza Muhammad Haidar Dughlat. A History of the Moghuls of Central Asia. Translated by E. Denison Ross and edited by Ney Elias. London: Low Marston, 1895; rpt ed. Delhi, 1986. Petech, Luciano. 1939. “A Study on the Chronicles of Ladakh (Indian Tibet).” Supplement to India Historical Quarterly 15. London. rpt. ed.: New Delhi: Low Price Publications/DK Publishers, 1999. Petech, Luciano. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh (c.950-1842A.D.). Roma: Istituto Italiano Per Il Medio Ed Estremo Oriente Rizvi, Janet. 1999. Trans-Himalayan Caravans. Merchant Princes and Peasant Traders of Ladakh. Delhi: Oxford University Press.

DOCUMENTS ON THE EARLY HISTORY OF HE-NA-KU, A PETTY CHIEFDOM IN LADAKH PETER SCHWIEGER Just before the Fatu la, on the left-hand side of the road from Srinagar to Leh, there is a huge natural gate, formed by mighty vertical rocks, which opens a narrow passage to a small valley. Entering the gate, you at once see a little village, which nowadays is known as Heniskot. Few people are aware that this was formerly the centre of the petty kingdom of He-na-ku. There was once a castle, and its ruins are still to be seen on top of one of the rocks forming the natural gate into Heniskot. When I visited it in 1993, a lady living in a nearby farmhouse was still known locally as the ‘queen’ of Heniskot. The royal family of He-na-ku is an offshoot of the rNam-rgyal dynasty in Leh. Little is known about their history, and enquiries from today’s queen are unlikely to elicit much information. Even my question about the succession of the local kings was a failure because it was at once evident that she was confusing the kings of He-na-ku with those of Leh. This paper analyses two pairs of documents that I was able to photograph by chance when I visited the village. The documents were in the possession of the then blon-po of Heniskot, and had been handed down in his family. They were issued by the Ladakhi King bDe-ldanrnam-rgyal in the 17th century AD. Taken together, they offer a valuable insight into an otherwise obscure aspect of Ladakhi history. The He-na-ku kingdom according to the 1753 treaty The kingdom of He-na-ku is mentioned several times in the WaÒle treaty of 1753, which concluded a dispute between Purig and the main kingdom of Ladakh.1 In this text, it serves as an example of the relationships between the Ladakhi kings and their vassals. In addition, the treaty outlines the privileges and the authority of the king of Hena-ku. From this we learn about the history of that petty kingdom. 1

See Schwieger 1996, Schwieger 1999:205-210, 221, 223, 243, 244, 248, 249.

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Just as Zangs-dkar split off from the main kingdom of Ladakh in 1647 so also He-na-ku later split off in its turn (Petech 1977:58-59; Schwieger 1999:205). Also like Zangs-dkar, it continued to be seen as a dependent of the main kingdom. Both the kings of Zangs-dkar and those of He-na-ku were descended from the Ladakhi rNam-rgyal dynasty. By contrast with the kingdom of Purig, there was never a serious danger that He-na-ku would slip away from Leh into total independence. Nevertheless, it was an example—typical in Ladakhi history—of a division in the kingdom resulting from a split in the dynasty. According to the treaty of 1753, it was during the time of the Ladakhi king Nyi-ma-rnam-rgyal that He-na-ku was given to a younger brother of the king as his share, and the split must therefore have taken place at some time between 1694 and 1729. Nyi-ma-rnam-rgyal issued a special document defining the rights and the authority of the king of He-na-ku. The detailed contents of the document have not been handed down to us. We only read that it especially concerned the king’s right to dispose of the houses and fields given to him. Afterwards, the king of He-na-ku—like the king of Zangs-dkar—had to come once a year to the palace in Leh to offer homage as a symbol of He-na-ku’s subordination to the Ladakhi kingdom. The rights of the king of He-na-ku were explicitly confirmed in the treaty of 1753. There it is said: Durably it is fixed, that which belonged to the king of He-na-ku as his personal dominion and possession during the time of the grandfather Nyi-ma, whatever land it may be, without any change belongs to him for ever just as it is (the case) with Mulbekh and Zangs-dkar (Schwieger 1999:249).

The He-na-ku king at that time was dKon-mchog-lhun-grub. He was one of the people who sealed the treaty. He is the only ruler of He-naku whom we know by name. Later re-absorption into Ladakh? Petech writes in a footnote to his book The Kingdom of Ladakh: The petty chiefdom of He-nas-sku, created by a grant made in the times of Nyi-ma>-rnam-rgyal@, was re-absorbed into Ladakh soon after, because Document n. 6 of Ts’e-dbang-rnam-rgyal (see later, p. 111) dated 1761, shows He-na-sku as governed by a Ladakhi official (Petech 1977:105).

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This document is mentioned in a list in the appendix of Yo-seb dGergan’s book Bla-dvags rgyal-rabs ’chi-med gter. The document itself is not known to us, and Petech himself only knew of it from dGe-rgan’s list. The document was issued on the 12th April 1761 in the palace of Leh by King Tshe-dbang-rnam-rgyal at the request of a certain Kun-skyab to bKra-shis-rgyal-mtshan, “the blon-po of He-na-sku, for having acted as general (dmag-dpon) in the relief expedition to the region of bSod, and for repeated missions to Kashmir” (Gergan Doc. 9/1) (Petech 1977:111, Gergan 1976: appendix). As Petech (1977:156) points out, in Ladakh unlike Tibet the title of blon-po has not the meaning of ‘minister’, but is the title of the officials who governed the small districts (yul): “The title was hereditary, but the office was not automatically so.” Even in 1993 there lived a man in the village of Heniskot bearing the title “blon-po of Heniskot”. The blon-po bKra-shis-rgyal-mtshan of He-na-ku had served the Ladakhi king several times and the Ladakhi king himself had issued the document in the blon-po’s favour. But does this really mean that He-na-ku was governed by a Ladakhi official? Is it not possible that the blon-po mainly served the king of He-na-ku but in some exceptional and special cases also served the Ladakhi king? I pose these questions because the re-absorbation of He-na-ku would run counter to the statement in the 1753 treaty unless the king of He-na-ku mentioned there had had no male descendant. However, this was not the case, because a king of He-na-ku is still mentioned in a document issued in 1779 by King Tshe-dbang-rnam-rgyal which has been transcribed and published by Dieter Schuh and J. K. Phukhang.2 According to this document, the monasteries of dKar-cha Byams-pagling, Phug-thal-dgon, Klu-dkhyil-dgon (Likir), Mulbhe dGa’-ldan-rtse and Rang-’dum were assigned to the mNga’-ris-sprul-sku Blo-bzangdge-legs-ye-shes-grags-pa-dpal-bzang-po. The king of He-na-ku is mentioned among those to whom the document is addressed.3 Earlier references When we look for evidence that can tell us something about the earlier history of He-na-ku, that is the period prior to the Ladakhi King Nyi2 See Schuh and Phukhang 1979: 99-100, Doc. LXXXI; Schuh 1976: 42, 254257. 3It is not unusual for a vassal king to be mentioned in such a context. In similar contexts we also find references to the king of Zangs-dkar. See, for instance, Schuh 1979: 110, 111.

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ma-rnam-rgyal and before there was a king of He-na-ku, we find a statement in the chronicle of Ladakh. This source was first probably compiled in the 17th century and then continued and updated beyond the end of the Ladakhi kingdom.4 The statement is part of the chronicle’s report concerning the reign of King bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal, who ruled from 1642 until 1694. I translate from the chronicle: Further at that time the blon-po Sh’akya-rgya-mtsho was appointed head of the army (dmag-’go). In the female water-ox-year [that is 1673] the Ladakhi army carried on war and many men and women from mKharbu were taken away captive. Also He-na-ku and sTag-rtse were defeated and subjected. (LDGR: 41.19-21; Rabgias 1984: 219)

This statement does not say that at that time He-na-ku was for the first time brought under Ladakhi power. Already the Ladakhi king bKrashis-rnam-rgyal who ruled from 1555 until 1575 praised himself for having conquered all the territory up to the area now known as Dras (Petech 1977: 30). But there seem to have been times in the course of the 17th century when mKhar-bu and nearby He-na-ku slipped away from Ladakhi supremacy. However, in He-na-ku’s case, this cannot have happened for very long.5 This is proved by the two pairs of historical documents that I was able to photograph there. Description of the documents The documents were issued by King bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal: they are not the first documents issued by him that are known to us. Schuh has already published and translated documents that he issued in 1661, and which were probably originally preserved in sTag-sna monastery.6 I speak of two pairs of Heniskot documents because two of them always have the place, the date, the statement, and the names of the mentioned persons and most of their words in common. However, we cannot say that one is just a copy of the other, because one of them is an abridged version, which nevertheless contains statements that we do not find in the other. I do not know why we have two versions of

4

Regarding this source and its different manuscripts, see Petech 1977: 1. It might be that during the time of ‘Jam-dbyangs-rnam-rgyal (who reigned from 1595 to 1616) there was an interval when mKhar-bu came under the rule of Baltistan (c.f. Petech 1977: 33f). At least afterwards Baltistan made a claim for the whole of Purig until 1639. In that year mKhar-bu was captured by an army from Kashmir (Petech 1977: 50ff). 6 Schuh 1983: 44-48, 50-54: doc. G 2(4), G 2(7), 50-54, G 2(6). 5

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one document. It could be that they were originally intended to be preserved at different places. The orthography of the documents is not uniform, and of course it does not conform to what we know from the dictionaries. One of the documents only shows below the intitulatio a small round seal generally known as rtags-dam. Another seal might have been fixed at the end of the document, but it is impossible to tell because of the damage to the paper. The other three documents all have at least one red seal showing in ‘phags-pa letters the inscription rnam rgyal. The same seal is already known to us from several documents in the collection of S.S. Gergan. Schuh concluded that the seal officially only was used during or until the reign of King Nyi-ma-rnam-rgyal, who governed from 1694 until 1729 (Schuh 1983: 38). None of the documents shows any sign that it is a copy, but one shows at the bottom of the page an additional remark of confirmation. In the case of the very damaged one, the absence of the big red seal means that I cannot tell if an additional remark is missing. Contents of the first pair of documents The first pair of documents was issued in the palace of Leh on the first day of the first month in the iron-hare-year.7 Depending on the different calculation systems,8 that equals 20th February or 22nd January 1651, that is the year of the death of sTag-tshang-ras-pa, the most famous ’Brug-pa lama in the history of Ladakh. Both documents are damaged, and one version lacks the entire intitulatio. The other version is the one where the red seal is missing. Both are written in a simple handwriting, but one is more carefully written. They were issued at the request of a man called bSod-nams-lhungrub. This is a famous name in Ladakhi history, because we know of a powerful Ladakhi minister from the rGya-pa family under King Nyima-rnam-rgyal who bore that name. However, this is probably not the same man mentioned here, because he did not become an official before the time of Nyi-ma-rnam-rgyal. Previously, he was a monk (Schwieger 1999: 52ff.). According to the document, farm-premises were assigned to a man called Tshe-dbang-don-grub as a reward for the services of his father

7 On one version due to the damage it is not possible to read the day, but the month and year are the same. 8 See Schuh 1973: appendix: 158ff.

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bKra-shis-rgyal-mtshan in connection with a military campaign to a place called dKar-stag-sha. The document is addressed to all the officials and functionaries who were active in He-na-ku at that time: the mkhar-dpon, the blon-po, the gnyer-pa, drag-shos, chibs-dpon, to-ga-che, zhal-skyin, and the rgan mi-mangs etc. Petech (1977:154) describes the function of the mkhar-dpon as follows: The mk’ar-dpon (Prefect of the Palace), who was in charge of order and cleanliness inside the residence and who acted as substitute (sku-ts’ab) of the king and of the prime minister when they were absent.

But further down Petech (156ff.) also describes mkhar-dpon as a general title of all those persons who were the head of a fortress, “corresponding to the rdzong-dpon of Gu-ge and Central Tibet”. The official who is mentioned in our document obviously is of the second kind. Petech adds that “it seems that their authority did not stretch beyond the wall of the fort”. The second in the list is the blon-po. As already mentioned above, this was the title of the officials who governed the small districts (yul). Next is the gnyer-pa. Petech (1977:154) calls him a steward, “who was in charge of the stores of wheat, barley, fruit and other foodstuffs and kept the accounts of in- and outgoing items”. Then follows the dragshos, literarily the superiors. Drag-shos was a title which could be hereditary within a family, as for instance in the case of the drag-shos of Khala-rtse and sKyur-bu-can (Petech 1977:156). It is not clear what kind of rights or duties were connected with this title. The chibs-dpon was in charge of the horses. We could call him the head groom. The to-ga-che, also spelt do-ga-che and rdo-kha-che, is the term for the assistant of the village headman (Petech 1977: 157; Schuh 1983:46). According to Petech (1977:157), it could be that this nonTibetan word “derived from the old Mongol darughaci”. The name zhal-skyin is known to be the term for the eight assistants of the blon-po in Leh (Petech 1977: 157). Our document shows that this title was also used for officials in other places. Maybe it generally denotes the assistant of a blon-po. After all these officials, the elders and the people in general are mentioned. As Petech (1977:157) explains, the elders had a kind of judicial function. There existed two groups of elders, each having a fixed number. One group consisted of the elders of Lower Ladakh, the other of the elders of Upper Ladakh. At the head of each group used to be a rgan-gtso. The rgan-gtso had an outstanding position in Ladakh as they were also consulted when important decisions had to be made

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at the king’s court. So they also took part in the negotiations for the treaty between Purig and Ladakh in 1753. At the end of the text, we read the usual threats of punishment to those who disregard the document. The second pair of documents We also have two versions of the second document from He-na-ku issued by King bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal: one is more detailed, the other is abridged. However, the abridged one has a bigger red seal at the end while the same seal as on the other version is fixed below an additional confirmation remark. The bigger seal has in its centre in dbu-can letters the words rnam rgyal: these are the same words written in ’phags-pa letters on the other seal. Around these words we see additional ‘phags-pa letters, but some are indistinct so that I could not identify them completely. In one version, the paper is damaged, and most of the intitulatio is lost. As with the first pair of documents, this one was also issued at the request or intercession of a third party. As Schuh (1983:41) pointed out, this feature is up to now only known from Ladakhi legal documents issued by the ruler, not from Tibetan ones. Probably it was usually a prominent person who brought the request before the king. These documents were issued in the royal palace in Leh on 4th May 1680 at the request of Sh’akya-rgya-mtsho. It is likely that this is the same Sh’akya-rgya-mtsho who had acted as chief minister, probably since 1646. He is mentioned in the chronicle of Ladakh for the reign of bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal as the blon-po who in 1673 served as general during the campaign against mKhar-bu, He-na-ku and sTag-rtse (see above). As commander of the Ladakhi army, he was the counterpart of dGa’-ldan-tshe-dbang who led the invasion of the TibetanMongolian forces into Ladakh between 1679 and 1683. At the time when the documents were issued, the invaders had not yet conquered Leh, the capital of Ladakh (Petech 1977:67, 71-75). As addressees, the document only mentions specifically the prefect of the fortress (mkhar-dpon), the steward (gnyer-pa), the las-’dzin, which is a general term for officials, and the village headman (grong-dpon). In the abridged version, the terms gnyer-pa and las-’dzin are combined in the term gnyer-la(!)-’dzin which could also be translated as “ones who perform the task of administration” (cf. Schuh 1983: 51ff.). To give an impression of the formulaic language and structure of this kind of documents issued by a Ladakhi king, there now follows a literal translation of the more elaborate version, which fortunately has

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been handed down to us in very good condition. First, we have the intitulatio: Order of the protector of the earth, the ruler, the dharma king, the glorious Phyogs thams cad las bde ldan rnam par rgyal ba (alias bDe ldan rnam rgyal), father and son, the king (lha)…

Next follows the promulgatio or publicatio: …directed to the whole kingdom under his rule and especially to the prefect of the fortress, the steward, the officials, the village headman and so on of He na ku, in short to all who belong to the leadership.

We do not have a separate section which we could call inscriptio. The inscriptio is included in the narratio where the one in whose favour the document was issued is mentioned: Based on the deed of having delivered zealous and correct service towards the outside, the inside and in between by bKra-shis-don-grub during the Mongol time…

Directly connected with the narratio is the dispositio: …the residence of dGa’-tshe-ring of He-na-ku, the cultivated fields and the houses, the servant Tshe-ring-dga’ as well as a load of food was assigned to him. Because from now on the cultivated fields and houses of (the place) Shar-rgan and the irregator Tshe-ring-lde are assigned to him, you above mentioned distinguished and common ones, those who belong to the leadership, who however, shall not in the slightest way do contestations, annoyances, enrichment and so on. You shall let him live in peace. This is very important.

Now follows what is generally known as the sanctio, that is the threat of punishment to those who disregard the legal document: If someone while seeing this sealed document disregards it, just like lightning a hard investigation will follow. Take note of this individually.

At the end we have the mention of the one who brought the request before the king as well as what we call the eschatokoll, the final protocol: The one who made the request was Sh’akya-rgya-mtsho. This was written at the time of the rise of the second dga’-ba in the white (that is the first) half of the fourth month in the iron monkey year from the top of the great palace sLe chen dpal mkhar.

The other version of the document has the same structure and content in abridged form. But it has an additional, somewhat curious confirmation remark:

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The farmstead called Shar-rgan was assigned to bKra-shis-don-grub, so they say. But leaving this aside, that which was included into the sealed document etc has no reliable source. Nevertheless because of the ancestors it was settled that it is kept up for the nephews.9

Obviously, this remark was added later, but not later than the time of King Nyi-ma-rnam-rgyal because, as noted above, the seal which was fixed at the end of the remark was not used after his reign (see Schuh 1983:38). Concluding remarks The stereotypical nature of the documents presented here indicates a clear official style. A comparison with Ladakhi kings’ documents from the first half of the 19th century shows that this style scarcely changed before the last period of the Ladakhi kingdom (cf. Schuh and Phukhang 1979:110, 111). Unless they were issued in favour of a monastery or temple, such documents lack a religious reference, such as the invocation of the three jewels. Only in one of the king’s titles, “dharma king”, can we see something like a religious legitimation of the royal authority. But we do not have a real arenga. So, more or less without explicit transcendental reference or legitimation, the documents function as a means of communication that creates and regulates normative social relationships among different people or groups of people. These include: the one who executes the document, those to whom the document is addressed, the petitioner, the one in whose favour the document is executed and even members of later generations, for instance the heirs.

9

Apparently the hereditary succession was from uncle to nephew.

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APPENDIX

Figure 16. He-na-ku Document 1a.

Text of Document 1a 1 sa skyong mi dbang chos kyi rgyal p>o@ chen po dpal phy>o@gs (thams cad) las bde ldan 2 (rnam par) rgyal ba yab sras lha’i bka’ 3 >(mnga’@ ’og) gi drag gzhan spyi dang / bye brag du he nas 4 sku’i mkhar dpon / blon po / gnyer pa / drag shos / grong dpon / chibs dpon / to ga che / 5 zhal skyin / rgan mi mangs >...@zhi drag gi don la sngags pa’i Zsku tshab 6 ’grims ‘grul dang byas / las sner >...@ la springs pa / dkar stag sha ru dmag 7 ’jug skabs / (bkra shis) rgyal tshan gi pha cag khyer na / ‘tshur log *’jug* skabs dmags ‘jug 8 sdam10 / bin bong cos / stabs mi bde ba byung na tshe’i rus byas bar rten / kho’i bu (tshe dbang) don grub la he 10

= sdom; ‘jug sdom - "to end"

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9 nas sku’i gong mi zhing gru zhi thug rje gzigs / ’chu kha >rgya@n thob cas yin pa’i / Zthugs la btags 10 >pa yin@ pas / khyed gong >...@ bcu>...@ 11 gal srid phyag rgya’i thong zhin rtsis med su>.@ byas tshe / rtsad gcod drag po rjes nas yong 12 bas / gso gsor du go ba bgyis / zhu ba po bsod nam (lhun grub) yin / ces lcags 13 mo yos lo zla ba dang po’i tshe>...@ (pho brang) chen po >sle@ chen >...@

Figure 17. He-na-ku Document 1b.

Text of Document 1b 1 (mnga’ ’og) gi drag gzhan spyi dang / bye drag du / he nas 2 sku’i mkhar dpon / blon po / gnyer pa / drag shos / grong dpon / chibs dpon / to ga che / zhal skyin rgan 3 mi >m@angs dang / gzhan yang bzhi drag >gi don@ >...@‘gri*s* ‘grul dang byas las sger rtogs 4 rigs rnams la springs pa / dkar stag sha ru dmag ’jug skabs / (bkra shis) rgyal mtshan tsho’i phar cags kyang / tshur 5 log ‘jug skabs stabs mi bde ba byung nas tshe>‘i .u.@ byas par rten / kho’i bu (tshe dbang) don ‘grub la he nas 6 sku’i chos rgya mtsho la tog pa dga’ ’byor pa’i zhing khang kho rang gyi zhing khang thog du zhing rcag la stad pa’i 7 thog nes zhing phyed de dang khang pa de Zthugs la btags pa yin pa / khyed gong ‘khod rnams gyi snyad tser ma byed /

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8 par bde bar gnas bcug pa gal che / gal srid phyag rgya ’ thong zhin rtsis med su’i byas tshe / rtsar 9 gcod drag po rjes nas yong bas gso gsor du go ba bgyis / gzhu ba po bsod nams lhun grub yin / ces 10 lcags mo yod lo zla ba dang poì tshes 1 la / (pho brang) chen po sle chen dpal mkhar rtse nes / bris

Figure 18. He-na-ku Document 2a.

Text of Document 2a 1 sa skyong mi dbang chos kyi rgyal po chen po dpal phyogs (thams cad) las bde ldan (rnam par) rgyal ba 2 yab sras lha’i bka’ 3 mnga’ (’og gi) rgyal khams spyi dang bye brag tu 4 he nas ku’i mkhar dpon / gnyer pa / las ’dzin/ grong dpon sogs mdor na las snar gtogs pa rnams la / 5 stsal // sog dus su (bkra shis) don grub kyis phyi nang bar gsum du zhabs tog hur dag tshul mthun phul ba’i 6 khyud la rten nas / he nas ku’i dga’ tshe ring gi mal zhing khang tog tse gar rgyab dang ya do tshe ring dga’ 7 // rgyags khur gcig thugs la *>btags@* ‘dug pa dang / slar gting nas shar rgan gyi zhing khang tog tse gar rgyab dang chun pa 8 tshe ring lde thugs la btags pa yin pa’i / khyed gong ’khod kyi drag gzhan las sner gtogs pa sus kyang snyad ’tshe za

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9 ‘dod sogs spu tsam yang ma byed pa bde bar gnas bcug pa gal che / gal srid phyag rgya ‘di mthong bzhin 10 rtsis med byas tshe rtsad gcod drag po thog ltar yong ba’i (so sor) go ba bgyis shig / zhu ba po sh’akya rgya 11 mtsho yin / ces lcags spre hor zla bzhi pa’i dkar phyogs kyi dga’ ba gnyis pa shar tshe / pho brang chen po 12 ble chen dpal mkhar rtse nas/bris

Figure 19. He-na-ku Document 2b.

Text of Document 2b 1 sa skyong mi dbang chos kyi rgy (paper ripped off) 2 mnga’ ‘og gi rgyal khams spyi’i drag zhan (thams cad) dang / bye brag tu 3 he na ku’i mkhar dpon gnyer la (!) ‘dzin grong dpon mdor na las snar gtogs pa rnams la stsal / (bkra shis) 4 don grub kyis zhabs rtogs phul ba la rtens / he na ku’i dga’ tshe ring gi mal zhing khang tog rtse gar 5 rgyab >dang@ rgyags ‘khur gcig >ya do@ gcig >... th@ugs la rtags pa yin >pas@ / khyed >...@ 6 rnams kyis snyad rtser ma byed pa bde bar gnas bcug pa gal che / gal srid phyag rgya mthong bzhin 7 rtsis med byas che / rtsad gcod drag po thog ltar yong nge>s@ yin pa’i so sor go ba gyis shig / zhu

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8 ba po sh’akya rgya mtsho yin / ces / lcags spre hor zla bzhi pa’i dkar phyogs kyi dga’ ba gnyis pa 9 shar tshe / pho brang chen po ble chen dpal mkhar rtse nas / bris // Rider to document 2b: 1 shar rgan zer ba’i zhing khang yang (bkra shis) don grub la thugs la btags pa yin >zer@ ba’i zer lo >tsam@ les 2 phyag rgyar chud pa sogs khungs dag po mi ‘dug kyang pha mes rnams kyi rjer tsha bo tshor gnas ‘jags thugs 3 la btags pa yin / Sigla: () indicates the resolution of ligature [] surrounds reconstructions of holes [...] indicates missing letters * * surrounds text which had been added above or below the line Z represents symbols expressing respect REFERENCES Gergan, Yoseb. 1976. Bla-dvags rgyal-rabs ‘chi-med gter. Published by S. S. Gergan. Srinagar. LDGR: La dvags rgyal rabs, in : A. H. Francke. 1926. Antiquities of Indian Tibet, Vol. II: The Chronicles of Ladakh and Minor Chronicles, ed. by F. W. Thomas. (Reprint edition. New Delhi, Madras: Asian Educational Services, 1992). Petech, Luciano. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh, C. 950-1842 A. D., Roma: Is.M.E.O. Schuh,Dieter. 1973. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der tibetischen Kalenderrechnung. VOHD, Supplementband 16. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. Schuh, Dieter (Ed.). 1976. Urkunden und Sendschreiben aus Zentraltibet, Ladakh und Zanskar, 1. Teil: Faksimiles. MTH III/2. St. Augustin: VGH Wissenschafts-verlag. Schuh, Dieter and J. K. Phukhang. 1979. Urkunden und Sendschreiben aus Zentral-tibet, Ladakh und Zanskar, 2. Teil: Edition der Texte. MTH III/4. St. Augustin: VGH Wissenschaftsverlag. Schuh, Dieter. 1983. “Frühe Beziehungen zwischen dem ladakhischen Herrscherhaus und der südlichen ‘Brug-pa-Schule.” In Archiv für Zentralasiatische Geschichtsforschung, Heft 2. Edited by Dieter Schuh and Michael Weiers. St. Augustin: VGH Wissenschaftsverlag. Schwieger, Peter. 1996. “Ka’-thog-rig-’dzin Tshe-dbang-nor-bu’s Diplomatic Mission to Ladakh in the 18th century.” In Recent Research in Ladakh 6: 219-230. Edited by Henry Osmaston and Nawang Tsering. Bristol: Bristol University Press. Schwieger, Peter. 1999. Teilung und Reintegration des Königreichs von Ladakh im 18. Jahrhundert: Der Staatsvertrag zwischen Ladakh und Purig aus dem Jahr 1753. MTH, Abt. III, Bd. 7. Bonn: VGH Wissenschaftsverlag GmbH. Tashi Rabgias. 1984. Mar yul la dvags kyi sngon rabs kun gsal me long [History of Ladakh Called The Mirror Which Illuminates All]. Leh: C. Namgyal & Tsewang Taru.

THE HISTORY OF ISLAM IN SURU NICOLA GRIST1 The history of the Suru valley (now in Kargil District) from the 18th to the 20th centuries is one of successive incorporation into larger polities. In the 16th and 17th centuries, the area was apparently made up of small chiefdoms, the most prominent of which was Kartse, with forts at Karpo Khar and Kartse Khar near Sankhoo. Mirza Haidar Dughlat, who invaded Ladakh in 1532, said that he sent a party against the cho (a name for a local noble or chief) of the upper Suru valley (Petech 1977:26; Dughlat 1895:408,460).2 However, by the mid-16th century larger political entities were beginning to form in the Himalayan region, and in the early 18th century the chiefdom of Kartse was incorporated into that of Purig, covering most of western Ladakh and ruled by the younger brother of the king of Ladakh. The Ladakh kingdom was becoming more powerful at this time and consolidating its territory. It was both a centre for trade in pashmina wool from Western Tibet, used in the manufacture of Kashmir and other fine shawls, and an entrepôt on the long-distance trade routes between Tibet, Central Asia and India. Ladakh and Purig frequently fought to control the Kashmir trade in the 17th and 18th centuries and, in these conflicts the chiefs of Purig often allied themselves with the chiefs of Baltistan who shared their Muslim faith (Petech 1977:102ff.) Nevertheless, by 1758 Purig was permanently incorporated into the Ladakh kingdom, and Leh was established as the centre of power and trade in the region (Petech 1977:105,110). The rulers of Ladakh (rgyal-po) normally professed Buddhism, and supported the various schools of Buddhism in the area (Petech 1977).

1 Nicola Grist (1957-2004) was planning to contribute an article to this volume when she went into hospital in April 2004, seeking treatment for what proved to be her final illness. This paper is drawn from her thesis (Grist 1998:13-14, 97-100), and summarises the historical context for her anthropological research in Suru. Ed. 2 See also Jigar Mohammed’s paper in this volume. Ed.

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The spread of Islam There are few written sources on the history of Suru, but it would appear that the spread of Islam into Purig was gradual and the result both of Muslim preachers converting the ordinary populace and of chiefs adopting Islam as part of the process of alliance-building with the Mughals and the chiefs of Baltistan, who had become Muslim earlier. An example of the former is that of the cho of Pashkyum near Kargil, which in earlier days was the main stopping place on the road to Leh. When the British adventurers William Moorcroft and George Trebeck visited the cho in 1821 he had recently converted to Islam, although his wife remained a Buddhist; but the ordinary people of Pashkyum were already Muslims (Moorcroft & Trebeck 1837, Vol 2:22). However, the chiefdoms of Chigtan and Kartse are both said to have converted as a result of political alliances with the chiefs of Skardu (J.Rizvi 1983:48). Popular tradition in Suru—and the oral tradition recorded by Hashmatullah Khan (1939)—relate that the conversion to Islam started during the rule of Thi Namgyal, who was the father of the last independent ruler of Suru-Kartse. He is said to have married Thi Lha Khatun, the daughter of the Muslim chief of Skardu, the main power in Baltistan. She brought Muslim scholars to Suru, who converted the population of the valley (Khan 1939:698).3 Their son, Thi Sultan, was a Muslim taught by a scholar called Mir Hashm. His astana (tomb) still exists near the ruins of the castle of this dynasty at Karpo Khar, between Sangra and Sankhoo, and is an important pilgrimage place. Thi Sultan is said to have had no legitimate heirs, so he bequeathed his chiefdom to the ruler of Purig (Khan 1939:698-702). This story is partly mythological, since it is likely that the title Thi (from khrid meaning ‘throne’ in Ladakhi) was a dynastic rather than an individual title. However, there are references to a Thi Sultan of Kartse and the Sultan of Chigtan feuding in the mid-16th century (Cunningham 1854:24, Matoo 1988:24). Another Thi Sultan of Kartse is mentioned in the Ladakhi Chronicles (La-dvags rgyal-rabs) as having controlled much of Purig until the early 17th century when he was defeated and captured by the Ladakhi ruler (Francke 1926:98, Francke 1914:181-182, 274). It is likely that this was the real end of the dynasty, as it is not mentioned again in any documents. 3

She is also said to have built a masjid (mosque) at Kartse Khar, the site of their other castle, which was burnt by the Dogras during their invasion in the 1830s (Khan 1939:697).

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By the early 20th century, Francke (1929) reported that Baltistan was largely Shi’ite; the majority of people in the Purig area were Muslim, and Islam was still spreading rapidly eastwards in Ladakh. At that time most Muslims in Purig were Shi’ahs or Noorbakhshi, a Sufi variant of Shi’ism (Matoo 1988:133,162). The Noorbakshi order was started in the 15th century by a preacher called Noorbaksh, meaning ‘gift of light’. He was a Sufi follower of Sayyid Mahmud Hamadani, who is credited with bring Islam to Baltistan and Purig. Noorbaksh declared himself to be the Imam Mehdi (Twelfth or ‘Hidden’ Imam) and tried unsuccessfully to overthrow the Caliphate in Persia. His followers became Shi’ahs in Safawid times, and his disciple Shams Ud-din Iraqi propagated his teachings in Kashmir (Glassé 1991:304, Rovillé 1990:117ff.). Many people in Purig, including Suru-Kartse, were Noorbakshi until recently (Francke 1914:185). Now there are adherents in only a few villages in Kargil tehsil (Zutshi 1961) and some in the Nubra valley, north of Leh (Srinivas 1995), but there are still many in parts of Baltistan (Sagaster 1997:414). During the centuries when the people of Purig converted, Islam was associated with power in the region. For example from the 16th to the 18th centuries, the Mughals were in power in India and Kashmir, and at times had a loose control over Baltistan and Ladakh. During that time the Shi’ite Safawids ruled Persia and were closely linked with the Silk Route on which both Baltistan and Ladakh were sub-routes (Momen 1985:309, Yurur 1993:vii). The 18th and 19th centuries saw the Shi’ite Qajir dynasty in Iran, and Shi’ite rulers in the kingdom of Oudh in northern India with their capital in Lucknow (Momen 1985:309, Cole 1988). However, by the 19th century, Muslim power was waning in India, and Suru had been politically unimportant for two centuries. In the 17th century and early 18th centuries, Purig was under the control of the king of Ladakh’s younger brother.4 However, in 1758, Purig was permanently incorporated into the Ladakh kingdom, and henceforth the Suru valley was ruled by kharpons (regional administrators) who were all Buddhists from the Leh area (Khan 1939:700). In the 1820s, Moorcroft and Trebeck reported that the valley was under a Buddhist governor who had a house at Tambis in the lower Suru valley, and was the brother of the chag-dzot (bursar) of Hemis gonpa in the Indus valley (Moorcroft & Trebeck 1937, Vol 2:27-29).

4 On the relationship between the kingdom of Ladakh and local sub-kingdoms and chiefdoms in Purig in this period, see also Schwieger (this volume). Ed.

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At the time of the Dogra conquests in the 1830s, Suru-Kartse was still administered by a Buddhist kharpon from the Leh area (Francke 1914:274).5 When the Workmans (1909:29) came to climb Nun Kun just after the beginning of the 20th century, the chag-dzot (bursar) of Rangdum monastery—between Suru and Zanskar—was the Zeldar (Block Administrator) of Suru. The last Zeldar of Suru was a Muslim from Namsuru, whom I met in 1981. Some Muslims seem to have had administrative jobs in Suru prior to independence, but most of them came from outside Ladakh. Despite the lack of power of local Muslims during this period, Islam itself was clearly flourishing in the area, as suggested by Moorcroft and Trebeck’s account of the Suru valley during their visit in 1821: In each of these [villages] was an akhund, or village school-master, and one or two individuals who could speak Persian or Hindustani. Every village had its mosque, and not a single Lama’s house or sculptured pile made its appearance. Islamism is evidently making rapid strides, and there is every reason to expect that before long Ladakh will be entirely a Mohammedan state (Moorcroft & Trebeck 1837, Vol.2:27-28).6

There seems to have been a new influx of Shi’ite preachers in the Suru valley in the earlier part of the 20th century when both the yokma and goma agha lineages were established in Taisuru.7 However, there is little information about this period in Kargil tehsil in general. Recent developments In recent decades there has been an increasing emphasis on more ‘orthodox’ practice among Shi’ite clerics. For example, the playing of musical instruments at events such as weddings and other celebrations apparently ended some decades ago among Shi’ites in Kargil tehsil, as clerics said that it was un-Islamic and therefore a sin (nyespa). B.R.Rizvi says that musicians called Doms existed in Kargil until recently, and they played at weddings and other ceremonies, but they had ceased to exist by the 1970s (Rizvi 1981:228). Also polo, which is a traditional game in this area, is no longer played in many villages, and most 5 At the beginning of the 20th century, there was still one Buddhist household at Tambis (Clarke 1901). 6 The Akhunds to which they are refer are what are now called akhuns. 7 See Grist (1998, 1999) for further details. The yokma and goma-pa are Shi’ite factions in Suru. At their core they have a lineage of sayyids (people claiming descent from the family of the Prophet Mohammed’s daughter Fatima and her husband Ali, the Prophet’s cousin). Male Shi’ite sayyids have the title agha. Ed.

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Muslims in the area no longer drink alcohol. People in Kargil say that the banning of practices that were considered not to be Islamic increased enormously after all foreign Shi’ite clerics were thrown out of Iraq in 1974, which meant that suddenly there were more clerics in the Kargil area.8 In the last few years there has been an effort to stop people dancing and singing (except for religious songs called khasidas) at weddings. The yokma aghas were trying to enforce this at weddings in Suru in the 1990s, not entirely successfully. There has also apparently been an increase in contact between Shi’ahs in Kargil and the Shi’ite centres in Iran and Iraq, particularly in the numbers of men who go and study in Shi’ite madrasas (colleges) in the Middle East. Rizvi observed this phenomenon in the late 1970s, attributing it to increased money-earning opportunities that had arisen since 1947 (Rizvi 1981:227-228, Rizvi 1993:93). Earlier generations of clerics in Suru rarely went to study in the Middle East, although some went to Baltistan, whereas in the current and previous generation all the leading aghas and a number of sheikhs, studied in Iraq or Iran. In the last 25 years, there has been a flourishing of religious architecture in Kargil tehsil. In Suru this seems to have started with the building of the yokma-pa masjid in Taisuru in 1975, followed by the goma-pa imam-barah. There are now a number of large religious buildings and astanas in the Suru valley, as well as in Kargil itself and other parts of the tehsil. They are built in a style that has emerged in the last 20 years, and are much larger and more impressive than those that existed in the past; they are also stylistically similar to the ‘modern’ style concrete houses that are found in Panikhar. Prior to this phase of building, there were small masjids in every village. There is now a more self-conscious display of the presence of Islam in Kargil tehsil, and this is also evident in other areas of daily life. REFERENCES

Clarke, R.T. 1901. Assessment Report of the Kargil Tehsil of Baltistan. Lahore. Cole, Juan R. I. 1988. Roots of North Indian Shi’ism in Iran and Iraq: Religion and State in Awadh, 1722-1859. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cunningham, Alexander. 1854. Ladak, Physical and Historical with Notices of Surrounding Countries. London: Allen & Co. Francke, A.H. 1914, 1926. Antiquities of Indian Tibet. 2 vols. Calcutta: Archaeological Survey of India. Glassé, Cyril. 1991. Concise Encyclopaedia of Islam. 2nd ed. London: Stacey. 8 Agha Miggi Ort, who was thrown out at that time, says that there were about 200 Kargilis studying in Iraq.

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Grist, Nicola. 1998. Local Politics in the Suru Valley. Goldsmith’s College, University of London, Unpublished Ph.D thesis. ______.1999. “Twin Peaks: the Two Shi’ite Factions of the Suru Valley.” In Ladakh: Culture, History and Development between Himalaya and Karakoram: 131-152. Edited by Martijn van Beek, Kristoffer Brix Bertelsen and Poul Pedersen. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Khan, Hashmatullah. 1939. Tarikh Jammun, Kashmir, Laddakh aur Baltistan. Lucknow: Noor Ahmad Malik and Mohammed Tegh Bahadur. Mirza Haidar Dughlat.1895. The Tarikh-i-Rashidi of Mirza Muhammad Haidar Dughlat. A History of the Moghuls of Central Asia. Translated by E. Denison Ross and edited by Ney Elias. London: Low Marston, 1895; rpt ed. Delhi, 1986. Matoo, Abdul Majid, 1988. Kashmir under the Mughals 1586-1752. Kashmir: Golden Horde Enterprises. Momen, Moojan. 1985. An Introduction to Shi’i Islam: the History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi’ism. New Haven: Yale University Press. Moorcroft, William & Trebeck, George. 1837. Travels in the Himalayan Provinces of Hindustan and the Panjab, in Ladakh and Kashmir, in Peshawar, Kabul, Kunduz and Bokhara. Edited by H.H. Wilson. 2 vols. London: John Murray. Petech, Luciano. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh c.950-1842 A.D. Rome: IsMEO. Rizvi, B.R. 1981. “Religion and Peasantry in Kargil.” In Ecology, Economy and Religion of Himalayas. Edited by L.P. Vidyarthi & Makhan Jha. Delhi: Orient Publications. Rizvi, B.R. 1993. The Balti. Delhi: Gian Publishing House. Rizvi, Janet. 1983. Ladakh. Crossroads of High Asia. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Rovillé, Gerard. 1990. “Contribution à l’étude de l’Islam au Balistan et au Ladakh.” In Wissenschaftsgeschichte und gegenwärtige Forschungen in Nordwest-Indien : 113-124. Edited by Lydia Icke-Schwalbe & Gudrun Meier. Bautzen: Verlag Domowina. Sagaster, Ursula. 1997. “Women in a Changing Society. Baltistan 1992.” In Recent Research on Ladakh 7:413-420. Edited by Thierry Dodin and Heinz Räther. Ulm: Ulmer Kulturanthropologische Schriften Band 9. Srinivas, Srinivas. 1995. “Conjunction, Parallelism and Cross Cutting Ties Among the Muslims of Ladakh.” Tibet Journal 20 (3:71-95. Workman, Fanny & Workman, Hunter.1909. Peaks and Glaciers of Nun Kun. London: Archibald Constable. Yurur, Ahmet. 1993. Introduction to Rizvi (1993). Zutshi, J.N. (ed.) 1961. Village Survey Monograph of Kharboo (Tehsil Kargil, District Ladakh). Census of India, Part VI, J&K Part VI, No. 13. Village Study Monographs. New Delhi: Government of India.

GYAJUNG NAGPO THE CENTENARIAN ARCHER OF STOK TASHI STOBDAN During the time of the kings, the pastures of the hills and valleys of Gya, Miru and Shang were under the control of the Gyapa Cho (rGya-pa-jo—‘chief’ of Gya), and therefore his cattle were kept there. Similarly, the Stokpa Kalon (sTog-pa bKa’-blon—‘minister’ of Stok) used to keep his cattle, yaks, sheep and goats on the Tsadkhangchan (Tsad-khang-chan) grassland in the upper valley of Matho and the upper valleys of Stok.1 Gyapo Cho Drugdrags (’Brug-grags) was one of the main counsellors of King Nyima Namgyal (Nyi-ma-rnam-rgyal), who reigned from 1694-1729; and Stokpa Kalon Sonam Lundup (bSod-namslhun-grub) also became a powerful minister in this reign. Tsultrim Dorje (Tshul-khrims-rdo-rje), the son of Kalon Sonam Lundup became a successful army general, so the King awarded him the pasture lands of the hills and valleys of Tsadkhangchan, one of the innermost parts of Matho. After this, the pasture became his private land. He was also granted a field at Stok that was large enough for 40 bushels of grain seed to be sown. This is mentioned in the history books of Ladakh.2 During the reign of King Tsepal Namgyal (Tshe-dpal-rnam-rgyal) in around 1842 the Gyapa Cho and Stok Kalon families died out. The lands and property of the Gyapa Cho family were transferred to Hemis monastery; and the Stok Kalon’s land and property were transferred to Stok palace. At this time there had for some years been a dispute between Matho and Stok villages over the pasture land of Tsadkhangchan and other parts of the upper Matho valley. The Matho villagers claimed that, according to tradition, the pastures belonged to them. 1

Stok is in the Indus valley opposite Leh. Since the Dogra annexation of Ladakh, Stok palace has been the main residence of the kings of Ladakh. Ed. 2 On Tsultrim Dorje and his sons see Francke (1926: 225-235), Petech (1977: 93108) and Schwieger (1996:219-230). Ed.

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The villagers of Stok met and decided to consult an astrologer/fortune teller. He predicted that the Stok villagers would be able to share the pastures if a hundred year-old man could go to the disputed areas and win an archery competition with the Matho villagers. The Stok villagers therefore took Gyajung Nagpo (rGya-zhung-nag-po), a centenarian, on a yak to the hill pastures of Matho valley. Both the villages agreed that, if Gyajung Nagpo could shoot the target and break it, then the Stok villagers could graze their cattle on the Tsadkhangchan grasslands along with the Matho villagers without any dispute. Gyajung Nagpo shot the target to pieces as the god had predicted. The old man therefore won the competition, and since then the Stok villagers have been able to graze their cattle along with the Matho villagers without any dispute. So they became peaceful. Until very recently, about 65 Stok families used to stay in the upper pastures to graze their cattle and gather cow dung during the summer months. Thousands of dzos, dzomos, cows, sheep and goats enjoyed the good grass and water at the uppermost part of Matho valley. This is all thanks to Gyajung Nagpo and other thoughtful persons of former times in Stok. May the villages be co-operative and amicable! After Gyajung Nagpo died, most of his land was transferred to his relatives, and a small proportion to the Nuruma family. Since then, the lands have become their permanent properties. REFERENCES Francke, A.H. 1926. Antiquities of Indian Tibet. Vol. 2. Calcutta: Archaeological Survey of India. Petech, Luciano. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh c. 950-1842 A.D. Rome: Istituto per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente. Schwieger, Peter. 1996. “Kathog Rigzin Tsewang Norbu’s Diplomatic Mission to Ladakh in the 18th Century.” In Recent Research on Ladakh 6:219-230. Edited by Henry Osmaston and Nawang Tsering. Bristol: Bristol University Press.

DR JAMES G. GERARD’S UNFULFILLED AMBITION TO VISIT LADAKH P.J. MARCZELL The purpose of this paper is to make available three hitherto unpublished records which highlight the keen fascination felt for Ladakh, Tibet and Central Asia by East India Company army officers and doctors serving in the Himalaya in the second and third decades of the 19th century. The records bear on two initiatives: the first in 1826 and the second in 1832. They reflect the climax of a progress which started during the governor-generalship of Warren Hastings in the course of which the British gradually changed from being “alien freebooters longing to return home shouldering their bag of riches” to administrators responsible for the well-being of the people (Kejariwal 1999:22). They also show that the military and political hierarchies did not always share the enthusiasm of their subordinates in the field. In this context full of conflicts, the paper focuses on Dr James Gilbert Gerard, one of three Scottish brothers who, like their compatriot friends, James Baillie Fraser (1783-1856) and William Fraser (1784-1835), distinguished themselves by their pioneering geographic surveys and support for commercial and social development. The Gerards worked and travelled so much in the British Protected Territories of the ‘Punjab Hills’ and of Kinnaur that their names became closely associated with those regions. They often undertook joint projects, and they shared their enthusiasm for the mountains with contemporary travellers such as William Moorcroft and Alexander Csoma KIJrösi—both of whom figure prominently in the correspondence that follows. Family background The Gerards stemmed from a well-known Aberdeen family of theologians and philosophers. They had three other brothers and five sisters. Their grandfather, Alexander Gerard DD, was licensed as a minister of the Church of Scotland: he was appointed Professor of Philosophy and later of Divinity in Marischal College, Aberdeen, and

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gained a prize from the Philosophical Society of Edinburgh for the best essay on ‘taste’.1 He was also minister of Greyfriars Church Aberdeen, but resigned these offices for the sake of the Chair of Divinity in King’s College in the same town. He belonged to an illustrious literary and philosophical society and produced a number of books in this spirit. He died as a royal chaplain, taking a moderate stand on church issues. Their father, Gilbert Gerard DD, held the Chair of Greek at King’s College, and succeeded his father in the Chair of Divinity. To this he added the charge of the collegiate church of Old Aberdeen. He contributed to literature both on his own and as a joint author with his father. He died as a royal chaplain and Minister of Old Machar. James Gilbert Gerard served throughout his career with Gurkha detachments in the Himalayas, starting in 1814. In 1816, at the end of the war with Nepal, he joined the 1st Nusseeree (Gurkha) Battalion headquartered at Sabathu, near present-day Solan and Simla in Himachal Pradesh. He remained with this battalion for the rest of his career. His duties included vaccination tours among the local population: these enabled him to undertake topographic explorations and climatic observations, and initiate public education programmes. Contemporary biographies focus on James Gerard’s role as a heroic and valuable companion of Alexander Burnes in a highly sensitive, intelligence-gathering mission from India to “Cabool, Tartary, and Persia” (See Burnes 1834). It has only recently become widely recognised that he was a path-breaker in research in fossil conchology, thanks to his discovery of marine fossil shells at an elevation of 16,000 feet in the Spiti valley in 1828. He publicised these findings with the Asiatic Society and the Edinburgh New Philosophical Journal (Gerard 1831, 1833). His “Memoir on the Topes and Antiquities of Afghanistan” (Gerard:1834) attests to his interest in archaeology. The two other Gerard brothers who served in the Himalaya were both army officers. Alexander was a surveyor, a very accurate topographer and high mountain climber to whom “we are indebted for our earliest notions of the geological structure and remains of the Himalayan ranges” (DNB 21[1890]:211). He is best known for his descriptions of Kinnaur (A. Gerard 1841). Unfortunately, almost all of his most important accounts were published posthumously in different places. He was also a fine Persian scholar, and well versed in several

1 Sources of biographical information for key figures are summarised at the end of the paper.

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other oriental languages. Patrick, who purchased shawl-wool for the government at Kotgarh, became known mainly through his meteorological observations. Moorcroft and the Gerard brothers The Gerard brothers’ relationships with the English traveller William Moorcroft and the Hungarian scholar Alexander Csoma KIJrösi are central to the story outlined in the first two of the records that follow. William Moorcroft was an English physician and veterinary surgeon trained in Europe.2 In 1808 he was appointed to the well-paid position of superintendent with the East India Company’s stud. In 1819, he set out on a great unofficial but government-backed journey through Kangra, Kulu, Lahul and Ladakh to buy Turki breeding stock from Tartary for his farm at Pusa near Patna (see Moorcroft and Trebeck 1837). On his way, he took notes on everything that he saw, collected samples of products deemed useful and treated those who asked for his medical skills. He stopped in Ladakh for two years waiting for the permission of the Chinese authorities to proceed to Yarkand and thence to Bokhara. He used this stay to conclude a commercial engagement with Ladakh “on the part of the British merchants in Calcutta”, for persuading the King and the Kalon of Ladakh to offer their formal allegiance to Britain and for completing these agreements with an Anglo-Ladakhi treaty. He also sent a threatening letter to Ranjit Singh, the ruler of Punjab. These undertakings were inspired by Moorcroft’s apprehension of Russian commercial, military and political expansion in Central Asia paving the way for an attack against India against which he advocated a pre-emptive forward strategy. However, his unauthorised political initiatives overstepped his terms of reference: they provoked angry protests from Major-General Sir David Ochterlony, the British Resident in Delhi and aroused the government’s disapproval. The result was that he was disavowed, his salary was suspended and he was recalled to India. Moorcroft did not heed these measures. When the Chinese did not let him and his party cross the Karakoram, he opted for the third-best itinerary passing through Kashmir, the Punjab, and the Khyber route from Peshawar to Kabul, the Hindu Kush and the Oxus River. He reached Bokhara from the south in February 1825, but died six months later at Andkhoi on his return journey. 2 For Moorcroft’s life see Alder (1985), and biographical references at the end of this paper.

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After having started a correspondence in 1820 with Moorcroft, which led to the delivery of a telescope and a barometer the following year, J.G. Gerard applied for a leave of absence to visit his prestigious colleague in Ladakh. However, his superiors objected to his request, and censured him for the “pertness and flippancy” of his proposal. This rebuttal did not deter him from continuing his exchange of letters with the adventurous veterinary whom he supplied with vaccines, especially since he hoped that one of his two brothers would be able to realise his failed plan. First it was Patrick who volunteered to go in his stead, and when he had to desist, he delegated Alexander. By June 1822, the project seemed to be serious enough to induce George Trebeck, Moorcroft’s junior associate, to travel to Spiti to facilitate the progress of whichever of the Gerards would turn up. In the end, none of them managed to make the trip to Ladakh.3 Dr Gerard’s admiration for Csoma Alexander Csoma KIJrösi is the second key figure in the following extracts from Gerard’s correspondence. Csoma was a Hungarian of the Székely branch of his people in Transylvania (now part of Romania) who achieved fame as a pioneer of modern Tibetan scholarship. He is a cultural hero among his compatriots because of his solitary search for the ‘cradle’, and the ancestors of his nation which he associated with the Huns. It was this quest which motivated his impecunious travel, with no valid permit, to the East. Although he aimed at Central Asia, he was side-tracked several times on his way in that direction. At Leh he dared not attempt to cross the passes of the Karakoram, and so he decided to return to Kashmir. It was at this critical stage in Ladakh that he met, in 1822 at Dras, Moorcroft, who privately hired him to produce a Tibetan grammar and a TibetanLatin dictionary and to collect “specimen texts”. The implementation of this project began in Zanskar but had to be interrupted for lack of finance (in Moorcroft’s absence) and dependable linguistic guidance. This is how Csoma arrived at Sabathu on 26 November 1824 with a letter of recommendation from Moorcroft. Captain C.P. Kennedy, the commander of the local (Gurkha) batallion and assistant political agent, was away, and Csoma was therefore received by Dr Gerard. The Scottish physician had plenty of 3

The records of this episode are kept in the Moorcroft Collection of MSS, Oriental and India Office Collectionn, British Library, under five different shelfmarks.

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opportunity to get to know the Hungarian scholar during the six and a half months when the latter remained at the garrison. Dr Gerard must have felt a lot of respect and sympathy for this needy protégé of Moorcroft’s, for after a call on him at Kanam in Kinnaur in late September 1828, he produced a long eulogy in praise of his heroic character and linguistic achievements. This was a welltimed intervention enabling Csoma to go to Calcutta with a government stipend at the end of his fieldwork in the Himalayas and eventually publish there, with adjustments to the English, the works for which Moorcroft had hired him. The message was addressed to William Fraser, a senior British civil servant and traveller, but leaked to whomsoever cared to read it so that versions of it were published in various journals and periodicals such as John Bull, Government Gazette, Gleanings in Science and Asiatic Journal. J.G. Gerard’s posthumous neglect In 1832 Gerard accompanied the Scottish traveller Alexander Burnes on a mission to “Cabool, Tartary, and Persia”, and died soon after his return to Sabathu. Gerard’s posthumous neglect contrasts with the fame of ‘Bokhara Burnes’ who published a best-selling travelogue (Burnes 1834). This made him rich and famous, as reflected by celebrations, honorary memberships, medals, the title of CBE and a knighthood. This glory eclipsed the merits of his companion who—motivated by a different humanitarian spirit—had had the idea of the journey to Bokhara in the first place. Dr Gerard’s relatives, friends and other insiders tried, however, to correct the imbalance at an early stage, mainly by publishing his travel accounts through the Asiatic Society of Bengal in Calcutta.4 These articles were followed in 1833 by various reports by A. Burnes,5 and in 1834 by a “Memoir on the Topes and Antiquities of Afghanistan” by Dr Gerard. On 6 August 1834 “Extracts from the journal regularly kept by [Munshi] Mohun [Mohan] Lal, in English, from the day he joined Lieut. Burnes’s party were read” (JASB: No 31:364). This diary was published in 1834, 4

Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, the monthly journal of the Society, published “A Sketch of the Route and Progress of Lieutenant A. Burnes and Dr. Gerard. By a recent Traveller” (Vol I. [1832], No. 4:139-145) and accounts of the “Continuation of the Route of Lieut. A. Burnes and Dr. Gerard, from Pésháwar to Bokhára” (JASB 2 [1833], No. 13: 1-22); and “Continuation of Dr. Gerard’s Route with Lieut. Burnes, from Bokhára to Meshid” (JASB 2 [1832}, No. 15: 143-148). 5 JASB Nos. 16, 17, 18, 19, 23.

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under the title “Journal of a Tour through the Panjab, Afghanistan, Turkistan, Khorasan and Part of Persia”. Alexander and Patrick Gerard presented to the Museum of the Society a collection of minerals and several artefacts and specimens from their brother, gifts duly noted in the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal. Today, all these efforts made for Dr Gerard’s just recognition seem to be forgotten. THE ARCHIVAL MATERIAL

All these records are rendered in verbatim transcription. Although the texts are certified copies (as no holograph versions of the first two memoranda seem to be extant), they include a number of errors, misspelled names (in particular that of Csoma) and garbled passages. I. Dr Gerard’s proposal to search for the late W. Moorcroft’s manuscripts and property in the company of A. Csoma KIJrösi. The first of the three sets of interconnected correspondence is dated 29 May 1826 at Sabathu.6 In the letter Gerard applies for permission to go to Afghanistan to search for Moorcroft’s papers with the help of Csoma. The text is infused with a peculiar romantic enthusiasm, and perhaps anticipates the spirit of post-colonial trekkers with its humanitarian aims and special sense of brotherhood. It also provides valuable details on Csoma’s otherwise poorly documented second stay in Zanskar. The correspondence involved was forwarded through official channels: from Captain Kennedy in Sabathu to Captain W. Murray in Ambala; from him to Sir C.T. Metcalfe, Resident at Delhi; and from him to G. Swinton, Secretary of the Political Department, Fort William, Calcutta. Gerard’s request was ultimately rejected. To Captain C.P. Kennedy Assistant Deputy Superintendant. Soobathoo. Sir, The Melancholy accounts of Mr. Moorcroft and his Party leave us no longer room for any reasonable conjectures, that we are deceived, already we learnt the Death of his Companion, Mr. Trebeck, and that the only remaining European has met the same disastrous fate. 6

Extracts from Bengal Political Consultations, 30th June to 7th July 1826: The British Library, IOR/P/124/48 – [No microfilm] – 30th June 1826, Nos. 10-11 [pages not numbered].

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It were in vain to indulge a hope that Mr. Moorcroft or his Companion still survive, the idea (tempting as it is to entertain) would too surely prove but a consoling error. - The last accounts which reached Soobathoo in a letter from Mr. Moorcroft left him on his route from Peshawar struggling against the Simooms, and intrepidly advancing under the perils of a climate which had deprived him of several of his Followers, into unknown regions, peopled by unknown races of Men, later accounts, even so late as last June, represented his difficulties in Toorkistan, the dangers of his situation in Bokhara having escaped in disguise from the designs of a treacherous Oozbeck by a labourious Journey, and left him on the frontier of that country under the protection of at least a suspicious friend, yet full of self confidence of prosecuting his Journey, but in the last accounts which have reached us are those of grief for his Death, hope had still left us anxious for the return of his Companion, to be made acquainted with the particular Narrative of his end, and the fate of his Papers and his Property, to his relations and friends a last consoling expectations, and to the public an eager concern. That hope has vanished. If it is interesting to make the progress of a Traveller of extraordinary enterprize making his way with toil and privation and amidst perils, into remote regions and to anticipate his return, if we value his objects for Literature, for Commerce and for Geography, it is surely not less interesting to seeke for information of his fate and to ascertain what may have been his situation his misfortunes and his last existing moments spent amongst strangers, who could not appreciate his motives, breathed in a Language which they could not understand to search for his Manuscripts and his Property, but where look for them? - Where attempt to realize such soothing ideas? - Mr. Trebeck has not survived to acquaint us with the events and the last European of the Party has also fallen - Meer Isset Oollah the Moonshee that learned and enterprizing Individual who accompanied Mr. Elphinstone to Cabul was the first victim to adventure, having died at Bokhara his Birth place, the whole Party are thus perished. After six years India expected Mr. Moorcroft’s return and anticipated it with the liveliest interest, fortunately a great part of his labours are preserved, but the Individual no longer lives to gratify us by a personal relation of his travels.- We are left in ignorance of what remains of his Manuscripts and private Papers, which are thus lost to the World and his friends, yet perhaps not entirely lost a faint ray of hope still glimmering through the darkness, and forlorn as it is, we should not reject the temptation it offers to a search, the attempt is at least laudable and worthy of encouragement, and with whatever result the best recompence to his friends, and when I myself am anxious to be instrumental to the project, it is not for objects of fool-hardy enterprize or senseless heroism but from a natural feeling for Men so unfortunate, braving dangers amidst the vicissitudes of a discouraging service - Few Men have

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shewn a more courageous yet prudent spirit, than Mr. Moorcroft and though a stranger to him in Person, I am not so in reality and when I feel anxious to discover and obtain the last relics of a Traveller, who has made such exertions and sacrifices I do so under a flattering idea that the Journey and its objects will be undertaken by the only individual capable of accomplishing it with any shadow of success. - That Individual is Mr. Csosma de Kooras, the Hungarian Traveller who came to Soobathoo through the very line of Mr. Moorcroft’s Travels and whose Name is already familiar to Government as a Man of vast talent and an enthusiast in literary research. - He is now (as you are aware [bracket not closed] in a Monastery in Zanskar six day’s Journey hitherto the Capital of Ladak prosecuting his studies in Thebitian Literature for the attainment of which he is indebted to the liberality of Government.- In Mr. Moorcroft he found a true friend, they met in Kashmere and in Ludak, and were Associates together for many Months, to him he owed his means of subsistence in his journey to Soobathoo and ultimately that good fortune which now enables him to devote his genius and talent to Pursuits which promise to reward him with honor and emolument - His sentiments towards his patron and benefactor betrayed the most fervent feelings of gratitude and respect, his anxiety for his welfare was solicitous and his concern altogether so deeply felt that I can scarcely entertain a doubt, but the proposal will be eagerly received and the glimpse of hope it offers, cherished without thinking of the sacrifices which the pursuit requires, this is the only remaining resource left as to rely on, and precarious as is it’s result must be surely better than giving way to important regret. To you who have interested yourself in M: Choma’s welfare, and to the Government which has so liberally promoted his views, he must feel himself a Debtor, and with regard to myself I believe he has not found me a passive spectator of his labours, or his future. - For the sake of his benefactor and best friend now no more for the sake of that Government which has supported him and encouraged his views, he will be alive to the object of the adventure, of his fitness for the task there cannot be a question, of his inclination there can scarcely be a doubt, and I propose with the permission of Government to proceed immediately to Zanskar under any Instructions I may be honored with, and make arrangements with M: Choma for the Journey. The proposal of a pursuit which humanity dictates will not be judged of by advantages, it is characteristic of a British Government to enquire after the fate of so enterprising a Traveller, and one, who has embarked in a cause deemed almost hopeless, almost inaccessible, and which the destinies of Fate have alone dashed to the ground, it is the duty of Men to show concern for others, who have thus devoted themselves, and the expedition will be the only recompense to their relations and friends even should it fail of success, the most honorable to their exertions their sacrifices and misfortunes, and in promulgating my intentions and anxiety in the project, I should wish to take every advantage of the present season (already far advanced) and be able to cross the Mountains before the periodical rains set in. -

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My route would either be by Sirthanpoor the Capital of Cooloo, the same by which Mr. Moorcroft entered Ludak as the most accessible and direct Road, in which case, I would cross the Sutlej at the British Post of Kote Gurh, or by crossing the River at Wangtoo in Koonawar and the snowy barrier which confines upon our Northern Frontier proceed by the Valley of the Spectres - I had before given M: Choma de Kooroos a faint hope of meeting him next September in his seclusion, and if this is realized, my visit will prove doubly interesting from the impulse of the motives which activate me in making it. M: Choma on leaving Soobathoo last June (you are aware) left in my hands one hundred and fifty /150/ Rupees of the sum presented to him by Government and also entrusted to my care his Manuscripts and Books, I shall take the Money with me and as much more as the liberality of Government may authorize towards the accomplishment of his Journey. M: Choma, though a Man of the most frugal habits will find his present pecuniary resources scarcely adequate to the purposes of his visit to Zanskar, and insufficient to supply his wants should he protract his residence in that country, or return to British India in preference to undertaking the Journey to Bokhara, and the hundred and fifty /150/ Rupees which he left in my possession merely as a last resource in the event of his being plundered in Ludak, will be an unexpected support to his views however they may be directed. Deeply as M: Choma is dependent upon the indulgence of Government for the prosecution and consummation of his researches, that Government will not view the present object of which he is to be solicited to become the parent Promoter with cool reason, and if some mark of it’s grateful sensibility was manifested either by a pecuniary reward or in any other way, added to my own zeal and exertions on the occasion, there would be nothing wanting to give an enthusiasm to the adventurer, who has already evinced so much calm, dignified perseverance in his ardour for literary research undismayed by difficulty or danger, and undeterred by hardships and privations, and if I do not offer my own services to the utmost limit in view, it is not because I want inclination, but because the character of such an enterprise is likely to succeed best in the Person of one, who appears in a costume congenial to the People and the countries, as a disconsolate adventurer in search of his lost friend and one who will be viewed with admiration for his Genius, with compassion for the object of his concern, and with respect for his intrepidity and calm modest demeanour, to which a mind absorbed in the exalted pursuit of Literature and devoted to the illustration of a vast unexplored Mine, has given a most touching Grace. M: Choma is quite familiar with the Dialects and Physical condition of those countries which formed the scenes of Mr. Moorcroft’s adventures and though he remained in Bokhara, but a few days, he made himself acquainted with the Political Situation and Manners and Habits of the People, should it be deemed more advantageous to employ M: Choma under the direct auspices and cognizance of Government, he might be furnished with

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Testimonials of its authority and sanction, but the propriety of this procedure I leave to the wisdom of my superiors. The Court of Cabool from its former relations of amity to the British Government in India might indeed be successfully solicited in behalf of the unfortunate Travellers’ Effects, their Manuscripts, their scientific collections, the fruits of their toils and what is most endearing to their friends, their private Papers, in a word the last melancholy records of their situation, their feelings and afflictions. M: Trebeck is reported to have died between Peshawur and Cabul and the influence of these courts must be highly desirable, but alas, where seek for the remains of Mr. Moorcroft, they may rest upon the frontier of Bokhara, or upon the Banks of the Oxus, the marches of Koondooz, or the barren tracts of Talikan [? - perhaps Taloqan, near Kunduz, NE Afghanistan] countries, ravaged by foreign aggression and distracted by jarring interests, it is enough that we make the attempt which is at least honorable and humane. M: Choma’s literary pursuits in Zanskar promise a vast development of Instruction or as he himself describes it, a vast Terra incognita, of which he intends to present the World with a Map, and should he be so wholly absorbed in his studies or view the Journey to Bokhara with fear of success, and decline the proposal, my own visit to Ludak is still calculated for useful ends and the more so with M: Choma for a Guide, and I should at least be able to leave some boon to the Inhabitants of those regions in that of the Vaccine Disease and by the aid of my profession I could not fail to secure results as beneficial to the Inhabitants, as auxiliary to M: Choma’s view and useful to science. M: Choma on leaving Soobathoo begged of me a small supply of Medicine which he considered as a valuable support to his prospects, and he has promised to bring with him to Soobathoo the learned Lama who is assisting him in his studies to be instructed in Medical practice. Such a journey as that I offer myself to prosecute, were if it should fail in it’s primary object, cannot, but be interesting and useful - I am prepared to devote myself to Science and the obligations of humanity and with the same useful views I intend to carry with me the Patalae and disseminate it, throughout those insulated regions, also other vegetable productions should M: Choma accept of the proposal of journeying to Bokhara is search of Mr. Moorcroft’s Property and Papers, I would take charge of his Manuscripts and literary Collections and bring them back with me With respect to the duties of my situation at Soobathoo during my absence, I have a prospect of being able to transfer them without great pecuniary sacrifice to Medical Men resorting to this quarter for the benefit of the climate, or if permitted, might be left to the judgement and authority of yourself to provide for. In the interval of expecting a Reply from Government I shall endeavour to obtain from the Deputy Superintendent, Captain Murray, at Umballah every information towards the object which his correspondence with Mr. Moorcroft

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(who forwarded many of his Manuscripts to his care) and his situation with respect to the Frontier of the Sikh Country, can elicit of the probable quarter of the Regions likely to reward search with success. You, who have so anxiously interested yourself in Mr. Moorcroft’s welfare, and through whom M: Choma de Kooroos has derived his present means of subsistence, will I know, view my intentions with every good wish and in Captain Murray’s kind support I have every confidence and if this application appear proper and satisfactory, I shall hope that it may be transmitted to Sir Charles Metcalfe for his approbation, and forwarded by him to Government.The motives which have induced me to make this proposal are powerful, they are those of generous concern, and are only in common with that lively interest which the Fate of the Travellers has so generally inspired. - To the Government, the object is creditable, to their friends a soothing hope, to science a duty, to their relations a last solace, and to Mr. Moorcroft himself the most honorable Tribute which can be bestowed upon his enterprizes, his devotedness, and his misfortunes. My wishes (I am sanguine enough to believe) are those of thousands, who will greet them with spontaneous unanimity, and the hand which now addresses you, feeble as it is, repeats, but the thoughts that are ready to burst from their lips. - The Journey will not be without it’s interest whatever may be it’s results and to make use of memorable words - It is no longer for the purpose of invasion and ravage, that the European penetrates into the most distant Latitudes, but to carry thither enjoyments and benefits, no longer to steal away the corrupting metals, but to obtain those useful vegetables, and dispense those services, which may render the life of Man more comfortable and easy. - In short there will be seen, and Savage Nations will not behold it unmoved, there will be seen at the extremities of the World, pious Travellers enquiring with concern about the fate of their Brothers, of men and of Deserts, of Caves, of Rocks, and even of barren Lands, there will be seen Men wandering in search of other Men to throw themselves into their arms to succour and to save them. I have &c Soobathoo} Signed/ J.G. Gerard The 29th May} 1826} Assistant Surgeon of the First Nusseeree Battalion [Certification of true copies signed by W. Murray and C.T. Metcalfe. No decision / order entered.]

For all his good intentions, Gerard’s request was unsuccessful. Shortly before writing it, he had successfully asked for a salary increase and had been promoted from Assistant Surgeon to Surgeon. With this new demand, he may have overreached himself. His superiors must have been baffled by his suggestion that his services at Sabathu could be easily dispensed with because visiting army doctors could replace him.

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He also overlooked the fact that Moorcroft had been a persona non grata at least from 1822. Moreover, the British authorities realised that the jealousy of their “Tibetan neighbours had been excited by the attempts made by British Officers travelling in the Hills to pass the frontier of the British protected territory.” In June 1825 they had already hesitated for long months before letting Csoma return to Ladakh, and two years later they plainly ordered the Political Assistant at Sabathu “to intimate verbally to all British Officers, Civil and Military, wishing to travel within the Hills, that they are strictly prohibited from attempting to pass beyond the frontier of the protected Territory.” The latter development occurred in the wake of a Tibetan protest note which Csoma translated into English around 25 March 1827.7 At first the retrieval of Moorcroft’s belongings was left to Asian assistants of the British. Thanks to Punjabi banker Guru Das Singh at Kabul, batches of papers were regained by the spring of 1827 and a “Muslim agent” returned from there with a few horses and other goods in the same period of time. In 1836, while travelling north of Kunduz, Alexander Gardiner obtained a map and a compass belonging to Moorcroft. However, the veterinary surgeon’s printed books together with an important map, an account book and loose papers from the last days were brought back only as late as 1838 by Dr Percival Barton Lord who deposited them in the library of the Asiatic Society.8 There they disappeared later on. In the light of the Proceedings of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, it appears that they could have been transferred, at least in part, to Britain to former ASB Secretary and Boden Professor of Sanskrit H.H. Wilson, who was editing the travelogue of Moorcroft and Trebeck.9 II. Dr Gerard’s ensuing ‘respectful and humble’ plea for ‘Compassion and Clemency’ through the continuation of his assignment in the Himalayas and the Vice President in Council’s resolution on it. The second request from Dr Gerard is dated Sabathu, 20 October 1826.10 The text implies that the first petition was ill-received. Now

7

See the file IOR/F/4/1181 Coll’n No. 30743/9 in the British Library, London. See Dr Lord’s memorandum in JASB VII/II (July 1838): 665-666 9 See JASB Nos. 17 and 34. The context is summarised in Alder 1985:362-368. 10 Extract from Bengal Political Consultations, 24th Novr 1826, No. 19. British Library, IOR/P/125/7. 8

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Gerard is appealing against a decision to have him transferred. The text describes the duties of a medical assignment in an important border garrison, and the personal attachment of the writer to this zone. This time Dr Gerard’s appeal met success, thanks to the intervention of the political department, which was more appreciative of his usefulness, and more understanding of his emotions, than the military one. The paper was forwarded to W. Murray, Deputy Superintendent, Soobathoo, by Mr Surgeon Gerard. It was channelled to G. Swinton, Secretary of the Political Department, Fort William, Calcutta through Sir C.T. Metcalfe, Resident, Delhi. Soobathoo 20 October 1826 [No formal beginning] After a residence of nearly twelve years at Soobathoo under circumstances which have attached me to the Corps and to the Country by almost obligatory duties, if I look forward to my removal with anxiety and concern it will at least appear the offspring of a very natural feeling in one who has not employed his time or resources to no purpose and in respectfully seeking to make known my situation I appear as a humble petitioner upon my own justification in the hopes of receiving the compassionate favor of Government. In December One Thousand and Eight Hundred and Fourteen immediately on my arrival in India, I joined by Dawk the Army in the Hills under General Martindell [Sir Gabriel Martindell (c. 1759-1831)] and soon after repaired to Sir David Ochterlony’s Camp. I served with a detachment of Goorkhas during the campaign and its conclusion I was appointed to the Nusseeree corps and with it I have ever since remained without having once descended into the plains. I [be]came early attached to the Goorkhas and [attached] to a Country offering so many attractions to the naturalist[,] feeling [= who feels] with passionate Enthusiasm the savage beauties of a region guarded by mountains and shaded by forests[,] and [who feels] with sympathy the condition of a people [who are] the more interesting from [=because of] their insulated situation, and to whom [i.e. the people] I do believe I have contributed some benefit. Very soon after my arrival at Soobathoo I turned my attention to the introduction of vaccination into the neighbouring Hill States, and had the satisfaction to witness its grateful reception by the Inhabitants. For nearly nine years I used my best exertions for its propagation, often at considerable expense and not a little toil when in One Thousand Eight Hundred and Twenty three, I received from the favor of Government through Captain Kennedy’s intercession a monthly allowance of Eighty Rupees. During the

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above period of nine years I had no other Source of Emolument but the medical allowances of a Battalion which are a third less than those of a regular troops: while my Contemporaries attached to the other Hill Corps were deriving the advantages of Civil Situations, and if I overstep the bounds of modesty, in saying with less actual perseverance and at less expense. My natural inclination and surprise at the diversified scenes around me often brought me before objects of compassion and wherever I went I found applicants of lingering distress more distinctly marked in the remote and desolate solitudes where man still half savage struggles against the climate against men, and against nature, and call for Assistance from those who can only form a guess concerning his misery - I have had no other interest in my situation but in that of the Corps to which I am peculiarly attached in the people around me, and in a Country abounding in scenes of grandeur and in objects of scientific research I have derived no independent source of gain from that of my pay and allowances: I have acquired nothing but experience by my pursuits and this I have purchased at an Expense which has left me no hopes of recovering but in retirement - I have on frequent late Occasions been highly honoured and gratified by the flattering approbation of the Governor General in Council for my interest in the Cause of humanity and also by the Committee of public Instruction whose intentions I had hoped to see carried into effect by the Establishment of a school for the use of the Nusseeree Battalion at Soobathoo, an object I did my best to obtain and which I had much at heart. The last mark of the favorable opinion of Government towards me in [is?] a civil allowance of a hundred Rupees a month, I am indepted to the kind concern of Sir Charles Metcalfe at the intercession of the Deputy Superintendent Captain Murray and his Assistant Captain C.P. Kennedy at Soobathoo - This, I received only the other day having appealed to the liberality of Government on a retrospective view of the obligations imposed upon me for upwards of Eleven years finding these increase upon me, and seeing the immunities of Jails, Hospitals and other Civil Emoluments enjoyed by the medical officers of the other Hill Corps. If after so long a period during which I had at least equal claims with perhaps more calls upon me than any of my contemporaries, I come forward to solicit the indulgence of Government in some charge which may retain me in the Hills. I shall not be accused of seeking a requital for what I may have done, but if I looked forward to this augmentation of my Salary with feelings of the highest gratification in the hopes and certainty of its being allowed me with a view to my future advantage I shall not be considered I trust as trespassing the bounds of discretion in expressing my disappointment at my removal. My vaccine and civil allowances I hope will appear to my superiors as the Earnings of protracted exertions, they were solicited upon the grounds of obligation and disinterestedness, and not supported by any established custom as where a separate civil power prevails with an attached Hospital and a Jail, through the Civil Authorities at Soobathoo have nevertheless been

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performed when I consider that those liberal honors only but [last?] received are about to lapse from me, when I reflect upon the frequent complimentary remarks I have been gratified by from the highest source, the Occupations which have involved me in pecuniary difficulties which I only now began to see a prospect of overcoming by continuing in retirement I feel what I cannot with propriety to express. Upon the foregoing considerations and being at present in correspondence with the Secretary to the Committee of public instruction upon the subject of education in the Hills to which I have devoted some attention I had indeed encouraged a hope of being permitted to remain at Soobathoo as a Surgeon and as I did not conceive that my expectations were at variance with the interests of the public service I refrained from asking the indulgence earlier, and on promotion finding myself actually passed to the first Nusseeree Battalion, I imagined I had been so either in the routine of the service or in consequence of my duties at Soobathoo in which I felt a strong interest. It does not become me to dwell upon my own services nor should I resort to such an alternative but for the anxiety and distress I feel in the prospect of leaving a situation which I believe I have filled with some advantage. For several years past this quarter of the hills has been frequented by numerous visitors and Invalids whose calls however distant, I have ever been ready to meet - The numerous independent chiefs under the protection of the British Government occupying the Territory under the Superintendence of Captain Kennedy, have each in their turn been applicants for my assistance, for which I never sought a requital - In those respects my situation has peculiarly differed from that of any other erring Mankind I have seen the inhabitants in youth, in calamity and old age, and I trust with some advantage to the corps with which I have been so long and intimately united, I believe I have done my duty and the men have shewn in their turn a mutual feeling. If under the extreme circumstances of my case having passed the entire period of my sojourn in India (now almost twelve years) in the Hills, and with much inferior receipts. I can appeal to the Country whence I am known to its farthest frontier, for a character of sympathy in indigent and suffea [suffer] cold climate, leading an active life and rendering my best services to the Inhabitants of the Country, and having never joined a corps in the plains, my humble application to be allowed to remain at Soobathoo in my former situation is inadmissible I would cheerfully relinquish Rank or Emoluments, indeed make any sacrifice to avert a change so inimical to my none [now?] suffering health, and to which I shall be a perfect stranger with respect to the country, the people, their customs and even complaints, with little or no knowledge of the nature of tropical climates. If it should please Government to give me any charge in a civil capacity to employ me in the Hills and neighbouring Sikh states, under the authority of the Deputy Superintendent at Amballa if I can

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no longer remain as Surgeon of the first Nusseeree Battalion I should endeavour to render myself worthy of the indulgence. I again throw myself upon the Compassion and Clemency of my Superiors for the least consideration of my extreme situation and this my respectful and humble petition trusting that I may not appear an undeserving object; and in resigning my charge after a period of nearly twelve years it is not the least estimable consolation that I leave Soobathoo without the record of a burial place. Signed / J.G. Gerard Surgeon - First Nusseeree Battalion /Tru copies/ Signed M [?] Hislope Acting First Assistant The Vice President in Council is pleased to pass the following Resolution Resolution No 20 [Bengal Political Consultations 24th Novr 1826, N 20.: The British Library, IOR/P/125/7] Political Departmt 24 November 1826 Resolution of the Vice President in Council. The advantages which have attended Mr Surgeon Gerard’s residence in the Hills having on several occasions brought under the notice of Government, the Vice President in Council is of opinion that his request to be allowed to retain his present situation may be acceded to Mr Gerard has distinguished himself as a naturalist, and on a late occasion his services in the Department of public Instruction have been warmly acknowledged by the General Committee and Government. Mr Gerard has also introduced vaccination into the Hills, and as the indulgence solicited would be not merely gratifying to the individual but advantageous to the Public Service Resolved that a reference be made to His Excellency the Commander in Chief on the subject of Mr Gerard’s being permitted to retain the Medical Charge of the 1st Nusseeree Battalion Ordered that copies of the foregoing Resolution be transmitted respectively for information to the Military Department and the Resident at Dehlee as also to the Adjutant General of the Army to be laid before the Commander in Chief –

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III. Extract from a report of 15 October 1832 by Dr Gerard from Meshed, proposing to return to India via Herat, Kandahar, Kabul, Kashmir and Ladakh. The third memorandum from Gerard is dated 15 October 1832 from Meshed.11 It is a secret document from Gerard’s mission to Bokhara with Alexander Burnes. This extract from his dispatch reflects the surgeon’s enduring desire to visit Ladakh whose interest it outlines, on this occasion, in standard imperialistic terms. By the time he wrote it, he was already sick, and died after his return to his base at Sabathu. ... I cannot foresee my arrival in the Punjub before next spring and consequently my approach to Kashmere /if that is to be my destination/ by the Middle of March on the opening of the more inaccessible roads in June, I would advance Eastward to Leh the capital of Ludak another locality of considerable interest though in itself of no great estimation as an entrepot for commerce Ludak is however as much the centre of a System of Geographical and Political relations as any other capital in the line of route lately traversed through from the effect of a natural position and an inhospitable climate poor in comparison. A knowledge of that Region of Asia is in truth inseparable from a satisfactory intimacy with the countries upon the Oxus and imperfect as the maps of both still are, they suffice to indicate their approximation and in fact the Northern Sources of the Indus will be found at the base of mountains which on their corresponding /opposite/ declivity generate the springs of the Oxus and even Jaxartes Ludak is moreover by far from so important a spot, as its lofty and rigorous position would denote; but it is not in its natural inhabitants that we must look for its resources, but to its capabilities as an appanage of a foreign power. - If so late as 1792 a Ghoorka army could pass the Himalaya Mountains and successfully plunder the Lamas Dominions at Teshoo Loompoo and a Chinese force repel the aggression and make its own terms for the allegiance of so warlike a nation as Nepal surely a stronger and at least hardier power than either would not find the more arduous barriers of the North West an insuperable difficulty but Ludakh might probably recommend itself with more advantage when it is known that the silky fleece of a species of goat that pastures on the plains of Thibet from which the magnificent shawl tissues are constructed that supply the whole world is exclusively the export of that state while Kashmere has an equal individuality in its favour, as beyond the limits of that beautiful valley the softness of the fabrick ceases the manufacture itself being deteriorated Thus are Ludak and Cashmere inseparably connected together their productions being reciprocally interesting and an acquaintance with both essential to the prosperity of British India. 11 Extract from Bengal Political Consultations, 30 May 1833 S.C. British Library, IOR/P/BEN/SEC/374 No. 6.

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The distance between the two places is one month’s easy journey and I might calculate on reaching the capital of Ludak early in July, which and the subsequent month is the short summer season of these elevated regions but that period could be ample for viewing a county the limits of which are circumscribed on the west by tributaries of Cashmere and petty chiefships southward by the British Dependency of Koonawar and on its remaining aspects by the Chinese Domenions, that to the North in the direction of Yarkand and thence west by Kokan to Bhokara, would then form the only portion of unexplored country wanting to complete the circuit already so far extended by the late Journey. From Ludak, if I was not allowed to trace up the South Eastern branch of the Indus, my return to Hindoostan would either be by the heads of the Choonah and Bearacessines [? - Chenab and BeasAcasines?; the Chenab River = the Greek Acasines, the Beas River = the Greek Hyphasis] and through the mountain state of Cooloo a tributary of Runjit Singh’s (only the Valley of Sputer [Spiti?] and Sutlej both lines of route well known to me and by either I might expect to reach Soobathoo by December 1833. - [bracket not closed] Such is the Scheme of a tour which I trust will be favourably viewed and at least be received as the offspring of a desire that has no other prospect that to profit by the advantages of present situation and whatever the extent of that may be it will not be for want of exertion or industry on my part if it proves remunerating. If I would still farther identify myself with the project it would upon the grounds of requital for my regret at not having seen the Caspian an object which my present route towards India entirely baffled but which will not be considered a misfortune in the prospect of Kashmere and Ladak. No order or resolution follows this letter. In his letter of 12 June 1834 to the Secret Committee of the Court of Directors, C.T. Metcalfe, a Member of the Supreme Council, reported that Surgeon Gerard had not been vested with any political authority when he had accompanied Lieut. A. Burnes to Kabul and Turkestan, and his communications on the details of his journey would therefore not be included in the proceedings of the government (see British Library, IOR/L/ PS/5/8A, No.2). Acknowledgements My sincere thanks are due to Neil Howard for the changes he kindly suggested after having obliged me with reading my first draft and also for his interpretations of jumbled sequences in the documents

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involved. At the International Association for Ladakh Studies (IALS) conference in Oxford in September 2001, I benefited from comments by Dr Janet Rizvi and Neil Howard, and from questions by Dr John Crook. At the final stages of editing I obtained useful advice on several points from John Bray. Of course, all the errors, which may still remain, are mine. NOTES

Abbreviations ASB: Asiatic Society, Asiatic Society of Bengal JASB: Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal C: Crawford, Lieut.-Col. D.G. 1930. Roll of the Indian Medical Service 1615-1930. London: W. Thacker & Co. CD: 1992. The Concise Dictionary of National Biography. From earliest times to 1985. Oxford-New York: Oxford University Press. DNB: Stephen, Leslie & Lee, Sidney, (eds.) various dates. Dictionary of National Biography. London: Smith, Elder, & Co. H: Hodson, Major V.C.P. 1928. List of the Officers of the Bengal Army 1758-1834. London: Constable & Co. Hig: Higginbotham, J.J. 1874. Men whom India has known - Biographies of Eminent Indian Characters. Madras. I: Buckland, C.E. 1906. Dictionary of Indian Biography. London: Swan, Sonnenschein & Co.; George Allen & Co.

Summary biographies of the people discussed in this paper: Burnes, Sir Alexander (1805-1841): DNB, CD, I, Hig Csoma de Körös / Csoma de KIJrös, Alexander / Csoma KIJrösi, Alex. / KIJrösi Csoma Sándor (1784?-1842): I Fraser, James Baillie (1783-1856): DNB, CD, I Fraser, William (1784-1835): DNB, CD, I Gerard, Alexander (1792-1839): H, DNB, CD, I Gerard, James Gilbert (1793? or 1995?-1835): C, DNB, CD, I Gerard, Patrick (1794-1848): H, DNB, CD, I Kennedy, Charles Pratt (1789-1875): H Metcalfe, Charles Theophilus, Baron (1785-1846): DNB, CD, I, Hig Mohan Lal (?-1870): I Moorcroft, William (1767-1825): DNB, CD, I, Hig Murray, William (1791-1831): H Ochterlony, Sir David, Baronet (1758-1825): H, DNB, CD, I, Hig Wilson, Horace Hayman (1786-1860): DNB, CD, I, Hig

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Alder, Garry. 1985. Beyond Bokhara - The Life of William Moorcroft, Asian Explorer and Pioneer Veterinary Surgeon 1767-1825. London: Century. Burnes, Alexander. 1834. Travels into Bokhara; Being the Account of a Journey from India to Cabool, Tartary and Persia. London. J. Murray. Dictionary of National Biography (DNB). 1985-1901. Edited by Leslie Stephen & Sidney Lee, London: Smith, Elder, & Co. Duka, Theodore M.D. 1885. Life and Works of Alexander Csoma de Körös. London: Trübner; rpt. ed. 1972. New Delhi: Manjusri. Gerard, Alexander. 1841. Account of Koonawur in the Himalayas. London, 1841. Gerard, James G. 1831. “Fossil Shells in the Snowy Mountains of Thibet.” Edinburgh New Philosophical Journal 10 (October 1830), Scientific Intelligence/Geology 7. Gerard, James G. 1833. “Observations on the Spiti Valley and Circumjacent Country within the Himálaya.” Asiatic Researches 18 (2):238-278. Gerard, James G. 1834. “Memoir on the Topes and Antiquities of Afghanistan.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 3, (13):321 ff. Gerard, James G. 1840. “Visit to the Shatool and Boorendo Passes for the purpose of determining the line of perpetual snow on the southern face of the Himalaya.” In Narrative of a journey from Caunpoor to the Boorendo Pass in the Himalaya Mountains. Vol. 1.: 281-347. Ed. by Lloyd, George. [London:] J. Madden & Co. Gerard, James G. 1911. “Report on Education in the Hills.” Included in “Report on the Protected Hill States” by Captain C P Kennedy [1824]. Records of the Delhi Residency and Agency:312-319. Lahore: Punjab Government Press. Kejariwal, O[m] P[rakash]. 1999. The Asiatic Society of Bengal and the Discovery of India’s Past. Oxford India Paperbacks Moorcroft, William & Trebeck, George. 1837. Travels in the Himalayan Provinces of Hindustan and the Panjab, in Ladakh and Kashmir, in Peshawar, Kabul, Kunduz and Bokhara. Edited by H.H. Wilson. 2 Vols. London: John Murray. .

CSOMA KėRÖSI’S PSEUDONYM P.J. MARCZELL Even admirers and scholars familiar with the adventurous life of Alexander Csoma KIJrösi (1784?-1842) ignore a significant biographical detail—that in his travels in Asia and fieldwork in the Himalayas and beyond, the pioneer of modern Tibetan studies used an adaptation of his given name instead of his surname.1 To put it in another way, he resorted to a pseudonym. When they are reminded of this, they are often baffled. The present paper aims to dispel their embarrassment. It explains what a pseudonym is; establishes its systematic use by Csoma in contradistinction to his genuine patronymic; reviews interpretations of this practice of his with an aim at synthesis; and concludes with a somewhat dissident opinion. Preliminary semantics According to the dictionaries that I currently use, the compound word ‘pseudonym’ denotes ‘a fictitious name adopted, esp. by an author’; ‘an assumed name adopted by the author to conceal his identity; pen name’. In its Latinised Greek origin, the first part (pseud-, pseudo) refers to constructions implying ‘sham, false, spurious, deceptively resembling’; the second (onyma>onoma) means ‘name’. However, such a view is simplistic. It is true that in French literature, for example, Molière (Poquelin), Voltaire (Arouet), Stendhal (Beyle), George Sand (Amandine Lucile Aurore Dudevant), Lautréamont (Ducasse), Apollinaire (Kostrowitzky), Saint-John Perse (Alexis Léger), Ajar (Romain Kacew>Romain Gary), etc., are not genuine family names. But this holds also true of modern artists from Russia such as Aliagrov (Jakobson), Sonia Delaunay-Terk (Sara Ilinitchna Stern), Férat (Yastrebtsov), Naum Gabo (Néhémia Abramovitch Pevsner), Iliazd (Zdanévitch) Jéguine (Schechtel), Klioune (Kliounkov), Pirosmani (Pirosmanashvili), Pougny (Puni), 1

For background on Csoma’s life, see the previous article in this volume.

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Survage (Stürzwage), and Werefkin (Vériovkina). Moreover, such revolutionaries of the 20th century as Lenin and Stalin, were born respectively Ulyanov and Dzughashvili. Many others took similar models, for instance the writer Pyeshkov when he opted for Gorki. In these examples, there are different reasons for the use of pseudonyms. These include: dissociation from a well-known parent or sibling; keeping stigmatised intellectual and artistic pursuits distinct from mainstream economic and commercial activities; protection of sensitive official (e.g. diplomatic) status; concealment of social deviance or foreign descent, or providing a mask to avoid social or racial prejudice; the convenience of a simplified appellation; stress on a militant commitment reminiscent of the religious engagement of monks and nuns. Some of these reasons may overlap.2 A cumbersome patronymic to start with Csoma’s full name has been a headache for most non-Hungarians. His family name was Csoma; and KIJrösi which includes a place name and a suffix, was a reference to his noble lineage. The given name Sándor stands for Alexander, and is still quite common among the Magyars. The French translation, conforming to contemporary Western diplomatic practice, Alexandre Csoma de KIJrös, is therefore quite correct. The same holds true of its anglicised version, Alexander Csoma de KIJrös, more plainly Alexander Csoma of KIJrös. It follows that its bearer can be adequately called both Csoma and KIJrösi (aristocratic usage would prefer the latter, dropping the ‘de’ among insiders). Another difficulty is the pronunciation, leading to misspellings in documents recorded under hasty dictation and endorsed at face value. In everyday life dominated by commoners uncultured in such subtleties, a less tricky, more homely equivalent simpler to pronounce was likely to prove more expedient. However, Csoma was not a happy-go-lucky person. One may presume that his choice of a pseudonym had to reflect his ‘essence’. Proofs of an oriental identification Correspondence by contemporary eyewitnesses, references in treatises in Bodhi, British-Indian passports and files, and legends recorded at Zangla and Phuktal (Zanskar), and Kanam (Kinnaur) concur. They 2 There are plenty of handbooks on pseudonyms, eg. d’Heylli (1887), Kennedy, Smith and Johnson (1926), Coston (1961), and Sharp (1972).

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attest that in northern India (including Ladakh), Csoma assumed, for his identification amongst natives, the Turkish/Persian variant of his Christian name and an adverbial phrase combining place and title. He changed his title preference around 1835. Eyewitnesses As far as we know, the first mention of the pseudonym occurs in a letter of recommendation dated 21 April 1823. It was set out in Kashmir by William Moorcroft (1767-1825), the initial sponsor of Csoma’s Tibetan enterprise, and was addressed to the ‘Officer in Command at Subathoo’.3 The warrant was given to the Hungarian scholar as a precaution in case his project went wrong and required government intervention. It starts as follows: The object of this address is to bespeak your good offices for Mr. Alexander Csoma or Sekunder Begh of Transylvania whom I now take the liberty to introduce.4

The second testimony goes back to 11 May 1828, when at Giarghi, ‘a village two miles beyond Dingchan’ and a mile and a half from Dr. James Gilbert Gerard’s camp, a British-Indian officer noted the following: In the evening a Lama, the tutor of Mr. De Koros, who is studying the Thibetian language in Kinour, came to pay me a visit, he was on peregrination to ‘see the world’, and had gone round by Mundee and Sokeet as far as Subathoo, he was furnished with a certificate from his pupil, the Hungarian (who signs himself ‘Secunder Roome’) (Archer 1883 vol.2:233)...

In a letter of 3 May 1829 from Calcutta, Captain L[ewis] R[obert] Stacy (1788-1848) wrote to H[orace] H[enry] Wilson, Secretary of the Asiatic Society of Bengal: Will you do me the favour of mentioning to the Asiatic Society that Monsr Csoma de Rhoomee is suffering from great privations...5

3

For background on Moorcroft, see my previous article in this volume. British Library, OIOC, MSS. Eur. G. 28, 49 (draft), and also P/124/5, No. 69 (Bengal Pol. Cons., 24 December 1824) and F/4/987 (Boards Coll.). Transcript published in Duka 1885:34-35. 5 Copy made for Duka in the Asiatic Society, Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Budapest (uncatalogued material). 4

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During his expedition in Kinnaur, the French naturalist, Victor Jacquemont (1801-1832), met Csoma at Kanam several times over the period 26-31 July 1830 when he was moving eastward to the Tibetan border, and again on his way back on 21 September 1830. He described his host in several passages of his journal and in various letters sent to his father, to his elder brother and to friends. Most of these observations were included in Vol. II. part. 4 of the posthumous book Voyage dans l'Inde pendant les années 1828-1832 and in similar editions of his collected correspondence. There are three relevant passages dealing specifically with ‘Secunder Beg’. Here are their translations: I shall see soon at Kanum this incredible original Hungarian, Mr. Alexander Csoma de Körös, of whom you have no doubt heard; he has lived for four years under the, by no means modest, name, Secander-Beg, i.e. Alexander the Great, dressed oriental fashion. (Jacquemont’s letter to his father from Chini, 15 July 1830, Le Calloc’h 1987:112). I have seen at Kanum, in Kinnaur, Mr. Csoma de Körös - Rumi - or Secander-beg (Alexander the Great), well, this original Hungarian of whom you have surely heard; travelling in Asia for ten years under a miserable travesty in order to discover, by the comparison of languages, the horde from which his nation is a swarm (Jacquemont’s letter to his father from Nako, 26 August 1830, Le Calloc’h 1987:113). Mr. Csoma is not known by the Kinnauras under his name but under that of Rumi (Roman in Hungarian)... Elsewhere he travelled, says he, under his Christian name, Alexander, which is also an oriental name, Secander, to which he adds Beg, to imitate the Orient’s bombast. The people of Kanum treat him as Saheb, and I saw Vizir Busuntranme withdraw respectfully when one day Rumi Saheb drew close to speak to me (Jacquemont 1841-44. Vol 1:256).6

Records by Zanskari abbots In 1824, Csoma alias the Rumi Skandher Beg, induced the head lamas of Dzongkhul and of Rangdun Monasteries to write treatises for him on Buddhism. Both complied, and acknowledged the request in 6 Yule & Burnell (1886/1990:781) provide useful details on “Sahib, s. The title by which, all over India, European gentlemen, and it may be said Europeans generally, are addressed, and spoken of, when no disrespect is intended, by natives. It is also the general title (at least where Hindustani or Persian is used) which is affixed to the name or office of a European, corresponding thus rather to Monsieur than to Mr.” ‘Busuntranme’ should be correctly ‘Basant Ram’.

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their respective dris lans. Thus, Kun-dgah-chos-legs’ compendium bears the title: Answers to the questions of the European Sken-dha. Its dam-bcah part confirms that: Having arrived from Europe, Sken-dhar bhig begged me to write this pell-mell little study which does not bring luck to wisdom.

Its colophon on page 221 specifies that: The answers to the European Skendha’s questions were written by Kun-dgah-chos-legs-rdo-rje in the big cave of Rdzong-khul.

In the ‘Answers to questions entitled: The ship penetrating into the sea of philosophical systems’ by Tshul-khrims-rgya-mtsho, the colophon on page 43 runs as follows: The Rumi Skandher beg, who is like the vast, open skies in his unshakable fortitude and his insight demonstrated in sciences, undertaking the arduous journey from the large ocean of the Orient to jasmine-covered Upper Tibet, in his search for learning, not for his own selfish purpose but for the salvation of all people, and arriving at Zangla, obtained knowledge, through the power of prayer, of me…

In the two texts, the key references are respectively: rgya-gar rum-yulnas byon-pahi Sken-dhar bhig-gis / rgya-gar rum-yulpa Sken-dhas and rum-pa Sken-dher bheg.7 British-Indian passports In 1824, after roughly a year and a half of research in Ladakh, Csoma walked to Sabathu, the British military base and communication centre in the Punjabi Hills near Simla, to take advantage of his recommendation from Moorcroft. His clearance there took six months, ending, before Moorcroft was dead and his expedition broken up, in government endorsement of his Tibetan project, modest pecuniary assistance and permission to return to Zanskar. Csoma’s second stay in Ladakh ran into difficulties probably because of overall insecurity. It yielded an impressive collection of Tibetan manuscripts and xylographs but suffered from insufficient local collaboration—so much so that it had to be discontinued when the winter of 1826/1827 set in. This shortfall was made good by a three-year extension of the Tibetan programme to be carried out on 7

The translations are borrowed from Terjék (1976). This publication reproduces the original scripts in Bothi preserved in Budapest, which, however, are copies. Their authors and their collection in Hungary are discussed in Marczell (1999).

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British-protected territory at Kanam from 1827-1830. The task of seeing the grammar, dictionary and other basic compilations through the press in Calcutta was slowed down by Csoma’s cataloguing duties (while he was working at the Asiatic Society of Bengal) and the lack of adequate fonts. After these tasks had been completed, and the dissemination of the publications was finished, Csoma took up residence at the site of a former garrison in Titalya (today Tetulia, Bangladesh), near Siliguri and south of Sikkim. On 30 November 1835 he asked the British authorities for a passport for three years through the secretary of the Asiatic Society of Bengal. His request was forwarded by James Prinsep to W.H. Macnaghten, Secretary to Government, Political Dept., in the following terms: Sir, I have been requested by Mr. Alexander Csoma de Körös to report for the information of the Honorable the Governor General of India in Council, that he is desirous of terminating his residence in Calcutta and of proceeding to the interiors for the purpose of further prosecuting his studies in the Oriental languages. He begs me accordingly to solicit permission for his continuing for three more years within the British Indian territories, and further to request that he may be furnished with two passports to be produced when occasion may require - one in the English language; - in which he would wish to be designated by the simple title of Mr. Alexander Csoma, a Hungarian philologer, native of Transylvania; - and one in the Persian language describing him as ‘Molla Eskander Csoma az Mulk-i Rum’.

This demand was satisfied on 14 December 1835. The translation of the Persian passport runs as follows: East India Company Bahadur Alexander Diamolla of Rome is given three years permission from His Highness Nawab Mastab Ali on behalf of Governor General Bahadur in Council to conduct studies and research in Hindustan and all army and civil help is to be assured. Dated 14 December 1835 (1251 Hijri) Issued by Governor General in Council at Fort William.8

8

The original documents are in the National Archives of India. New Delhi. Proceedings 27 September 1841, Nos. 106-108. Cons F.C. The translation has been kindly provided by Serbjeet Singh to whom all my thanks are due.

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Figure 20. East India Company passport in Persian of Molla Eskander az Mulk-i Rum (Csoma) on white paper with wafer seal, 22x33.5cm. National Archives of India.

Local legends Several travellers to the places where Csoma lived inquired into memories lingering on about their hero among the elders of the inhabitants. Three of them published their findings in travelogues. Gottlieb William Leitner (1840-1899), the founder of Punjab University, longtime rector of Government College in Lahore and editor of the Asiatic Quarterly Review, who passed by Phuktal in 1866, described the high esteem in which his path-breaking compatriot was held at the monastery, where he was affectionately remembered as the ‘Philangi Dàsa’. In his account of his ‘discoveries and adventures in Tibet’ released in three volumes, the Swedish geographic explorer Sven Hedin (18651952) devoted a whole chapter to the ‘learned lama from Hungary’ whose abode he visited and sketched in 1908 at Kanam. The hut was known as the former dwelling of a European lama, ‘Lama-Sahib’, and it fitted Dr Gerard’s description from 1828. The oldest man of the village, named Yangpur, testified that his father had used to call the foreigner ‘Ganderbek’, and that the local monks had regarded him as a colleague.

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Although he did not manage to get to Kanam, the Hungarian pilgrim Ervin Baktay (1890-1963) covered both Zangla and Phuktal. According to his testimony, in 1928 Skandher beg was still remembered at both places as ‘the sage from Rum’, who was associated with Lama Sang-rgyas-phun-tshogs and Dzongkhul monastery.9 British comments In 1812 William Moorcroft had made an unauthorised clandestine expedition from Kumaon to Lake Manasarowar in disguise as a gosain named Mayapoori, and he was impressed by Secunder beg’s ease of travel on dangerous terrain. Moorcroft offered to find him a suitable companion, but noted that this person’s appearance and character would need to be modelled on Csoma’s and should include: ... the gait of a Fuqeer or persons in indigent circumstances a condition which will ensure his personal safety - Whatever his other qualities may be, a mild, conciliating disposition, and the most cautious avoidance of religious controversy are indispensable to success as a contrary conduct would not only defeat the primary objects of the expedition but expose the British interests which have now taken root in Ladakh to risk of injury -.10

To Moorcroft, the Sekunder Begh appellation must have looked a well-chosen feature of the ideal ‘gait’ (read also ‘garb’).

9 The corresponding references are, respectively: Duka (1885:160), Hedin (1991, Vol.3:416-17, Baktay (1940:242-44, 267-70). One may be sceptical about the methods of investigation of the three authors because all three had made clear to the locals what they were looking for, and thereby provoked the expected replies. They arrived at the region with powerful recommendations, enjoyed the backing of the top dignitaries there and all this could well lead to scenarios especially constructed to please them. Baktay’s approach was peculiarly crude and aggressive. His principal motives seem to boil down to placing commemorative plates, taking photographs of them to authenticate himself as a gentleman explorer, and telling the story in lectures, articles and books as often as he could. He imposed on the lamas of Phuktal a slab with an inscription that he knew was incorrect, in order to drive home a dubious thesis, viz., that Csoma had lived in their gonpa for approximately 15 months as an inmate. 10 Postscript of May 5th 1823 to the letter to George Swinton Esq., Secretary to the Govt. Pol. Dept - Fort William, dated March 24th 1823. [Drafts: MSS. Eur. D. 266. 4, pp. 25-29 and MSS. Eur. G. 28. 53. OIOC / British Library.] The lot was described in detail by Kaye & Johnston (1937:955-966). In the same institution a further copy of this document is stored under shelfmark P/123/50. (Cons. 10 October 1823. No 43.) Bethlenfalvy (1978) reproduced another copy found in the National Archives of India, New Delhi, with many misreadings.

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Captain Charles Pratt Kennedy (1789-1875) was the friendly assistant political agent and commanding officer of the first Nasiri (Gurkha) battalion at the former Nepalese fortification, Sabathu to whom Moorcroft recommended Csoma. Without quoting the pseudonym of his Hungarian protégé, he hinted at it on 3 September 1829 in his letter to H.H. Wilson, the Secretary of the Asiatic Society of Bengal: Mr. Csoma ... appears anxious to avoid the society and attentions of Europeans, chiefly, in my opinion, to retain the incognito he lives in (Duka 1885:104).

What he meant by the Italian word was probably a relative anonymity assumed for fear of creating a barrier of too much difference or distinction. Earlier, Captain Stacy had described the Tibetologist to Wilson in a similar way: Csoma expends very little upon himself; he dresses in the coarse blanket of the country, and eats with the natives (Duka 1885:102).

In his recollection of Csoma’s stay at Titalya put in writing on 12 December 1843 at the behest of Dr Archibald Campbell, superintendent at Darjeeling, former Government Agent N.E. Frontier, Colonel G.W.A. Lloyd (1789-1865) confirmed this picture: He would not remain in my house, as he thought his eating and living with me would cause him to be deprived of the familiarity and society of the natives, with whom it was his wish to be colloquially intimate.11

Gallic interpretation The most lively and scathing portrayal of Csoma can be found in the journal and correspondence of the French traveller Victor Jacquemont. The quotations in the first part of this paper contained their gist. Jacquemont stressed that the Tibetologist had worn local garments: sheepskin with the hair inside and black lambskin cap typical of Tartar herdsmen; native Kinnaura cap, gown of blue serge, coarse pants of white cotton, silk stockings with leather soles. This ‘bizarre’ outfit seemed to determine his behaviour, which was stubbornly subservient before Europeans, so much so that it might look defiant. The incredible eccentric from Hungary lacked common sense; he was somewhat crazy. So were the Tibetans, a people of lunatics or idiots, let God protect us from their language!

11

Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 14 (1845), No. 167 (Nov.): 825.

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In Jacquemont’s judgement, the indigenous races of India did not fare better: they were all most barbarous. Yet, with all his exaggerations, his remarks concerning Csoma who, unlike him, travelled as a beggar or fakir, pose two interesting problems: first, the scholar’s identification with Alexander the Great; and secondly local incomprehension of his geographic background mixed with indifference. In connection with the first point, we may recognise that because of his Christian name, Csoma might have considered Alexander the Great, who was much admired by the German romantics he got to know during his theological studies at Göttingen, to be his spiritual patron. If so, he might have been tempted to follow the Macedonian king’s conquering itinerary through the Middle East. In 1820 Csoma had made a side-trip to Egypt, and much of his subsequent route to India might have been motivated by an ‘imitatio Alexandri’ rather than by the logistic impediments of a much publicised patriotic project too hazy and amateurish to be entirely convincing. A Swedish view Sven Hedin’s intelligent reconstruction of the original setting is much more respectful. More important, it is sympathetic with the advantage of being truthful. Thanks to his deep insight for Csoma’s incognito alluded to by Captain P.C. Kennedy, it introduces another French word. The phrase nom de guerre is more telling. It suggests a fighter’s intention to signify through a fairly simple chosen name his determination in a long combat. This intuition promotes Jacquemont’s mad Hungarian fakir into a Nietzschean character avant la lettre, whom people in the 20th and 21st centuries should recognise and appreciate. In fact, in the light of Nietzsche’s teachings, there is little need to decide what a hero’s big project was really about and how consistent it was, whether it failed and to what extent, for what matters is that it was driving him despite and against everybody. Francke’s communication August Hermann Francke (1870-1930) was one of the leading personalities of the Protestant Moravian Church or Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine (Unitas Fratrum) in the Himalaya (see Francke/Reifenberg, this volume). He ended his career as the first German professor of Tibetan at the University of Berlin in recognition of the competence he had acquired in Ladakh and Lahul. At that stage, he was informed

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of the discovery in 1924 at Dzongkhul by a British official, H. Lee Shuttleworth, of Kun-dga’-chos-legs’ dris lan mentioned earlier in this paper, together with a corresponding biography. He had the report cross-checked by Yoseb Gergan, one of his local fellow missionaries of distinguished Ladakhi/Tibetan origin. He then followed up the details received and published his conclusions on them in two instalments (Francke 1927, 1928).12 The second of these contributions explained that the addressee of the abbot concerned was Skandhar Bhig, i.e. Csoma coming from Central Asia to the Tibetan-speaking area, that Iskander stood for Alexander and Bhig for the Turkish beg, lord, prince. It took the home country implied, Rum-yul, for Turkey and Rgy-gar-rum-yul for India, Turkey, perhaps Indian Turkey. It added that all that sounded very beautiful, yet at the time when the text was produced, Tibetans knew practically nothing about Europe anyway. Hungarian consensus Francke’s enthusiastic disclosures on ‘Skandhar Bhig’ sparked off research within the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, with good results. These were summarised at an early stage in 1933 in T’oung Pao by one of Paul Pelliot’s Hungarian disciples, Louis (Lajos) Ligeti. His article was a reminder that the Academy was the depositary of a sizeable collection of Tibetan manuscripts and blockprints secured by Csoma, including the critical dris lan by Kun-dga’-chos-legs. It disagreed with A.H. Francke’s translating rgya-gar rum-yul by Turkish India, proposing Europe in its stead on the ground that the words Rum and rum-pa of Persian origin referred to Byzantium and by extension to all the countries that had once been subject to the Byzantine Empire. In time, Ligeti became a Turkologist of international renown who organised big academic jamborees in honour of Csoma. As a prominent figure of Stalinist and post-Stalinist cultural gatherings, he was fully aware of the Transylvanian lexicographer’s passionate assumptions of some sort of a relationship between the SiculoHungarians and the Huns, and also of the continuing popular support for such a representation. It is then quite astonishing that he took so clear a stand on Rum in Csoma’s pseudonym signifying Europe, period. It is not less remarkable that his view has survived without any caveat whatever, and is still shared by the community of wellestablished Hungarian specialists despite ferocious populist attacks. 12

On Francke’s affinity with Csoma, see Meier (1995).

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The author’s opinion In the light of the comments and controversies reviewed, it is time to hazard a series of remarks. To start with, one may recognise a parallel between the traveller and fieldworker’s oriental pseudonym and the signature in his major works produced for English-speaking Westerners.13 Their structures are similar. The variants ‘rum-pa Sken-dher bheg’ / ‘Rgya-gar rumyul-pa Sken-dhar bhig’ / ‘Molla Eskander Csoma az Mulk-i Rúm’ build on a Christian name and an adverbial phrase combining place and title, and correspond closely to the imprint ‘Alexander Csoma de KIJrös, Siculo-Hungarian of Transylvania’. In the latter, the universal given name (Alexander/Iskander) and the surname Csoma are maintained; the title (suggested by ‘bheg’ and ‘molla’) is expressed by the handle de KIJrös (through the ‘de’ with its geographic cross-reference); and the vague indication of origin (rumpa, etc.) becomes tightened into the epithet ‘Siculo-Hungarian of Transylvania’. One may presume that Csoma’s reference to Rum was a rough equivalent of the status with which he wished constantly to be associated: a Siculo-Hungarian of Transylvania. Because of its conscious double redundancy, this extraordinary emphasis should be grasped in all its implications. The word Transylvania is derived from the Latin Ultra Silvas > Ultrasilvana. Its official use seems to have started as late as 1461 AD to cover a hilly basin of approximately 57,000 square kilometers west from the Carpathian Mountains in their semi-circle from Máramaros through Cronstadt/Brassó to the Danube where the river separates present-day Romania and Serbia. It stretched to the flatlands melting farther into the Hungarian Plains. As to its past, it had belonged to the Roman Empire within the administrative frame of Provincia Dacia Augusti from its conquest by Trajan over 102-106 AD to its official loss by Aurelian around 271-275. It passed then successively under the supremacy of German, Turkic and Mongolian invaders and their allies. These waves of Visigoths, Gepids, Huns and Avars gave way to the rule of a mixed Turki-Slavonic stock, the Bulgars, stopped by the ‘Onogur’ tribal union dominated by the Magyars or Hungarians. The 13 These are his Tibetan grammar and dictionary, which were published separately, and his four contributions to Asiatic Researches, viz., a consistent series of analyses of the bKa’ ’gyur and bsTan ’gyur and Notices of the Life of Shakya, extracted from the Tibetan authorities.

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latter spoke a non-Indo-European, non-Turki-Mongolian language of the Ugorian family. Their state tended to oscillate as loose vassal between two antagonistic poles: the Byzantine Empire (called Roman Empire after the fall of the Western Roman Empire in 476) and the Frank German Empire. This opportunism came to an end in 1453 with the occupation of Constantinople by the Osmanli Turks who 73 years later also crushed Hungary so that it split into three. The eastern part, Transylvania, became an autonomous principality under Ottoman protection for almost two centuries. It was eventually reunited with the kingdom of Hungary and incorporated into the Habsburgs’ Austrian Empire, to which it belonged until 1918 when it was taken over by Romania. Suffice it to say, that Transylvania looks back to a mild Turkish dependence never experienced in the rest of Hungary. In Csoma’s time it was tempting to recall this relationship in opposition to the harshness of Austrian rule, bearing also in mind the precedents of shifting loyalties during the Middle Ages. We may then conclude with three points. First, the names by which Csoma wanted to be addressed and remembered suggest Byzantine and Turkic links and affinities. Second, this contrasts with his actual subjection to the Habsburg empire before he escaped it by leaving his country illegally, with the consequence that the Austrian authorities refused to restore or reconfirm his nationality in India through an imperial passport. Third, as a stateless traveller whose nom de guerre could rightly be understood to express political defiance, he behaved in a way foreshadowing the heroic Siculian participation in the Hungarian war of independence of 1848-49. Acknowledgement My sincere thanks are due to Neil Howard for having obliged me with reading my full text and suggesting corrections. Of course, all the errors, which may still remain, are mine.

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Archer, Major, late aide-de-camp to Lord Combermere. 1883. Tours in Upper India and in parts of the Himalaya Mountains. 2 vols. London: Bentley. Baktay, Ervin. 1934 (1930). A világ tetején. 3rd ed. Budapest: Lampel. Bethlenfalvy, Géza. 1978. “Alexander Csoma de KIJrös in Ladakh.” In Proceedings of the Csoma de KIJrös Memorial Symposium Held at Mátrafüred, Hungary, 24-30 September 1976:17-18, 23-25. Edited by Louis Ligeti. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó. Coston, Henri. 1961. Dictionnaire des pseudonymes. Paris: Lectures françaises. Duka, Theodore. 1885. Life and Works of Alexander Csoma de KIJrös. London: Trübner. Francke, A.H. 1927. “Neues über Csoma de KIJrös.” Ungarische Jahrbücher 6:330-332. Francke, A.H. 1928. “Die Fragen des Alexander.” Ungarische Jahrbücher 8:375-377. Hedin, Sven. 1991 (1923). Trans-Himalaya. Reprint ed.: New Delhi: SBW. d’Heylli, Georges. 1887. Dictionnaire des pseudonymes. Paris. (Slatkine reprints, Genève, 1971). Hodson, Major V.C.P. 1928. List of the Officers of the Bengal Army, 1758-1834. London: Constable. Kaye, George Rusby & Johnston, Edward Hamilton. 1937. India Office Library Catalogue of Manuscripts in European Languages. Vol. II. Part II. Minor Collections and Miscellaneous Manuscripts. London: HMSO. Kennedy, James; Smith, W.A. & Johnson, A.F. 1926. Dictionary of Anonymous and Pseudonymous English Literature. 7 vols, 2 suppls. London: Oliver & Boyle. Le Calloc’h, Bernard. 1987. “Un témoinage capital sur la vie d’Alexandre Csoma de KIJrös.” Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 41, No. 1: 83-124. Marczell, P.J. 1999. “Csoma KIJrösi’s Guides in Tibetan Learning from Rdzong Khul Dgon Pa, Zangs Dkar, with Special Reference to Tshul khrims rgya mtsho.” In Ladakh: Culture, History and Development between Himalaya and Karokoram:271-283. Edited by Martijn van Beek, Kristoffer Brix Bertelsen and Poul Pedersen. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. Meier, Gudrun. 1995. “A.H. Francke—a ‘Brother in Spirit’ to Alexander Csoma de Kôrös.” Recent Research on Ladakh 4 & 5:398-403. Edited by Henry Osmaston & Philip Denwood. 1995. London: SOAS. Sharp, Harold S. 1972. Handbook of Pseudonyms and Personal Nicknames. 2 vols. Metuchen, N.J.: The Scarecrow Press. Strachey, Henry. 1854. Physical Geography of Western Tibet. London: William Clowes & Sons. Terjék, József (Ed.) 1976. Tibetan Compendia Written for Csoma de Koros by the Lamas of Zans-dkar. Sata-Pitaka Series Indo-Asian Literatures, Vol. 231. New Delhi: Society of Csoma de KIJrös and the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Yule, Henry & Burnell, A.C. 1990. (1886) Hobson-Jobson. The Anglo-Indian Dictionary. Bengal Chamber ed. Calcutta: Rupa & Co.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE BOUNDARY BETWEEN THE STATE OF JAMMU & KASHMIR AND BRITISH INDIA, AND ITS REPRESENTATION ON MAPS OF THE LINGTI PLAIN NEIL HOWARD The Lingti Plain lies to the north-east of the Baralacha Pass, on either side of the Gar zha’i chu, i.e. the Yunam River of many maps.1 The plain begins upstream at the Ra bo mchod rten, which stands above the river’s left bank, and ends, downstream, at the junction of that river with the Tsarap River. It is crossed by the old frontier between Ladakh (including Zanskar) and Lahul (part of the Kingdom of Kulu since at least the late 17th century) which is now the boundary between the modern Indian states of Jammu & Kashmir and Himachal Pradesh. For as far back in history as we can surmise, and long anterior to any period for which we have documentary sources, Lahul (as we name it today) or Gar zha (as at least the northern part was named in Ladakhi Tibetan) was a borderland which seems to have belonged to whichever of its neighbouring states was the strongest. During the Ladakh-Tibet-Mongol war of 1679-1684 Raja Bidhi Singh of Kulu saw his chance and occupied Lahul in 1682 (Petech 1977:72-78). His border with Chamba on the Chandrabhaga River was established at Thirot (Hutchison and Vogel 1933:481), where it has remained ever since. His successor Man Singh (1688-1719) established his border with Ladakh on the Lingti Plain, where it too has remained. In 1835 Ladakh was conquered by the Dogras of Jammu, whose ruler, Gulab Singh, was subordinate to Maharaja Ranjit Singh of the Sikhs. The Dogras did not rule Lahul. In 1840-1841 the Sikhs conquered Kulu, and Lahul became a part of the Sikh empire which it remained until 1846.

1 A number of rivers in this part of the Himalaya were misnamed by the early travellers and the names they gave have been copied onto maps ever since. Where I can, I will correct these errors. I am grateful to Mr. Tshering Dorje of Guskyar, Lahul, for confirming my identification of the true name of the Yunam River.

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British involvement Following the 1st Sikh War, the state of Jammu & Kashmir, now independent of the Sikhs, was established by the Treaty of Amritsar in 1846. It included Ladakh, and therefore Spiti, while Lahul became part of British India. Although the British were pleased with the idea of having a strong, friendly, and only semi-independent, kingdom between British India and the turbulent peoples to the north-west (and the alarming Russian influence there) they did not entirely trust Gulab Singh (see Warikoo, this volume). They feared that he might try again to extend his influence into Tibet, with potentially disastrous consequences for trade and diplomatic relations with the Chinese empire; and they feared that he might use the geographical position of his state to hinder the passage of British Indian trans-Himalayan trade—to his own advantage—particularly the shawl wool trade in British territory on which the young shawl industry of Nurpur and other places depended. In fact, it was Alexander Cunningham’s realisation that that trade between western Tibet and (British) Rampur Bashahr passed through a small part of Spiti which caused the treaty to be modified so that Spiti was joined to Lahul and Kulu, and Gulab Singh was compensated elsewhere (Datta 1973:185-186; Cunningham 1854:13). So it was felt by Government to be urgently necessary to demarcate the border between British and Kashmir—and between Kashmiri and Tibetan—territory. The first boundary commission 1846 P. A. Vans Agnew and Capt. A. Cunningham were sent into Lahul as Boundary Commissioners with instructions to demarcate clear and incontestable boundary lines round the southern and eastern frontiers of Ladakh. Their instructions from Henry Lawrence (Agent to the Governor General, Northwest Frontier, and Resident at Lahore) included a requirement to establish such frontiers as would prevent the rulers of Jammu & Kashmir ever interrupting British Indian trade. And also, because Lawrence believed that the monopolistic trade clauses of the Ladakhi treaties of Leh (1842) and Temisgam (1684) should no longer be valid—he argued that since Gulab Singh had accepted British paramountcy, traders from British territories should be allowed to trade freely with Western Tibet—he instructed Cunningham and Vans Agnew to open negotiations along these lines with the Tibetan authorities at Gartok (Alder 1963:21; Choudhury

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1996:29-30; Datta 1973:189). The failure of this objective does not concern us here, but it clearly illustrates the determination of the British authorities at that time to develop trade wherever possible. The Commissioners crossed the Baralacha Pass on 5th September 1846. That date was the anniversary of William Moorcroft’s crossing in 1820 and was a pleasant coincidence for Cunningham because he was using Moorcroft’s account of his journey as his guide and constantly affirms the accuracy of Moorcroft’s observations. Over the next few days they steadily followed the old trade route northwards across the Lingti Plain and carefully recorded their camps and landmarks, geographical features and distances along the trail. Cunningham published in the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal both a narrative Journal of his journey and a Memorandum accompanied by a map setting out the boundary as he and Vans Agnew had determined it on the ground (Cunningham 1848: Journal: 201-230; Memorandum and map: 295-297; some further information was contained in a collection of correspondence from the Commissioners published in the same issue: 89-132). In the Memorandum he describes the principles guiding the Commissioners: that they would set their boundaries on mountain ranges which formed watersheds, in order to “completely preclude the possibility of future dispute” (Memorandum: 295); and, by implication in his second and third paragraphs, that they would adopt clear traditional boundary markers where they were found to exist. Therefore, accepting the long-established boundary between Chamba and Lahul near the village of Thirot on the Chandrabhaga River the Commissioners took their boundary line up the “Chukam Nullah” to the “snowy range (called Paralassa [Baralacha] by Dr. Gerard)” (Memorandum: 296) and enclosed all the basin of the Bhaga River, including all its headwaters, within Lahul.2 His boundary crossed the path over the Shingo La at its summit and continued eastwards along the crest of the range towards the Baralacha Pass. But before their boundary reached the pass they turned it to run along the crest of the mountain spur to the north-west of the head waters of the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu as far as a point opposite to the Falang Danda stone. Moorcroft had noted that Falang Danda was the boundary between Kulu-Lahul and Ladakh. Local people confirmed to Cunningham and Vans Agnew that it still marked the

2 They were not concerned with the boundary along the watershed of the Chandra River because it separates Lahul from Spiti, which were both British territories.

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boundary (Memorandum: 296). In fact, it had marked the boundary since at least the time of Raja Man Singh of Kulu in the early 18th century. Falang Danda is on the right-hand side of the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu and Cunningham describes it in his Journal as “a square block of mica slate thickly imbedded with large crystals of quartz” and “eight feet square and twelve feet high above the ground” (Journal: 218). Because “there was no known or recognised boundary mark on the other side of the stream [Yunam River] the Commissioners selected a remarkable cream coloured peak, called Thuram, as the northern limit of British territory on the left bank of the river” (Memorandum: 296). In the next sentence of his Memorandum, Cunningham stated that the peak was at the end of the spur of the “Baralacha Range” which formed the north-western edge of the Lingti Plain here; and that it was 9 degrees north of west from Falang Danda. However, the map accompanying his Memorandum shows the peak rising out of the mountain spur, not at its end. The decision of the Commissioners to choose a mountain peak as their boundary marker on the left bank of the river is curious because Moorcroft had noted that there were boundary markers on the opposite side of the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu at this point: “Other landmarks of a similar kind were observable across the river [from Falang Danda]” (Moorcroft and Trebeck 1986:132). And Tshering Dorje of Guskyar has told me privately that at least one is still there today—called Tho mo che—close to Ra bo mchod rten. Cunningham did not explain how, but the Commissioners somehow learned that the eastern side of the Lingti Plain, down the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu below Falang Danda, belonged to Spiti and the west side to Ladakh. They therefore now took their boundary line across the plain from Falang Danda to the junction of the river with first nala downstream from Falang Danda, and then down the river itself to its junction with the Tsarap River (Memorandum: 296). When Cunningham and Vans Agnew reached that junction they noticed a path running up the Tsarap River in an easterly direction and decided that it must be a shawl-wool smugglers’ route. Their local porters denied it—but they took the denial as proof. Cunningham observed in his Journal that: “The object of the smugglers would appear to have been to reach the Lahul boundary as near the Phalang-danda (or boundary stone) as possible by some unfrequented route” (Journal: 219). In his Memorandum he proposed that a chain of traders’ camps (“dhurmsalas”) should be built to create an official

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shawl wool route from Rudok and Gartok to Lahul which would avoid Ladakhi territory. This is, in fact, impossible; and Cunningham’s inaccurate idea of the geography of south-eastern Ladakh in 1848 was to lead to dispute between Jammu & Kashmir and the British government 25 years later. Pursuing their demarcation, the Commissioners now took their boundary from the junction of the rivers up to a prominent and distinctive peak which they recorded as being named Lanka Peak and then along the mountain watershed eastwards to enclose all the basin of the upper Tsarap River and its supposed shawl-wool route within British Spiti (Memorandum: 296-297). They then went to Tsho Moriri; but their surveying work there was terminated after two days by heavy snowfall and they were forced to return home (Journal: 228-229). The Memorandum concludes by saying that the mountains north of the Tsarap continue eastwards past the south end of Tsho Moriri to the Tibetan border and that they should form the boundary between Ladakh and Spiti there too (Memorandum: 297). Cunningham’s second expedition in 1847 did not discover or resolve the anomalies inherent in his brief survey of the Tsho Moriri area in 1846.3 There had been no co-operation from either the Jammu & Kashmir government or the Chinese and Tibetan authorities in Lhasa (Cunningham 1848:90-91). His boundary line was not ratified. Cunningham’s Journal and Memorandum in the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal for 1848 must have been written as a statement of the best that could be done for the time being. He soon moved on to other things. In all his writings one senses a brisk and efficient man whose habit it was to take his instructions and get on with the job in hand to the best of his considerable abilities, in the time and with the resources available to him. He had been asked to demarcate a boundary and to ensure that it took account of the needs of British Indian trans-Himalayan trade—a subject which seems to have engaged his personal enthusiasm as well as his duty—and he had done so. His instructions from Henry Lawrence had included the injunction to ensure that if there should be any uncertainty about the traditional location of a boundary or its customary markers the benefit of the doubt should be given to the Maharaja of Jammu & Kashmir, 3 Cunningham’s companions on this expedition were Lieutenant Henry Strachey and Dr Thomas Thomson. The three books they wrote on their return— Cunningham’s Ladak, Strachey’s Physical Geography of Western Tibet and Thomson’s Western Himalaya and Tibet—are fine examples of heroic exploration scholarship.

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and he no doubt believed that he had done this. But the Maharaja had not sent officials of his own to work with Cunningham’s teams, as he had been requested to do, and the difficulties which emerged when the boundary question was taken up again more than 20 years later could have been avoided if he had. The second boundary commission 1871-1872 British interest in the boundary seems soon to have lapsed under the pressures of the 2nd Sikh War of 1849, the incorporation of the Panjab into British India, the Mutiny and the reorganisation of the government of India that followed. But all this while, trade from British India through Ladakh to eastern Turkestan had been suffering from a wide variety of hindrances, particularly the extortionate duties imposed by the Maharaja and the corruption of his officials (Alder 1963:22-24).4 In 1861 the government of the Panjab took up the problem of trans-Himalayan trade again and in 1862 published a report which formed the basis for official policies designed to realise the rich potential which was believed to exist in Central Asia. The rise to power of Yakub Beg in the Tarim region between 1862 and 1869 inspired surging British hopes for profitable trade on a large scale, now that his stable government and apparently welcoming attitude towards relations with India had replaced the chaos and official indifference of the previous Chinese overlordship which he had expelled (Alder 1963:25-27). Meanwhile the Panjab Public Works Department had decided that the relatively direct route through Kulu and Lahul to Leh would be the most physically desirable route to Central Asia (Alder 1963:24). Ladakh could not be avoided. Negotiations took place with the Maharaja in 1863 with the objective of reducing import and transit duties; but they failed to produce the necessary reforms in practice (Alder 1963:24) although the appointment of Dr. Henry Cayley as Trade Agent at Leh in 1867 did bring some immediate, temporary, improvements (Alder 1963:2829). Lord Mayo, appointed Viceroy in 1869, decided that a more forceful approach was needed (Alder 1963:41-42). Tough negotiation with the Maharaja resulted in a second treaty which, from the British point of view, established an equitable system for the merchants trading with Yarkand who would pass through Ladakh. It was ratified when the Maharaja and Lord Mayo met at Sealkot in May 1870. 4

For a detailed account of these obstructions to trade see Rizvi 1994:37-47.

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Under Article 1 of the 1870 Treaty officers of the British and Kashmiri governments were to survey the trade routes through the Maharaja’s territories. The rest of the treaty lays down rules by which Joint Commissioners would administer the traders who would use the chosen route through Ladakh (Alder 1963: Appendix 2). Several pieces of evidence suggest that there was widespread confusion about where the boundary between Jammu & Kashmir and British India lay, as we shall see, and there was a suspicion that the Maharaja was attempting to assert his authority beyond the boundary lines laid down by Cunningham and Vans Agnew. Therefore it was felt necessary by the Government of India to mark them clearly and finally on the ground. In 1871 Robert Shaw, for the Government, and Frederic Drew, for the Maharaja, were deputed to do the work. Their reports and related correspondence survive in the British Library in Extracts from Punjab Foreign Proceedings (EPFP); they make fascinating reading. The Viceroy had decided to adopt the boundary line set out in Cunningham’s Memorandum and its accompanying map (EPFP August 1871:item no. 29). Shaw’s report on his and Drew’s work is dated 21 July 1871 and is included in this item. He reports that they had no difficulties or disagreements about finding the line on the ground and fixing permanent markers on the Lingti Plain, and provides some useful detail. They easily identified Falang Danda stone in the middle of the plain and confirmed that every local person knew where it was. To identify it without question for the benefit of all and sundry in future Shaw had the upper surface of the stone engraved with the mark:

>

K

B

One arm of the mark points towards the cream coloured peak across the river and the other towards the junction of the river with the next east bank nala down stream. K signifies the Kashmir side of the boundary and B the British side. He says that the boundary line, as it runs in a straight line from the cream coloured peak to Falang Danda, touches the southern edge of a ruined mchod rten on the right bank of the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu. Shaw confirmed that the cream coloured peak arises out of its ridge of mountains (as on Cunningham’s Memorandum map). He gives its bearing as 10 degrees north of west (an insignificant difference) and its name as Toyoorma Tak, not Thuram. This name is strangely like that of the camp site marked Thoyor in the mouth of the Zanskar River

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(map name Lingti River), tributary of the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu, which is below the north-eastern end of that ridge. There may be linguistic confusion about the name of the mountain.

Figure 21. The Lingti Plain and adjacent country, based on the Survey of India sheet 52H, original scale 4 miles = 1 inch (the ‘1/4 Inch Map’).

Without difficulty they identified the junction of a nala and the river which Cunningham specified as the next boundary marker, stating that it lay 1250 yards (c.1140 meters) on a bearing 41 degrees east of north, from the Falang Danda stone. They built a cement-mortared masonry marker pillar there (see illustration), and this was inscribed: K|B 1871 Shaw gives the name of the nala as “Mané yokpo loongpa” (presumably Tibetan: Ma ne yok po lung pa) from a ruined ma ne on its north bank near the road. Shaw and Drew continued in harmony, confirming Cunningham’s boundary line, until they came to the south end of Tsho Moriri where they encountered irreconcilable difficulties in the implementation of

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Cunningham’s proposal. Shaw suggested a compromise interpretation which Drew refused to accept.

Figure 22. The boundary pillar erected in 1871 north-east of Falang Danda, at the junction of the nala and the Yunam River (photographed in 1999).

Drew’s report to the Maharaja of Jammu & Kashmir, dated 22 July 1871, was sent to the Punjab government under a covering letter from the Maharaja (EPFP September 1871: item no. 26). In it, Drew confirmed his agreement with Shaw up till the time they reached Tsho Moriri. Here, he observed, Cunningham’s understanding of the topography was quite inaccurate. The mountain range was not continuous south of the lake; there was a gap in the mountains and through the gap the Phirsa stream, usually an affluent of the lake, on occasion flowed south into the Para River which, after passing through a small part of Tibet, later enters Spiti and joins the Spiti River. In his support, he cites the recent Great Trigonometrical Survey maps and also Strachey’s recognition of this example of ‘distomosis’, or divided flow, in his Physical Geography of Western Tibet (1854:50-51). Thus, Drew said, the watershed principle could not be applied; and there was no customary boundary here between Ladakh and Spiti. Shaw had proposed that the benefit-of-doubt principle be applied and the valley of the Phirsa stream be included in the Maharaja’s territory, as if the

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division of the stream’s waters did not occur, but Drew rejected that compromise on the grounds that he had no authority to invent a new boundary which might be injurious to the Maharaja’s interests. The watershed principle was clearly flawed and he therefore referred the matter back to his master for further instructions. Drew then opened a larger argument with a different target in his sights. He claimed that Cunningham and Vans Agnew had not followed the watershed principle on the Lingti Plain. If they had, he argued, they would have recognised Falang Danda as merely the place where the boundary existed on the road, and taken their boundary line back again from Falang Danda to the mountain watershed above the head of the Chandra valley east of the Baralacha Pass. But instead they had continued onward down the Plain to the Tsarap River and so enclosed in British India extensive grazing grounds on the right bank of the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu and in the Sarchu and Tsarap valleys which belonged to Ladakh. He added that all this was still de facto part of Ladakh when Sir Henry Lawrence visited the country in 1850 (two years after Cunningham’s Memorandum) and had continued so down to 1871. During this time, too, he claimed, the upper Para River valley had been Ladakhi, not part of British Spiti, even though it lay south of Cunningham’s line; and that Cunningham had drawn the line where he did solely in order to create a trade route to Tibet which would lie outside the Maharaja’s dominions. He explained that he had agreed with Shaw over the boundary between Lingti and Tsho Moriri only because he had been instructed by the Maharaja to do so; but he concluded by recommending that Cunningham’s proceedings had been so flawed that the whole question should be re-opened, and considered all over again from first principles. In two further memoranda on the Maharaja’s behalf, Drew added that the tiny settlement of Chumur (approximately 14 miles in a straight line south-east of Tsho Moriri) had always belonged to Ladakh, and that the traditional boundary between Ladakh and Spiti was the range of mountains crossed by the Parang La, south of the Para River (EPFP September 1872: item no. 16). Drew’s arguments are a fine example of fact, logic and specious pleading. We can only guess at his motives. He indicates elsewhere a certain affection for, and gratitude towards, his master, Maharaja Ranbir Singh. Perhaps, never having been one himself, he took delight in making difficulties for the grand gentlemen of the British Indian

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service. And he was about to retire, so perhaps he didn’t care if they were irritated.5 Nonetheless, it is clear from contemporary map evidence—British, though classed as ‘unofficial’—that there was genuine confusion about where all the boundary lay. John Walker’s map which was published as an end paper to Cunningham’s Ladak in 1854 shows the boundary between Lahul and the Ladakhi district of Rupshu crossing the Baralacha pass from north-west to south-east and excluding from Lahul all the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu valley, despite marking Falang Danda on the plain beyond the pass. The boundary on this map continues eastward along the Parang La range, so dividing Spiti to the south from the Para River to the north which it includes in Ladakhi Rupshu. Cunningham’s Ladak contains other statements which would seem to support Drew’s arguments. In describing the Western Himalaya Range, he says it included the mountains crossed by the Parang La, and that it is this range which separates the Tibetan peoples to the north, i.e. the people of “Rukchu [Rupshu]” and Zanskar, from the mixed races to the south, i.e. in Spiti and Lahul (Cunningham 1854:57-58). Later, describing the Southern Road into Ladakh, he notes a variant path which runs through Spiti, via Kyi, and then “crosses the Parang Pass into Rukchu” (Cunningham 1854:156). Equally significant are the publications of A.F.P. Harcourt, the Assistant Commissioner responsible for Lahul immediately before Shaw’s and Drew’s work6. In his book The Himalayan Districts of Kooloo, Lahoul and Spiti he refers to: “The Lingti river, considered by Cashmir as the boundary between Lahoul and Ladakh” (1871b:8).

5 Shaw’s report is dated 21st July at Tsho Moriri, while Drew’s report to the Maharaja is dated 22nd July at Rangdum. Shaw must therefore have stayed near the lake exploring the ground in preparation for presenting his boundary proposal to Government after Drew left, the latter having quickly decided that he was not going to recommend its acceptance. Even so, Drew must have spent at least one day with Shaw near Tsho Moriri, and they must have spent at least one day on the Lingti Plain where we know they were together on the 13th July. This leaves eight days for Drew to travel with Shaw about 53 miles from the Sarchu-Tsarap area to Tsho Moriri, via the upper Tsarap River, and then for Drew alone to cover approximately 170 miles from there to Rangdum, presumably via the Phirtse La and the Kurgiak valley. On this basis Drew averaged roughly 28 miles per day over the total of the two journeys, a testimony to the ability of British officials to carry out their office work in the field, in conditions which modern tourists would describe as demanding at the very least. 6 In his report Shaw states that the Assistant Commissioner accompanying them was Captain McNeile (EPFP August 1871, item no. 29).

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Harcourt’s statement implies either that he did not know where the precise boundary of his administrative district was, or that he was aware that there was some imprecision in the matter, that the Maharaja claimed that the boundary lay on the Lingti River, and that the second commission was attempting to resolve the conflict. It is very unlikely that he did not know where his district’s boundaries lay but it is equally unlikely that he would wish to make statements which could be politically contentious; so he wrote the diplomatically vague sentence quoted above, pending the outcome of the commission’s work. His book had been preceded by a paper on the same subject which he gave to the Royal Geographical Society and which, although merely a superficial introduction to the physical geography of the districts and the customs of its people, was accompanied by a very interesting map (Harcourt 1871a: 245-257). The map clearly shows a boundary between Jammu & Kashmir and Lahul and Spiti which is surprising in the light of what we know of the two boundary commissions’ work. It begins in the west by including the headwaters of the Kurgiak River of Zanskar and the Shingo La within Lahul, then crosses the mountains a little south of the Surichun La to follow the Lingti River (alt. Lingti Chu), as the maps call it (and see map accompanying this paper), to its junction with the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu, which it in turn follows down to the latter’s junction with the Sarchu stream. From this junction the boundary runs up the Sarchu southwards towards its head, then crosses the cluster of mountains there to join and follow the summit of the mountain range of north Spiti which contains the Takling and Parang Passes until it meets the Tibetan border at a mountain which the map makers named Gya Peak (22,209 feet on this map but 22,290 feet on later maps), about 20 miles due south of Tsho Moriri. Thus the eastern side of the Sarchu valley, all the upper Tsarap valley and all the Para valley are shown as belonging to Ladakh. The map is not an invention of the cartographers at the Royal Geographical Society who drew it, but a compilation made by them from the latest maps of the region, recently published by the Great Trigonometrical Survey of India as a stop-gap until the Quarter Inch maps were completed (GTS 1868). The sheet entitled “Section 13”, stated to have been “surveyed during 1861-1862” includes Rupshu and northern Lahul and Spiti, and plainly marks the border as it is shown on The Royal Geographical Society’s map. A note on the sheet informs us that: “The portions of Lahool and Spiti have been

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incorporated from the Topographical Operations of the North West Himalaya series executed in 1848 and 1851 under the superintendence of [….] the Surveyor General of India”. The maps were published in 1868, and The Royal Geographical Society’s Accession Book records that its copy was received from The Secretary of State for India on 6th January 1871. To the Society’s cartographers it could not have looked more official, and it arrived just in time to provide the source for an authoritative map to accompany the distinguished Assistant Commissioner’s paper. By this time the Boundary Commissioners’ work had rendered them obsolete; but Drew may well have known of both The Royal Geographical Society’s map and the GTS map on which it was based. Harcourt’s curious statement can now be explained: that the Lingti River was considered by Cashmir to be the boundary. One would have thought that everybody who had any personal knowledge of the boundary would have known that it lay on the Lingti Plain, and had done so since at least the early 18th century. Probably they did; but the Lingti River of the maps is misnamed—its correct name was and still is the Zanskar River7. Cunningham may have been the first to miscall it the Lingti River (Journal: 218) and several map makers, including the Survey of India, have followed him. The boundary which Cunningham set followed the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu (Yunam River in official publications ever since) which is the river of the Lingti Plain. But it seems that, in discussions between people who had no personal knowledge of the topography, the habit had grown up of referring to the river of the Lingti Plain as the Lingti River. Dr. Cayley, Trade Agent at Leh just 7 I am grateful to Tshering Dorje for this information. While we are on the subject of incorrect names, it would be well to clear up another misnaming. Hügel’s map of 1849 names the Tsarap River ‘the Lingti River’ below its junction with the Yunam, and so does Vigne’s map of 1846. Cunningham, in his Ladak, states that the whole river between the junction of the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu with the Tsarap down to central Zanskar is called the Lingti River (Cunningham 1854:96). Moorcroft seems to have been the source of this error, which has been copied into many later maps: e.g. the Tsarap River, as it passes Phugtal, is often named the Tsarap-Lingti. Moorcroft records that: “On the 8th we forded the Tserab river, which comes from the mountains east by south, and falls into the Yunam, which then takes the name of Sar, or Lingti.” (Moorcroft and Trebeck 1986:132-133). The combined river of Tsarap and Yunam is properly called the Tsarap River and the Sar is the Sarchu, a large nala which enters the Yunam south-west of its junction with the Tsarap, approximately opposite the mouth of the Zanskar River. The Tsarap River between Purne and central Zanskar is called the Lungnak River. Where relevant, corrected names are given on the map accompanying this paper.

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before this time, may have inadvertently started this confusion because, in his report dated 21st July 1871, Shaw adds a note explaining that Dr. Cayley (in unknown correspondence) had meant that the boundary was on the river passing through the Lingti Plain (i.e. the so-called Yunam River); and he adds that the west bank tributary was never called the Lingti by local people, giving its correct name as the “Zanskar Tokpo” (EPFP August 1871: item no. 29). To conclude our story: Drew’s valiant efforts achieved little. In 1872 the boundary was settled according to the Viceroy’s interpretation of Cunningham, modified only so as to include the settlement of Chumur in Ladakh (Norbu Sumdo being included in Spiti). All arguments about what the Maharaja might have believed was his territory on the British side of Cunningham’s line were flatly dismissed, as was any discussion of Cunningham’s motivation. The boundary line south of Tsho Moriri was marked by six stone pillars built by W. H. Johnson, Drew’s replacement as Joint Commissioner in Leh, and Capt. C. McNeile, Assistant Commissioner in Kulu, Harcourt’s replacement there, in place of Dr. Aitchison, Shaw’s replacement as British Joint Commissioner in Leh, who had no personal experience of the boundary’s topography. The whole line, from the “Chukam Nallah” to the Tibetan border south of Tsho Moriri, is the boundary between Himachal Pradesh and Jammu & Kashmir today. Representation of the boundary on the Lingti Plain All the maps show the boundary in the wrong place on the Lingti Plain, as I found out when I went there with the maps but before I had done this research. The Trekking Route Map of Himachal Pradesh, published by the Survey of India is the closest. The Survey of India Quarter Inch Sheet 52H, (the map sheet for this area, on a scale of 4 inches to 1 mile) first published in 1874 is the least accurate (S.I. 52H). None of the maps show the boundary running along the bed of the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu where it should, between the nala northeast of Falang Danda and the Tsarap River, nor do they show Falang Danda in the correct place. The error in locating Falang Danda on S.I. 52H seems to have arisen because the cartographers in their office at headquarters followed the words of Cunningham’s Memorandum when adding the boundary line to the existing topographical survey (made 1849-51 and 1861-63), rather than relying on his map; and so they marked the cream-coloured peak, Thuram Peak, at the end of the ridge. They

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may also have been misled by the small scale of Cunningham’s sketch map and the fact that he marks the Sarchu nala but does not name it. We can only speculate; but it is interesting to note that when this sheet was completely re-drawn and re-published in 1927, Thuram Peak was omitted, although the boundary line was left as originally shown. Perhaps the map-makers were beginning to have doubts about the accuracy of their earlier representation? Fortunately for us, Cunningham included precise measurements of his daily distances in his Journal. These reveal an inconsistency in his account which, when corrected, enables map S.I. 52H to be reconciled with his Memorandum map and the line of the boundary and its markers to be correctly shown. The map attached to this paper is drawn from S.I. 52H and shows the boundary details both as published on that map and in their corrected positions. Cunningham and Vans Agnew camped at the head (south-west end) of the Yunam Lake. Cunningham records that next morning their road was “at first along the edge of the lake” (Journal: 217) and at the end of the day they camped “on a level spot without a name …. 6 ¼ miles from the Yunam Lake”. Reference to S.I. 52H shows this place to be about half a mile north-east of the first large nala coming down from Sarchu Peak and is marked C on the map here. Then he says—twice—that next day they marched a further 6 ¼ miles to the mouth of the Tsarap (Journal: 218, 219). However, by measuring S.I. 52H this distance is shown to be incorrect. Two days’ distances of 6 ¼ miles would have brought them exactly to the Sarchu nala. The distance from the head of the Yunam Lake to the Yunam-Tsarap junction is approximately 14 ½ miles. Presumably Cunningham made an error in copying from his field notes and did in fact camp at the Tsarap junction because he states that the next day’s walk, including wading the Tsarap River, was 6 ½ miles to Gadera (Journal: 220). This distance is correct, according to the map. Gadera is marked ‘Godera’ on John Walker’s map in Cunningham’s Ladak, just north of the junction of the nala which comes down from the Lachalunga Pass with the Tsarap River. On some S. I. maps it is named ‘Gian’, and it must be close to (or a little south of) today’s camp named Takh situated at the beginning of the motor road’s climb from the Tsarap valley to the Lachalunga Pass. Cunningham’s Journal does not locate Falang Danda, except that it was between his camp (marked C on the accompanying map) and the Sarchu; but in his Memorandum he says: “It stands in the midst of an open plain on the right bank of the Yunam River”. He continues:

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NEIL HOWARD As there was no known or recognised boundary mark on the other side of the stream, the Commissioners selected a remarkable cream-coloured peak, called Turam, as the northern limit of British territory on the left bank of the river. As this peak is situated at the end of one of the spurs of the great snowy chain already determined as the northern limit of the Lahul district, it forms a natural continuation of the boundary line from the westward. The bearing of the Turam peak from the Phalang-danda is 9 degrees northward of west (Memorandum: 296, but not so shown on its accompanying map).

Falang Danda is shown on the 1874 S.I. map in agreement with this text and marks Thuram Peak at the end of the ridge. But three inconsistencies prove this map representation wrong. As we have already noted, Cunningham’s map accompanying his Memorandum shows the peak rising out of the ridge, not at its end. My own visit to the district revealed that there is no peak, of any colour, at the end of the ridge. And Cunningham’s next paragraph of the Memorandum, describing how they set out the boundary north of Falang Danda, confirms the S.I. map’s inaccuracy. He writes: As it appeared that the country to the eastward of the Phalang-danda belonged to Piti [i.e. Spiti, and was therefore British], the Commissioners determined that the boundary between Piti and Ladakh on the westward [i.e. Spiti’s western side] should be the Yunam River. A straight line was accordingly drawn from the Phalang-danda to the junction of the first nala on the right bank of the Yunam, from which point the Yunam River forms the boundary as far as the junction with the Cherpa or Cherep [i.e. Tsarap] river.

Cunningham’s map accompanying his Memorandum does not show the nala referred to here. A second large nala comes down from Sarchu Peak to join the Yunam River/Gar zha’i chu approximately 1¾ miles north-east of Cunningham’s and Vans Agnew’s camp (at C), and approximately four and a half miles south-west of Sarchu. The nala is shown on S.I. 52H. It is the nala fixed on by Shaw and Drew for their boundary pillar (whose name they recorded as “Mané yokpo loongpa”). It still stands there today (see illustration) on the bank of a large, deep and dry nala as Shaw describes it. My visit revealed that there is no nala fitting Shaw’s or Cunningham’s descriptions between the place where Falang Danda is shown on S.I. 52H and the Sarchu nala. Since Shaw states that from the mouth of the nala by which they built the boundary pillar to Falang Danda was 1250 yards upstream (i.e. to the south-west) we can now reposition that stone on the maps,

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approximately five and a half miles south-west of the mouth of the Sarchu and two miles beyond where it is marked on S. I. 52H. On the map here FD marks the corrected position of Falang Danda and BP Shaw’s boundary pillar. No (cream-coloured) peak is shown among the generalised relief hatching on the S. I. maps on the bearing 9 degrees (or 10 degrees) north-west from the corrected location of Falang Danda; but across the Yunam River the Ra bo mchod rten can be seen on its distinctive dark mound and this is presumably Moorcroft’s “other marks of a similar kind … observable across the river”. Acknowledgements In addition to Mr. Tshering Dorje of Guskyar, Lahul, whose assistance is acknowledged several times in my text, I would like to thank the following for the help I have received in compiling this paper: Jan Turner, Deputy Librarian, and Francis Herbert, Curator, and David McNeill, Deputy Curator, Map Collection, all of The Royal Geographical Society. REFERENCES Alder, G. 1963. British India’s Northern Frontier. London: The Royal Commonwealth Society and Longmans. Choudhury, D. P. 1996. Trade and Politics in the Himalaya-Karakoram Borderlands. New Delhi: Sangam Books. Cunningham, A. 1848 “Journal of a Trip through Kulu and Lahul to the Chu Mureri Lake during the months of August and September 1846.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 18, Part 1 (January to June 1848):201-230. Calcutta. Cunningham, A. 1848. “Memorandum by Capt. Cunningham, detailing the boundary between the territories of Maharaja Gulab Singh and British India, as determined by the Commissioners P. A. Vans Agnew, Esq. and Capt. A. Cunningham of Engineers”. As above, pp.295-297. Cunningham, A. 1848. “Correspondence of the Commissioners deputed to the Tibetan Frontier; communicated by H. M. Elliot, Esq., Secretary to the Government of India, Foreign Department.” As above, pp. 89-132. Cunningham, A. 1854. Ladak, Physical, Statistical, and Historical. London: W. H. Allen and Co. Datta, C. L. 1973. Ladakh and Western Himalayan Politics: 1819-1848. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers Pvt. Ltd. EPFP: Extracts from Punjab Foreign Proceedings. British Library, Oriental and India Office Collections: shelf marks P/141, P/142, P/143. Harcourt, A. F. P. 1871a. “On the Himalayan Valleys: Kooloo, Lahoul and Spiti.” Journal of the Royal Geographical Society:245-257. London. Harcourt, A. F. P. 1871b. The Himalayan Districts of Kooloo, Lahoul and Spiti. London. Reprint ed. New Delhi: Vivek Publishing House 1972.

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Hutchison, J. and J. Ph. Vogel. 1933. History of the Panjab Hill States. Lahore. “Journal.” See Cunningham 1848, above. “Memorandum.” See Cunningham 1848, above. Moorcroft, W. and G. Trebeck. 1986 (1837). Travels in the Himalayan Provinces of Hindustan and the Panjab, etc., edited by H. H. Wilson. New Delhi: Nirmal Publishers and Distributors (reprint of the 1837 original but with different pagination). Petech, L. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh c.950-1842 A.D. Rome: Is.M.E.O. Rizvi, J. 1994. “The Trans-Karakoram Trade in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries”, Indian Economic and Social History Review 31, No.1 (January-March 1994). Delhi: Sage Publications India Pvt. Ltd. Strachey, H. 1854. Physical Geography of Western Tibet. London: William Clowes and Sons (Reprint ed. New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1995). Warikoo, K. 2005. “Political Linkages Between Kashmir, Ladakh and Eastern Turkestan During the 19th Century.” This volume.

Maps consulted GTS 1868, Photozincograph Section of part of the Survey of Kashmir, Ladakh and Baltistan or Little Tibet [etc] pending the completion of the corresponding sheets of the Indian Atlas on a scale of 8 miles to 1 inch. Dehra Doon: Superintendent of the Great Trigonometrical Survey of India. Hügel 1849. Map of the Punjab, Kashmir, Iskardu & Ladakh, etc. compiled from original documents, particularly from the detailed MS map of Baron Charles Hügel [etc] London: John Arrowsmith. S.I. 52H. 1874 etc. “Kashmir, Jammu, Panjab and Panjab States, Quarter Inch Sheet 52H”, Indian Atlas, Dehra Doon: Survey of India. (The country covered by this sheet, including the Lingti Plain, was surveyed during the years 1849-51, 1861-63, 1895-96, 1900-01, 1921 with later interpolated revisions; the resulting maps were first published in 1874, 1927, 1948). S.I. 52L. 1874 etc. “Kashmir, Jammu, Panjab and Tibet, Quarter Inch Sheet 52L”, Indian Atlas, Dehra Doon: Survey of India. (The country covered by this sheet, including Tsho Moriri and Gya Peak, was surveyed during the years 1851-52, 1861-63 with later interpolated revisions; the resulting maps were first published in 1874, 1928). Trekking Route Map of Himachal Pradesh, Sheet No. 2. 1976. Scale of 1: 250,000 (or 4 miles to 1 inch). Survey of India. Vigne 1846. Map of Kashmir, Ladakh and Little Tibet, etc, from the surveys of G. T. Vigne [and others]. London: John Walker for the East India Company. Walker 1854. Map of the Punjab, Western Himalaya and adjoining parts of Tibet from recent Surveys, and based upon the Trigonometrical Survey of India, etc. By John Walker, Geographer to The East India Company. End paper to Cunningham’s Ladak (see above).

POLITICAL LINKAGES BETWEEN KASHMIR, LADAKH AND EASTERN TURKESTAN DURING THE 19TH CENTURY K.WARIKOO Since ancient times, Ladakh and Kashmir have played an important role in India’s political, commercial and cultural intercourse with Central Asia because of their geographical contiguity with Eastern Turkestan (later known as Xinjiang), and the existence of active overland trade routes and socio-cultural links between the two regions. During the 19th and early 20th centuries, the extent and pattern of these exchanges was conditioned by diplomatic relations at two different levels. In the wider international arena, they depended on relations between the three great empires of the world—Britain, Russia and China. At the same time, they were also affected at a regional level by the degree of influence maintained by the Dogra rulers of Jammu & Kashmir in Eastern Turkestan and Tibet. This paper draws on British government records in the National Archives of India to explore trans-Himalayan political and trade links during this period. It argues that three key factors influenced the relationships between the two regions: x First, Raja Gulab Singh of Jammu, and his military commander General Zorawar Singh looked beyond the frontiers of Ladakh to safeguard trade routes from Kanjuti raiders based in Hunza, and to ensure the steady flow of trade, particularly the lucrative shawl wool trade from Tibet and Eastern Turkestan into Ladakh and Kashmir. Gulab Singh retained these concerns after becoming Maharaja of Jammu & Kashmir in 1846, as did his successor Ranbir Singh who ascended the throne in 1857. x Secondly, although the Ch’ing authorities conquered Eastern Turkestan in 1757, their authority remained weak. They faced successive Khoja uprisings, culminating in a full-scale rebellion by Yakub Beg who ruled Kashgaria from 1865 to 1877. x The third factor was the British Indian government’s increasing interest in Central Asian affairs from the 1840s onwards.

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The paper illustrates the changing nature of these trans-Himalayan linkages by examining three issues: Hunza’s relations with Ch’ing officials in the 18th and 19th centuries; Zorawar Singh’s trade and territorial ambitions in the 1840s; and pleas for British assistance by Haji Mohammad Habibullah, the Chief of Khotan, in the 1860s. Hunza’s relations with Ch’ing officials in Turkestan The Ch’ing dynasty conquered Eastern Turkestan in 1757 AD, but thereafter were heavily preoccupied with the task of consolidating their authority in the face of political insurrections by Khoja rebels and other local chiefs. The Ch’ing authorities in Kashgar even sought the help of support of the rulers of Ladakh and Hunza to prevent such rebels from entering their territories. In most cases, this co-operation was provided in exchange for trade concessions or property rights. Thus, the Chief of Hunza was provided with an estate at Yarkand (in Turkestan) in the 18th century, and was also allowed to cultivate land at Raskam, north of the Karakoram, and to levy taxes on the Kyrgyz of the Taghdumbash Pamirs. The rights of Hunza over Raskam and Taghdumbash are believed to have originated from a victory by Salim Khan, the Chief of Hunza, over the Kyrgyz in these places in around 1760.1 Salim Khan sent a message to the Chinese authorities in Turkestan, along with a trophy of Kyrgyz heads, to announce his victory and the extension of his authority up to Dafdar. The Chinese considered the Kyrgyz to be their enemies, and expressed their pleasure at their defeat by sending return gifts to Hunza. The Hunza chief duly acknowledged these gifts with a token present of gold dust. This customary exchange of gold dust and return presents continued until the early 20th century except for the period in the 1860s and 1870s when Yakub Beg ruled Kashgaria. Simultaneously, Hunza received a concession of cultivation, grazing and taxation rights in Raskam and the Taghdumbash Pamirs from China, though it was unable to enforce these during Yakub Beg’s rule. The existence of Hunza forts in Azghar and signs of cultivation at other places in this area showed that Hunza was in actual possession of Raskam for a considerable period. Hunza’s rights in Raskam and Taghdumbash Pamirs were sustained during the period when Chinese 1

For further details see the report by Capt. A.H. McMahon (Political Agent in Gilgit) to Resident in Kashmir, 10 May 1898. Foreign Sec. F. July 1828-327. All archival references are to the National Archives of India.

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authority was weak in Eastern Turkestan. The local Chinese authorities did not wish to run the risk of offending successive chiefs of Hunza, who often sent foraying missions into Eastern Turkestan to enslave Kyrgyz nomads, plunder their property, and loot trade caravans. Besides, the Chinese derived political satisfaction from the receipt of annual presents of gold dust, deeming this to be a form of tribute from a loyal dependency. For its part, Hunza adhered to the custom of sending the gold dust, as this yielded substantial income in the shape of return Chinese presents, which were worth about ten times more. In return for his present of 15 miskals of gold worth about Rs120, the Hunza chief used to receive return gifts of silk and cotton clothing, silver yamboo (ingots0, tea bricks etc. worth about Rs1,100. Moreover, the Hunza chief often used the occasion of sending emissaries to Eastern Turkestan to clear certain outstanding matters, mostly relating to his tax dues and similar matters in Raskam and Taghdumbash. Hunza continued to levy taxes from the Kyrgyz settlers in Taghdumbash until the early 20th century, but it was unable to enforce its rights in Raskam between 1897 and 1914 due to Chinese objections that were raised under Russian pressure.2 From 1914 onwards, when Russian influence in Kashgaria was on the decline, Hunza adhered strictly to the practice of deputing its men to cultivate these lands, brushing aside Chinese objections. Hunza did this with the official concurrence of the British Indian government. The British fully understood the strategic importance of asserting Hunza rights in Raskam and the Taghdumbash Pamirs, particularly in the event of any future Russian incursions into Eastern Turkestan. However, because of their pre-occupation with other issues that were more relevant to their broader imperial interests, the British refrained from applying direct pressure upon China to resolve this issue. As a result, the IndiaChina border in the Hunza and Ladakh sectors skirting Eastern Turkestan was never properly demarcated. Zorawar Singh’s ambitions towards Yarkand and Tibet By 1840 Raja Gulab Singh, the Dogra ruler of Jammu, had firmly established his authority over Ladakh and Baltistan: he ostensibly ruled these regions on behalf of the Sikh empire while actually 2

For further details, particularly on Russia’s position on Hunza claims over Raskam lands see Warikoo (1989:164-171). See also Müller-Stellrecht (1978), which also deals with Hunza-China relations in this period. Ed.

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retaining a high degree of personal autonomy. During this period Zorawar Singh, a trusted general who was also the Wazir (Governor) of Ladakh, considered the possibility of sending military expeditions to Yarkand (Eastern Turkestan) and Tibet.3 The wool trade lay at the heart of the Dogras’ expansionist ambitions. Kashmir had emerged as the main centre of shawl production, and depended for its raw materials on imports from Western Tibet and Eastern Turkestan. However, the 1830s saw a rapid rise in the export of shawl wool from across the Himalayas to Rampur in Bashahr, which was controlled by the British, instead of via the established route through Ladakh to Kashmir. According to J.D. Cunningham, who spent a year in Kinnaur in 1841-42, the value of wool sold at Rampur rose from Rs 35,630 in 1837 to Rs 94,807 in 1840 (Cunningham 1844:201). With Ladakh in his hands, Gulab Singh—and his general Zorawar Singh—now directed their efforts towards stopping direct trade between Tibet and British territory. The British authorities in India were monitoring Zorawar Singh’s communications beyond the boundaries of Ladakh. George Clerk, the British Political Agent at Ludhiana, secured a copy of his correspondence with the Yarkand ruler and forwarded it to the Indian government on 25 August 1840.4 Zorawar Singh’s letter informed the Yarkand chief about the extension of Khalsa (Sikh) government to Punjab, Kashmir, Multan and Ladakh, and also about the submission of local rajas and chiefs to the Sikh power. Zorawar Singh went on to invite the Yarkand chief to: … adopt the right road of submission and depute an Agent to attend on that government, remit an annual tribute, without causing a disturbance and bloodshed in your country.

In his reply, the Yarkand chief dared Zorawar Singh to fight and asked him first to depute his Agent to demand a tribute from China, Yarkand being one of its dependencies. He went on to advise the “Sikhs to desist from vain boasting and remain satisfied with their place.” This was one of the periods when the Chinese had successfully reestablished their authority in Eastern Turkestan. As part of their law enforcement measures in Yarkand, they had seized and destroyed the opium belonging to Indian traders. The Dogras heard about this 3 For the wider political background of this period see Datta (1975) and Lamb (1986). On trans-Himalayan trade, see also Rizvi (1999). 4 George Clerk to Maddock, August 1840. Foreign S.C., 1 March 1841, p. 26.

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episode from Kashmiri and Punjabi merchants: their morale was particularly high following their conquest of Ladakh and Baltistan, and they now used the destruction of the Indian traders’ property as an excuse to put pressure on Turkestan. Thus, in January 1841 Clerk wrote to inform H. Maddock, the Secretary to the Government of India reporting on: … Raja Gulab Singh’s intention to launch an ambitious scheme of conquest of Yarkand, using the seizure and destruction of opium at Yarkand belonging to traders (subjects of the Sikh government) as a means of inciting the Durbar to authorise his scheme.”5

In the event, Zorawar Singh took military action against Tibet rather than Turkestan. In early 1841, he wrote to the Garpon of Gartok forbidding him to supply pashm wool to any other area except Ladakh and also demanding a tribute, thereby seeking to enforce Ladakh’s old territorial claim to West Tibet.6 Dissatisfied with the response from Gartok, he marched with his forces towards Western Tibet in the summer of 1841.7 One immediate consequence was a dramatic fall in the value of Tibetan wool imports at Rampur, which dropped to only Rs 17,766 in 1841 (Lamb 1986:52). News of the Dogra invasion of Tibet prompted Clerk to write to the Lahore Durbar (the centre of the Sikh empire) asking it to “put a restraint on Zorawar Singh’s activities.”8 When reporting the matter to Maddock, Clerk also expressed the view that the Dogras had an eye upon Gilgit and Kashgar.9 The Lahore Durbar responded by claiming that they had no information about Zorawar Singh’s encroachments within the Chinese boundary, but at the same time pointed out that: …the country between the Chinese and the Ladakh frontiers being inhabited by various savage tribes of thieves and robbers, the pests of the trading classes, it is probable that such refractory tribes may have been punished. 10

5 Clerk

to Maddock, 2 January 1841. Foreign S.C., 25 January 1841, p. 90. Foreign Secret C. 21 June 1841, p.15. 7 On Zorawar Singh’s Tibet campaign see Datta (1975, 1886) and Lamb (1986). 8 Clerk to Maddock, 23 Sept. 1841. Foreign S.C., 18 Oct. 1841, pp. 67-72. 9 Ibid. 10 Purwanah from Lahore Durbar to Rai Gobind Joo, Vakil waiting on Clerk. See Foreign S.C., 18 October 1841, pp. 67-72. 6

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The Durbar therefore sought “redressal for the merchants, Khalsa subjects who have lost lakhs of rupees worth of their merchandise on that frontier.” The British Governor General of India concurred with Clerk’s analysis, and expressed his concern about “the ambitious projects of the Jammu family in the direction of Kashgar.”11 Ultimately, it was a series of military setbacks—rather than British diplomacy—that put an end to the Dogras’ military ambitions beyond Ladakh’s northern and eastern borders. After initial successes in conquering Tibetan territory up to Taklakot, the Dogra army suffered a crushing defeat in December 1841, mainly due to heavy snowfall, and Zorawar Singh himself was killed. The Tibetans then invaded Ladakh in their turn. However, following the arrival of Dogra reinforcements, the Tibetans and Dogras signed a peace treaty at Leh on 17 September 1842. Under the terms of the treaty, the Tibetans accepted the Dogras as the legitimate authority in Ladakh and the “old established frontiers” were reaffirmed.12 The Tibetans also committed themselves not to export shawl wool to any place other than Kashmir via Ladakh. Ladakhi merchants could freely travel to Rudok, Gartok and any other place in Tibet, and the Tibetan traders had free access to Ladakh (Fisher et al. 1963:55). Four years later, following their defeat of the Sikhs in the First Sikh War, the British formally made over the territories of Jammu and Kashmir (including Ladakh) to Gulab Singh. Gulab Singh had already controlled Jammu and Ladakh as a feudatory to the Sikh ruler: from now on he held them in his own right as a Maharaja of an Indian ‘native state’ subject to British paramountcy. In 1853 the Tibetan and Kashmiri authorities signed a second agreement confirming existing trade relations between their two territories (Shakabpa 1988:328). Ladakhi trade with Tibet therefore continued throughout Dogra rule, and by the early 20th century was worth several hundred thousand rupees a year.13 The trade lasted until the extension of Chinese communist rule over Tibet in 1950. 11 Governor General to George Clerk, 18 October 1841. Foreign S.C., 18 October 1841, pp. 67-72. 12 For full translation of the Persian text of this treaty, see Foreign Secret F. September 1889, pp. 211-17 (K.W.3). See also S.S. Charak (1983:234-235) and Aitchison (1929-31, Vol 14:15). A translation of the Tibetan text is included in Shakabpa (1982:327-328). 13 For further details see Warikoo (1992) and Rizvi (1999).

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Dogra rulers’ political contacts with Eastern Turkestan As Maharajas of Jammu & Kashmir, Gulab Singh and his son Maharaja Ranbir Singh were subject to British paramountcy, but nonetheless remained determined to maintain a degree of independence in their relations with Central Asia and Tibet. By contrast, the British Indian authorities took all possible steps to erode the Maharajas’ political influence outside the borders of Jammu & Kashmir. As Anglo-Russian rivalry gained momentum in the mid-19th century, the British became highly averse to any direct diplomatic contact between the Kashmir Durbar and Central Asian chiefs. For their part, the Dogra rulers of Kashmir wanted to retain their influence in Eastern Turkestan, and therefore regularly exchanged envoys with the region, often without the knowledge of the British.14 The Kashmir Durbar not only kept itself abreast of developments in Central Asia securing information through agents and traders; they even tried to prevent direct contact between British officers and Central Asian visitors to Ladakh and Kashmir. Nobles, chiefs and envoys from Kokand and Eastern Turkestan visited Ladakh and Kashmir intermittently, besides regular visits by traders and Haj pilgrims. The Dogra rulers of Kashmir did not miss any opportunity to provide appropriate hospitality to such important visitors. Occasionally, Central Asian fugitives would flee to Ladakh and Kashmir, either to escape reprisals from their rivals at home; or to bring their wealth (gold, silver etc.) out of Eastern Turkestan safely to Ladakh and Kashmir; or to seek moral and material support from the Maharaja of Kashmir and his representatives. Overtures from Khotan In 1865 Haji Mohammad Habibullah, Chief of Khotan sent a series of emissaries to Ladakh and Kashmir in the hope of securing military assistance against attacks by Tungan and Chinese forces. In June 1865 Mirza Mahmud, the first such emissary, brought a letter addressed to the Thanedar (Kashmir Durbar official) of Ladakh. According to the letter, Habibullah offered: …the allegiance of Khotan state to the British government, with a view to receiving in return assistance against the advancing power of Russia

14 For further details about political contacts between the Dogra rulers and Central Asian chiefs see Warikoo (1989:1-54).

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The Maharaja of Kashmir referred the matter to the Lieutenant Governor of Punjab seeking advice as to how he should reply. The Lieutenant Governor advised him to write that: …while the British government was glad at all times to cultivate friendly relations with neighbouring states, it was not prepared to take any part in their disputes with other countries.16

The British Governor General of India concurred with the course taken by the Lieutentant Governor of Punjab.17 Another such emissary, Mohammad Alam, arrived in Ladakh from Khotan on 4 July 1865, bringing a letter from Habibullah to the British authorities and Ladakh officials.18 While referring to the earlier mission of Mirza Mahmud, the Khotan chief asked the British authorities to: …listen to our representations, send their Mohtamids [confidential agents] to Khotan, easily take possession of the territories of the Khakan-i-Chin [Emperor of China], stop the progress of Russia, prevent their encroaching upon this territory and relieve the Musalmans from the tyranny and oppression of the Tunganis.

He continued by pleading that: …we Musalmans may be freed from the hostilities of the Tunganis. The road may be made open to trade, and the intercourse of caravans ensured. Indian and European goods may pour in abundance and both parties benefit thereby.

Habibullah also asked for “12,000 European muskets with bayonets and accoutrements and 12,000 European units of military clothing.” In September 1865, Juma Khan, an Afghan merchant, arrived at Ladakh bringing yet another letter from Habibullah.19 This was dated 8 July 1865, and signed also by Mohammad Ibrahim Ghazi (Habibullah’s eldest son), Bahauddin Bahadur Ghazi (his nephew), Mohammad Masoom (his younger son) and Saifulla (his younger brother). In the letter, Habibullah mentioned the earlier despatch of 15

Foreign Political A. August 1865, pp.139-141. Ibid. 17 Governor General to Lt. Governor, Punjab, 24 August 1865. 18 Foreign Political A. August 1865, pp.139-141 19 Foreign Political A. December 1865, pp. 223-25. 16

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his three emissaries to India, with letters describing the state of affairs in Khotan. Claiming that none of these emissaries had returned, Habibullah authorised Juma Khan to conclude a Treaty of Mutual Friendship with the British government on condition that: x he was acknowledged to be the sovereign of Khotan and its dependencies; x there should be no interference with the law of Mohammad obtaining in his territories; and x the British would undertake not to invade countries such as Kokand or Bukhara, which were held by Muslim rulers. Habibullah also wanted the traders of both sides to be allowed free access to each other’s territories. He further requested the British Indian authorities to send through Juma Khan “weapons of war and men skilled in military tactics and engineering”. Juma Khan was hospitably entertained by the Kashmir Durbar, and went on to Lahore. He arrived on 25 November 1865, and met the Lieutenant Governor of Punjab two days later. Juma Khan was well received, and the Punjab government provided him with a daily allowance and the expenses for his journey from Lahore to Calcutta where he had an audience with the Viceroy.20 However, the British Indian government stuck to its previous stand of maintaining friendly terms with other states and encouraging trade, but without getting involved in their internal affairs. The Lieutenant Governor of Punjab was authorised to send a reply to this effect to the Khotan Chief. This stated that the British Indian government: … cannot enter into any Treaty with the Chief of Khotan, because of the great distance between the two countries and the difficulties of the way. 21

Juma Khan therefore left Ladakh for Khotan in August 1866, without accomplishing his objective. Habibullah persisted in making such overtures, despite the British Indian government’s refusal to establish direct relations with him. In 1877-78, when Yakub Beg the ruler of Eastern Turkestan was suffering defeat at the hands of Chinese forces, the Khotan Chief again sent an envoy to Ladakh seeking to establish direct relations with the Maharaja of Kashmir.22 The Maharaja sought an opinion on this 20

Foreign Political A. September 1866, pp. 61-62. Foreign Political A. December 1865, pp. 223-25. 22 Foreign Secret. April 1878, pp.155-158. 21

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matter from P.D. Henderson, the British Officer on Special Duty. Henderson told him that since Khotan was integral part of the dominions of Kashgar, no person styling himself to be Wali of Khotan or his representative could be recognised.23 Thus the British followed a consistent policy of discouraging the Kashmir Durbar from having any direct dealings with the Central Asian chiefs. Correspondence between Yakub Beg and Ranbir Singh Yakub Beg, who ruled Kashgaria between 1865 and 1877, exchanged a series of letters with Maharaja Ranbir Singh of Jammu and Kashmir regarding the need to secure the borders of Ladakh from the Kanjuti raiders of Hunza who disrupted trade by plundering caravans. The first such letter, dated 18 July 1866, was sent by hand through the Yarkandi envoy Badal Bai Meerakhor who presented it personally to the Maharaja in Srinagar.24 In his letter, Yakub Beg informed the Maharaja about his successes in: … recovering Kashgar, Yangi Hussai, Yarkand, Yuran Kash, Khotan, Aksu and other territories from the Chinese, Tunganis and Koocharis.25

Pointing to the great obstacles to trade posed by the Kanjuti robbers, Yakub Beg informed the Maharaja about the despatch of an armed detachment which brought Sanjoo, Sarikol and Tashkurghan under Kashgaria’s control. Yakub Beg also informed the Maharaja about the steps taken to repair and build the forts at Tashkurghan and Sarikol, in order to keep the trade route safe from robbers. Yakub Beg, while communicating his intention to subjugate and extirpate the Kanjutis, proposed to establish a friendly alliance with the Kashmir Durbar. The Yarkandi envoy told the Maharaja that he was required to return to Yarkand in five months with a response: he had already spent two months on the journey to Srinagar and was prepared to stay there for another month.26 The Maharaja was worried about Yakub Beg’s hostile designs on Hunza, which was a feudatory of Kashmir, and rushed a letter (Parwanah) to Dewan Nihal Chand, Vakil (envoy/agent) at the court of

23

P.D. Henderson, Officer on Special Duty to the Maharaja of Kashmir, Srinagar, 28 October 1877. 24 Foreign Political A. 8 December 1866. 25 Ibid. 26 Foreign Political A. November 1866, pp. 23-24.

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the Lieutenant Governor of Punjab, forwarding to him copy of Yakub Beg’s letter and expressing concern over his intentions.27 The Maharaja informed the Lieutenant Governor about the positive role played by the Kashmiri Aksakal (traders’ leader) at Yarkand in advising the ruler of Kasharia to send a Vakil to Srinagar before despatching a force against the Kanjutis.28 He also forwarded a copy of his reply to Yakub Beg. In his letter dated 16 October 1866, the Maharaja acknowledged receipt of Yakub Beg’s letter, and stated that: …it is the sole wish of the Maharaja to see tranquillity and peace prevail everywhere, travellers and traders secure from the depredations of robbers, and commerce free from molestation.

Reiterating that the Chief of Kanjut (Hunza) was a subject of the Maharaja, he informed Yakub Beg that since Ghuzan Khan, the Kanjuti chief had: … deviated from the path pursued by his father, it has been determined to punish him and accordingly troops have been sent against him from three sides in order that he may receive condign punishment, and travellers and traders may be freed from the depredations and enjoy security and comfort.

The Maharaja expressed the hope that the Yarkand ruler would: …refuse to give refuge to any of the rebel’s party [Kanjutis] who may fly for protection to the Yarkand territory.

The Maharaja’s prompt action in sending his letter by hand through Sadikulla Hakim to the Yarkand ruler pre-empted the latter’s move to make an incursion towards Hunza. Yakub Beg was quick to acknowledge receipt of Maharaja’s reply, and in 1867 he sent another envoy, Mohammad Nazar to meet the Maharaja. After initial compliments, Yakub Beg’s letter discussed his campaigns in Aksu, Kuchar, Ush Turfan, Bai, Kurla, Kara Shahr and Aksu.29 When the Maharaja forwarded Yakub Beg’s letter to the Lieutenant Governor of Punjab for information, he was asked to send the Yarkand envoy to Lahore. There the Lieutenant Governor, in line with the British Indian policy of discouraging direct contacts between the Kashmir ruler and the neighbouring chiefs, received the envoy “with 27

Ibid. Ibid. 29 Foreign Political A. January 1868, pp.76-79. 28

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distinction” before sending him back to Yarkand with presents and: …a friendly letter explaining to Yakub Beg the political relations existing between the British government and the Kashmir State and proposing to establish a friendly intercourse with the ruler of Yarkand directly.30

The Lieutenant Governor wanted the British government to “exercise direct control over the diplomatic intercourse of their feudatory (Kashmir) with other powers.”31 Similarly, the Governor General was in favour of encouraging the Maharaja of Kashmir “to refer to the Lieutenant Governor of Punjab his dealings with other powers when involving any point of importance.”32 The Secretary of State also concurred with the Governor General’s view.33 The establishment of the British agency in Ladakh Thus, from the late 1860s onwards, the Maharaja of Kashmir’s influence in Eastern Turkestan began to decline as the British became more assertive in Kashmir and its frontier territories of Ladakh, Gilgit, Hunza and Chitral. The British fully understood the strategic importance of these frontier outposts not only for monitoring the Russian movements in Central Asia but also as a means of physical access to Turkestan. As early as the 1820s, William Moorcroft had advocated the British take-over of Ladakh. At the time, the East India Company rejected his proposal, and subsequent British pre-occupation with affairs in Sindh, Afghanistan and Punjab meant that his ideas were put on one side for four decades. However, in the 1860s, particularly after the Russian conquest of Western Turkestan, the British began to take a more active interest in Ladakh and Eastern Turkestan affairs. British officers such as T.D. Forsyth underlined the importance of developing Indian trade with Central Asia through Kashmir and Ladakh. In 1867 a British officer, Dr. Cayley, was posted at Leh in Ladakh for the first time. His tasks were ostensibly to “maintain the tariff fixed by the Maharaja of Kashmir” but actually to “enquire into the state of

30

Ibid. Lt. Governor, Punjab to the Government of India, 25 December 1867. 32 Ibid. 33 Secretary of State to Government of India, 23 April 1868. Foreign Political A. June 1868. 31

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trade between India and Central Asia and to collect and sift political information regarding the progress of events in Chinese Turkestan”.34 Cayley’s presence at Leh proved useful as a means of monitoring developments in Central Asia, particularly the state of affairs in Kokand, Kashgaria, and the diplomatic exchanges between Russia and Yakub Beg. So his mission, which was originally intended to be a seasonal and temporary measure, was turned into a permanent Leh agency. In April 1870, the British concluded a treaty with Maharaja Ranbir Singh, which provided for the appointment of a British Joint Commissioner who would spend the summer months at Leh. The British agency in Leh helped promote and supervise the Central Asian trade, while also serving as a frontier listening-post to keep track of developments in both Eastern Turkestan and Russian Turkestan. The agency therefore played a vital role in eroding the influence of the Kashmir Durbar over the Central Asian trading and official classes. Henceforth, any direct contact between the rulers of Eastern Turkestan and the Maharaja of Kashmir became almost impossible. REFERENCES

(1) National Archives of India Official records and proceedings of the Foreign and Political Department, Government of India (19th and early 20th centuries), particularly the series ‘Foreign Political’, ‘Secret’, ‘Frontier’, ‘Political’ and ‘Foreign Secret Consultations’.

(2) Published sources Aitchison, C.U. 1929-31. Collection of Treaties, Engagements and Sanads. Calcutta. Cunningham, J.D. 1844. “Notes on Moorcroft’s Travels in Ladakh.” Journal of Asiatic Society of Bengal 13:172-253. Chirak, S. S. 1983. Gulab Nama of Diwan Kirpa Ram. New Delhi. Datta, Chaman Lal. 1975. Ladakh and Western Himalayan Politics 1819-1848. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal. Datta, Chaman Lal. 1984. General Zorawar Singh: His Life and Achievements in Ladakh, Baltistan and Tibet. New Delhi: Deep and Deep. Fisher, M.W., Leo E. Rose and R.A. Huttenback, 1963. Himalayan Battleground. New York: Frederick A. Praeger. Lamb, Alistair. 1986. British India and Tibet. 1766-1910 (Revised ed. of Britain and Chinese Central Asia. London: Routledge, 1960). London: Routledge & Kegal Paul. Müller-Stellrecht, I. 1978. Hunza und China (1761-1891): 130 Jahre einer Beziehung und ihre Bedeutung für die wirtschaftliche und politische Entwicklung Hunzas im 18. Und 19. Jahrhundert. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. 34

Foreign Political A. November 1868, p.82.

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Rizvi, Janet. 1999. Trans-himalayan Caravans. Merchant Princes and Peasant Traders in Ladakh. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Shakabpa, Tsepon W.D. 1982. Tibet. A Political History. New York: Potala Publications (reprint of 1957 ed.) Warikoo, K. 1989. Central Asia and Kashmir. A Study in the Context of Anglo-Russian Rivalry. New Delhi: Gian Publishing House. Warikoo, K. 1992. “Ladakh’s Trade Relations with Tibet under the Dogras.” Tibetan Studies. Proceedings of the 5th Seminar of the International Association of Tibetan Studies:853861. Edited by Zuiho Yamaguchi. Narita: Naritasan Shinshoji.

EARLY PROTESTANT MISSIONARY ENGAGEMENT WITH THE HIMALAYAN REGION AND TIBET JOHN BRAY In 1855 Wilhelm Heyde (1825-1907) and Eduard Pagell (1820-1883) became the first Moravian missionaries to travel to Ladakh. They and their successors subsequently founded mission stations in Lahul (1856), Kinnaur (1865) and Ladakh (1885). Heinrich August Jäschke (18171883), who led the Moravian mission from 1857, is famous for his ground-breaking Tibetan translation of the New Testament, and his Tibetan-English Dictionary (1881). All three men were genuine pioneers, but they were also heirs to a longer missionary tradition which anticipated—and in many respects prepared the way for—their own work. This paper places the beginnings of the Moravians’ Himalaya Mission in a wider historical and geographical perspective. The paper begins by introducing the Moravian church’s first foreign missions in the 18th century. It then examines the various Protestant missions who worked in the Himalayan region before the arrival of Heyde, Pagell and Jäschke. These include: the Baptists’ Bhutan Mission in the late 18th and early 19th centuries; the Anglican Church Missionary Society (CMS), whose Tibetan researches between 1816 and 1820 led to the publication of the first Tibetan-English dictionary in 1826; independent German missionaries who worked in the Darjeeling area from the 1840s onwards; and the CMS’s Himalayan Mission in Kotgarh, near Simla, which started in 1842. Three overall themes are apparent in the history of all these missions: x First, the paper points to the high degree of co-operation and mutual inspiration between like-minded Evangelicals in the Moravian, Baptist and Anglican churches. The missionaries were part of a wider Protestant international extending across political and denominational boundaries, particularly between England and Germany (see Jenkins 1999). x The second theme is the changing and at first uneasy relationship between the missions and British officialdom. In the 18th century the East India Company actively discouraged missionary work.

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However, attitudes began to change in the 19th century, and the missionaries benefited both from the security provided by the expansion of British rule, and from the personal support of individual government officers. x Thirdly, the Moravians, Baptists and Anglicans all placed a high priority on linguistic research in order to conduct their missionary activities effectively. The paper shows how linguistic research became one of the main areas of common interest between the missions, the British authorities and—in due course—the wider scholarly community. The final section of the paper shows how these three themes played out in the early years of the Moravians’ Himalayan Mission. Prologue: 18th century Moravian missions In Tibet, as in other parts of Asia, Roman Catholic missionaries were far ahead of their Protestant counterparts.1 Portuguese Jesuits maintained a mission in Tsaparang (Western Tibet) from 1624 to 1640. Ippolito Desideri, an Italian Jesuit, lived in Lhasa from 17161721; and Capuchin missionaries, who also came from Italy, maintained an intermittent presence in Lhasa from 1707 to 1745. However, from the 1730s onwards, the Moravian church dramatically expanded its own foreign missions, and in due course inspired other Protestant churches to follow its example. The 18th century Moravian missionaries therefore served as the forerunners both of Heyde, Pagell and Jäschke and—indirectly—of their Baptist and Anglican colleagues in the Himalayan region. The Moravian Church traces its origins to the Unitas Fratrum or ‘Unity of Brethren’, which was founded in Bohemia in 1457. The church flourished in Bohemia and Moravia (now part of the Czech Republic) in the 16th century, but was suppressed in its original homelands after the Thirty Years War (1618-1648). Scattered groups of believers continued to operate underground, and in 1722 refugees from Moravia founded a new settlement in Herrnhut, Saxony, under the patronage of Graf Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf.2 The church is known in Germany as the Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine.

1

On the Catholic missions see: Didier (2002), Desideri (1937), Petech (1952-1956) and Wessels (1924). 2 Standard histories of the renewed Moravian church and its missions include J.T. & K.G. Hamiliton (1966) and Beck (1981).

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The Moravians sent their first missionaries to the West Indies in 1732, to Greenland in 1733, to Surinam in 1735, and to South Africa in 1737. In the course of the 18th century, they went on to establish missions in Labrador and North America, as well as making unsuccessful attempts in regions as diverse as Algeria, Persia, the Nicobar Islands and Lapland. In the 1760s, the Moravians became the first Protestant church to come into direct contact with Tibetan Buddhism after Catherine the Great invited them to found a settlement in Sarepta (now a suburb of Volgograd) in southern Russia (Bawden 1983:30-46; Beck 1981:136141). The Kalmyk Mongols, who had migrated to the area from Central Asia, lived in the surrounding countyside and were followers of the Gelugpa (dge lugs pa) school of Tibetan Buddhism. The Moravians made no significant impact on the Kalmyks’ religious beliefs but, as will be seen, the church leadership came to see their early contacts with the Kalmyks as a precedent for their subsequent work in Central Asia. The first missionaries to the West Indies were Leonard Dober, a potter, and David Nitschmann, a carpenter. Theologians such as August Gottlieb Spangenberg (1704-1792) were well able to provide intellectual leadership, and many individual missionaries conducted important scholarly research in their chosen regions. However, the Moravians always believed that a deep personal faith was the prime qualification for missionary work, and they attached considerable importance to the spiritual value of productive work. Many of the early missionaries were craftsmen like Dober and Nitschmann and, where possible, they tried to be economically self-sufficient. William Carey and the Baptists’ Bhutan Mission The Moravians’ example helped inspire the foundation of the Baptist Missionary Society (BMS). In 1792 William Carey (1761-1834), a Baptist minister and former cobbler from Northamptonshire in the English Midlands, wrote a short book entitled An Enquiry into the Obligations of Christians to use Means for the Conversion of the Heathens. He argued that Christ’s command to “go out into the world and preach the Gospel to every creature” applied as much in the late 18th century as in the first, and pointed to the precedent set by the Moravians: Have not the missionaries of the Unitas Fratrum, or Moravian Brethren, encountered the scorching heat of Abyssinia, and the frozen climes of Greenland, and Labrador, their difficult languages and savage manners? (Carey 1791:11).

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Carey and his friends started the BMS in 1792, and he himself set out for India as its first missionary, arriving in Calcutta in December 1793. At this stage, the political environment was not entirely favourable. The East India Company employed chaplains to minister to British Christians, but actively discouraged missionary work among nonChristians: it feared that this would lead to religious dissension and political unrest, neither of which would be good for commerce. Carey had to find work as the manager of an indigo factory, and initially conducted his missionary activities in his spare time. In early 1797, while Carey was still based at the indigo factory, he made a reconnaissance visit to Bhutan together with his friend Dr John Thomas. They only got as far as the plains on the southern borders of the country, rather than entering into the hills, but the local Bhutanese official received them with much hospitality. Carey commented unfavourably on salt tea (‘We tried in vain to swallow it, though the Bootea drank very copiously of it’), and much more favourably of the Bhutanese people: they collectively resembled ‘an amazing stout, athletic English wagoner, much weather-beaten’ (E. Carey 1836:201). During this visit Carey made initial enquiries into the local language, concluding that the accent was not unlike French. He and Dr Thomas each hoped to learn the language from a ‘Bootea Munshi’, although it does not appear that they ever studied it systematically. The idea of setting up a mission in Bhutan seemed all the more attractive because of the East India Company’s hostility. As Carey wrote in March 1797: I have thought of the borders of Bootan, as commanding Hindostan, Bootan, and Assam, at once, and being out of the Company’s dominions; but permission to settle there must first be obtained. Nor do I know that we should be more secure there; for the company can negotiate with any other power, and might be provoked to do it if they found us evading them (E.Carey 1836:207-208).

In the event, Carey put the idea of a Bhutan mission on one side as his circumstances began to improve in Bengal. In 1799 he was joined by two missionary colleagues: Joshua Marshman (1768-1837), a former schoolmaster; and William Ward (1769-1823), a printer and Baptist minister. The three men established their headquarters at Serampore (SrÈrÀmpur), an enclave north of Calcutta which was under Danish rule, and therefore outside the authority of the Company. Carey himself received a degree of official recognition in 1801, when he was

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appointed to a professorship of oriental languages at the newlyfounded Fort William College in Calcutta. Carey, Marshman and Ward together formed a team—widely known as the Serampore Trio—which embarked on a highly productive period of publishing activities. Over the next 30 years the Baptist Mission Press published complete or partial Bible translations into more than 30 Indian languages, as well as a series of grammars and dictionaries. Their publications have been widely commended for their pioneering quality, although the speed with which they were produced meant that standards of translation were often lower than might have been hoped (Potts 1967:79-101). Carey had not forgotten Bhutan and Tibet. In 1806 he published a pamphlet with the title Proposals for a Subscription for Translating the Holy Scriptures into the following Oriental Languages (Potts 1967:80). The languages included ‘Bhotia’ and Tibetan. Soon afterwards, the BMS Periodical Accounts announced plans to establish a mission at Bhote-haut on the Bhutan border. Among other benefits: … the Bootan language could be acquired, and such a farther entrance could be made into Bootan and Thibet, as providence might permit. The scriptures could be translated into the Bootan and Thibet languages (said to be the same) which alone were worthy of a man’s whole life (BMS Periodical Accounts 3 [1806-1809]:466-467; cited in Perry 1997:136).

The Baptist missionary William Robinson made four attempts to establish a mission on the borders of Bhutan between 1808 and 1811. However, he and his family suffered both from disease and from banditry, and the project was eventually abandoned (Perry 1997:136137). The Baptists retained an interest in the Himalayas, but the next missionary society to turn its attention to the prospect of missionary work in Tibet was the Church Missionary Society (CMS). The Church Missionary Society’s Tibetan researches The CMS was founded on 12 April 1799. Its leaders were a group of Evangelical Anglican clergymen and laymen who had been inspired by the foundation of the BMS in 1792, and the London Missionary Society (LMS) in 1795, as well as the earlier work of the Moravians. The new society faced an immediate problem in that there was an initial shortage of volunteers to serve as missionaries. However, a Mr La Trobe of the Moravian Church and Dr Steinkopf of the Lutheran Savoy Chapel told the society’s committee of a new seminary for

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missionaries in Berlin (Stock 1899, Vol 1:82). This seminary itself had strong Moravian connections: it was started in 1800 by Johannes Jänicke (1748-1827), a Lutheran minister of Bohemian ancestry who had served part of his earlier career as a teacher in a Moravian school in Barby and was now based at the Bethlehemskirche in Berlin (Ledderhose 1863).3 In 1802 the CMS accepted the first two students from Jänicke’s seminary as missionary candidates and, following their ordination as Lutheran ministers, they set out for West Africa in 1804. From its beginnings, the CMS had hoped to begin work in India but the East India Company initially prevented it from sending missionaries here. However, in 1813, the East India Company’s charter came up for renewal in parliament, and Evangelical politicians led by William Wilberforce managed to secure a provision making it much easier for missionaries to work in India. The CMS sent out its first two groups of India missionaries soon afterwards. Among them was Frederic Christian Gotthelf Schröter (also spelt ‘Schroeter’), who was soon to devote himself to the study of Tibetan. Schröter was a graduate of Jänicke’s seminary in Berlin. He first appeared in CMS records in July 1813 when the committee in London decided to engage him and three colleagues as missionary candidates (Hole 1896:274). He continued his studies at the CMS’s own seminary in Buckinghamshire, and in May 1814 the committee decided that he should be sent to India (Hole 1896:469). He set out for India in late May 1815 and, after an interval in Ceylon, arrived in Calcutta in early May 1816. Schröter spent his first few months in India learning Bengali in Kidderpore, near Calcutta. However, in September 1816 he set out for Titalya in northern Bengal at the invitation of Captain Barré Latter. It was in Titalya that he began his researches into Tibetan. Titalya is now in Bangladesh—opposite Siliguri in India—and known as ‘Tetulia’. Captain—later Major—Barré Latter (1777-1822) was one of three brothers to serve in the Bengal Army (Hodson 1946). He took command of the Rangpur Local Battalion in 1813, and served there until his death in 1822. He had played an important role in the 18141816 war between the East India Company and Nepal because he had helped persuade the Rajah of Sikkim to support the British against Nepal (Lamb 1986:34). As a reward, the British allowed the Rajah to 3

The Bethlehemskirche was damaged by Allied bombing in 1943, and pulled down in 1963. Its site is close to the former ‘Checkpoint Charlie’ crossing point between East and West Berlin.

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recover Sikkimese territory which had previously been captured by the Nepalese. Latter was the British signatory on the 1817 Treaty of Titalya, which formalised this arrangement (Aitchison 1933:58-60). Latter had an obvious professional interest in promoting the study of Tibetan. During the Nepal war he had received letters from the Rajah of Sikkim written in a language and character—presumably Tibetan—which was ‘unknown to anyone at this place’ (Papers Respecting the Nepaul War 1824:390). He was also a convinced Evangelical. Although he did not think the time was yet ripe for a missionary to settle in Sikkim or Bhutan, he believed that he could use his official position to make introductions on Schröter’s behalf and— above all—to help him learn Tibetan. Latter expands on these ideas in a letter to the CMS’s Calcutta Corresponding Committee in June 1817.4 In the letter he notes that the Russian Bible Society (an affiliate of the British and Foreign Bible Society) was considering sending missionaries to the frontiers of China to learn Manchu, and also wished for a Tibetan Bible translation. He continues by emphasising the special benefits of Schröter’s presence in Titalya, and added: I think the present state of affairs in this quarter will enable us not only to cooperate with the Russian Bible Society in translating the Scriptures into the Thibet language, but also in circulating the Word of God amongst several of the Tartar Tribes bordering upon China and in the Western part of that Empire.5

As soon as Schröter arrived in Titalya, Latter sent him to Sikkim in the company of a Lieutenant Weston who was conducting a survey there. In March 1817 Weston reported: Mr Schroeter is coming on famously and he already interpreted between me and a Lepcha who came to my Tent in raptures to tell me he was to go with us. He began talking to them as soon as we arrived, they brought him a Book and were quite delighted to find he could decypher [sic], but when he began spelling they were really amazed. He is now squatted on the ground in the Sun with a dozen of them round

4 In this period the leading members of the committee were two East India Company chaplains: Daniel Corrie (1777-1837) and Thomas Thomason (1774-1829) a graduate of Magdalene College, and former Fellow of Queen’s College, Cambridge. 5 Latter to Thomason, Titalya, 26 June 1817. CMS archives. XCMS/B/OMS/ I1/CE/166B.

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JOHN BRAY him reading away. He gleans from every one that comes near him & they seem quite pleased. They are in and out of the Tent constantly.6

Latter commented favourably on Schröter’s diligence and linguistic ability. However, he believed that it was premature for him to preach openly. Partly because of this limitation, the Calcutta committee decided in November 1817 that Schröter could work more effectively as a missionary in Burdwan, some 70 miles north-east of Calcutta, where a Lieutenant Stewart had helped set up series of mission schools.7 Schröter duly left for Burdwan, but Latter argued that removing him from his Tibetan work would be a waste both of an excellent opportunity, and of his special talents. Latter managed to secure a grant of Rs200 a month from the government, and by mid1818 Schröter was back in Titalya. From then on, he was in effect a government employee, although still associated with the CMS. In addition to his other services, Latter also managed to provide Schröter with an extensive collection of written material. In September 1818 Calcutta committee member Thomas Thomason reported that a ‘confidential friend’ of Latter’s in Paris had obtained a ‘rare and curious Missionary collection’ of books on Tibet for Schröter’s use.8 Latter also obtained a treatise on the Tibetan alphabet and a Tibetan-Italian dictionary from the Roman Catholic Mission in Bettiah, as well as a further manuscript from the Roman Catholic College in Patna (Felix 1912:395). All these were the work of 18th century Capuchin missionaries, most likely Orazio della Penna (16801745), who was the leader of the Lhasa mission during its final years and its most proficient scholar of Tibetan. Schröter used these texts, as well as additional material provided by an unnamed teacher, to study Tibetan vocabulary and grammar. In March 1820 Schröter reported on his theological discussions with local Buddhists: The Tibetians as far as I have been able to enter into their creed believe Boodha to have been an incarnated God, who came into the world to teach the people the way to salvatation, both by example and

6

Minutes of the Calcutta Corresponding Committee: 31 May 1817: Calcutta. No.8. Extract of a Letter from Captain Barré Latter dated Titalya 24th March 1817. CMS/B/OMS/C I1 E1/63. 7 Minutes of the Church Missionary Committee, 7 November 1817, Old Church, Calcutta. CMS/B/OMS/I1/C E/89. 8 Thomason to the Secretary. Calcutta. 24 Sept 1818. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 E2/25.

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as a Devotee and by precept; they call him in their language amongst other names which they give him dkon.mchog. Konch,hogh. They make images of him and bow down before him; but not so of rab.byung.dkon.mchog. Rabh jhoong Konch,hogh i.e. the self existing God, for say they: Him has no man seen, and hence it would be wrong to make a picture of him. In their books the phrase dkon.mchog.gsum Kon ch,hogh soom is often found, from which some have thought that they believe in a Trinity, the word “soom” meaning three, but on close inquiry I found that by dkon.mchog.gsum Kon chhogh sum [sic] they understand Boodha, the Holy law and the Devotees which make three.9

Schröter had little more time to continue his researches: he died in July 1820. After his death, Latter prepared a list of his papers and sent it to C.T. Metcalfe, Secretary to the Government.10 The first item was a ‘Dictionary Thibetian and English in Alphabetical Order, written on 74 Quires or Cahiers of Paper’. This was a ‘Dictionary formed from a Manuscript one in Italian and Thibetian in my possession originally composed by the Roman Catholic Missionaries in Lhasa’. The second item was a supplement written on 15 quires of paper. Latter explains that this was: … a supplement containing words not found in the above Dictionary and selected from Manuscripts furnished to Mr Schroeter by me. This work is extremely valuable being an explanation of Terms chiefly used in the Religious Books of the Thibetians. Each word besides the English explanation has the corresponding term in Bengallee annexed. This supplement with No. 1 forms a complete Dictionary Thibetian and English.11

The other items consisted of: the beginnings of an English-Tibetan dictionary as far as the word ‘Bell’; a treatise on the Tibetan alphabet; notes for a Tibetan grammar; a set of private notes for Schröter’s personal use and instruction; and a copy of a Tibetan manuscript, and a rough translation of the manuscript which he had been using for an exercise with his teacher. Since the British authorities had paid Schröter’s stipend, his papers counted as government property, and Latter duly promised to forward them.

9

Schroeter to Pratt, 31st March 1820, Titalya. CMS/B/OMS/C I1 O257. Italicised words are in Tibetan in the original. 10 D. Corrie to J. Pratt, Calcutta, 11 June 1821, enclosing letter from Latter to C.T. Metcalfe, dated 12 September 1820 at Titalya. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 076/154. 11 Corrie to Pratt, 11 June 1821. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 076/154.

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The Serampore Tibetan-English dictionary and its immediate successors The British authorities were concerned that Schröter’s researches should not be wasted; and it seems that the Marquis of Hastings, the Governor-General, took a personal interest in the matter.12 The CMS promised to assign Benedict La Roche, a newly recruited missionary, to take over from Schröter. La Roche appeared well suited for the task, having studied at the universities of Tübingen, Paris and Cambridge. However, he was taken ill soon after arriving in India, and his doctor advised him to return to Europe: he died in August 1821 shortly before he was due to land in England.13 La Roche’s death ended the CMS’s actual and potential participation in the dictionary project. Latter also died soon afterwards, in September 1822. Still unwilling to allow Schröter’s work to go to waste, the government now turned to Carey and Marshman in Serampore, and the Baptist Mission Press duly published the Dictionary of the Bhotanta or Boutan language in 1826. According to the title page, Marshman edited the dictionary, while Carey edited the accompanying grammar. Carey’s preface noted that the language was also used in Little Thibet—presumably a reference to Ladakh—and pointed out the political and commercial benefits of studying the language: In a political point of view, a knowledge of the countries bordering on our own territories, and of the languages spoken in them, is of great importance as furnishing facilities for friendly intercourse with the people who inhabit them and opening to us all the commercial advantages which these countries afford: while at the same time, it affords facilities for discovering hostile intentions when they exist, and furnishes an intelligible medium of negotiation with the people.

In making this observation, Carey no doubt had the interests of his government sponsors in mind. However, the sentences in the grammar hint at the dictionary’s missionary origins. In addition to useful practical phrases such as ‘If you do not pay, the raja will confine you’, it also contains the sentences ‘I have taken a wife… therefore I cannot come’, and ‘go quickly to the market… bring the blind here.’ These echo the phrases in Jesus’s parable of the king’s feast (Luke 14:16-24), and presumably were taken from a draft Bible translation.

12

Marquis of Hastings to Lord Gambier, Calcutta January 10, 1821. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 O257. 13 Dr Ramsay to Josiah Pratt, 13 August 1821, Gravesend. CMS/B/OMS/CI1/0172.

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The dictionary should have marked a major landmark in European studies of Tibet. However, it suffered from the obvious deficiency that it was still only at a draft stage when Schröter died. Neither Carey nor Marshman knew Tibetan, and they were therefore unable either to improve on it, or to correct additional mistakes that crept in as it went to press. The Paris-based scholar Henri Jules [Heinrich Julius] Klaproth (1783-1835) welcomed the dictionary in a review published in the Nouveau Journal Asiatique, but pointed to several critical gaps: We cannot but give praise to the order in which the words have been arranged, an order much more convenient, and easy for Europeans, who wish to consult this lexicon, than the one the Tibetans generally use in works of this kind. But the essential defect of the book is the want of a great number of necessary words, which is in no way compensated by a multitude of often useless phrases. Many essential words are found only in these phrases, and one searches in vain for them at their proper place (Klaproth 1828; English translation as cited in Felix 1912:381).

For all the effort that had gone into it, the Serampore dictionary was therefore something of a false start in Tibetan studies, and it was superseded within less than a decade. In 1834 the Baptist Mission Press published Essay Towards a Dictionary. Tibetan and English and Grammar of the Tibetan Language by Alexander Csoma de KIJrös (KIJrösi Csoma Sándor, 1784?-1842). These works were the result of years of first-hand research in Zangla, Testa and Phugtal monastery in Zangskar and Kanam monastery in Kinnaur (see Terjék 1984; Marczell, this volume). Csoma had received extensive assistance from Sangye Phuntsog (Sans-rgyas-phun-tshogs), a distinguished Zangskari lama, and cited him as his collaborator in compiling the dictionary. In 1841 Isaak Jakob Schmidt (1779-1847) published his Tibetischdeutsches Wörterbuch, drawing heavily on Csoma. Schmidt had been born in Amsterdam into a Moravian family, and in 1798 had accepted a post as a commercial assistant in the Moravian settlement in Sarepta (Bawden 1985:30-46). His work in Sarepta brought him into contact with the Kalmyk Mongols, and eventually led to academic distinction in St Petersburg as a scholar of Central Asian languages. Schmidt’s Tibetan-German dictionary marks the first direct involvement of a Moravian scholar with Tibetan studies. It was to prove of great value to Heyde and Pagell, who were German-speakers, when they began their own Tibetan studies in 1855 (Pagell & Heyde 1859:60, 158).

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Gossner, Start and the Darjeeling ‘Moravians’ Jänicke’s successor at the Bethlehemskirche in Berlin was Johannes Evangelista Gossner (1773-1858). Like his predecessor, Gossner helped train candidates for foreign missionary service, and most of these were craftsmen and farmers who—like the early Moravians— were expected to earn their own living alongside their mission work. Gossner initially intended to recruit for other missionary societies without regard for the finer points of theology, but in 1842 founded what became known as the Gossner Mission. In 1838 Gossner met William Start, a former Anglican clergyman who had transferred his allegiance to the Baptists, and now used his personal wealth to finance a loosely structured independent mission in India (Pinn 2003:13-15). At short notice, Gossner recruited five young people to go to India. These were Johann and Sophie Wernicke, Joachim and Dorothea Sophia Stölke, and Andreas Dannenberg, all of who came from farming familes in Brandenburg. They initially worked near Patna and then, from 1841 onwards, in the Darjeeling area. In 1843 Start withdrew his financial support from the Wernickes and Stölkes. Forced to fend for themselves, they eventually established a successful dynasty of tea-planters. Although they had no formal link with Herrnhut, these families were collectively known as the Darjeeling ‘Moravians’ because of their hard-working lifestyle and missionary aspirations. Sophie Wernicke did have a personal Moravian connection in that she had studied at a Moravian school in Gnadau before leaving for India. In the early 1900s, towards the end of a long life, she continued to wear a characteristic white ‘Herrnhuter’ bonnet bound with a pink ribbon (Pinn 2003:13). Carl Gottlob Niebel (1810-1865) joined Start in India in 1840, and it is thought that he too had been introduced by Gossner (Pinn 2003:67). Unlike the other Darjeeling ‘Moravians’, Niebel had had a university education. He translated Genesis, Exodus, and the Gospels of Mathew and John into Lepcha, and the Gospels of Luke and Acts into Nepali (Perry 1997:38). Shortly before his death, he had been preparing a Christian tract in Tibetan and a Tibetan vocabulary (Pinn 2003:70). Niebel therefore continued the missionary tradition of Tibetan studies, although it is not clear whether any of his Tibetan works were printed. Gossner also was responsible for introducing Johann Dettlof Prochnow (1814-1888) to Start. Prochnow set out for India in 1840, but was dissatisfied with the way that the local mission was organised,

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and in 1844 was ordained into the Anglican church by Bishop Daniel Wilson of Calcutta (Voigt 2001). He then set out to join the Himalayan Mission, which had recently been set up in Kotgarh, near Simla. The Himalaya Mission of the CMS The CMS’s Himalaya Mission owed its origins to the expansion of British rule to the west, following the defeat of Nepal in the 1814-1816 war, the establishment of a garrison at Sabathu near Solan, and the development of Simla as a hill station soon afterwards. From the beginning, the mission was intended both to serve local hill tribes and to prepare the way for future missions in Tibet. Evangelical British officials from Simla were the mission’s first sponsors. In 1838-1839 Captain P. Jackson, a retired Bengal artillery officer, offered £60 a year towards the establishment of a CMS mission at Kotgarh, some 50 miles north-east of Simla (Church Missionary Intelligencer 2 [1851]:15). Other local expatriates made similar donations, but at this stage the CMS was facing financial difficulties and was reluctant to take on new commitments. In 1842, the Simla mission supporters set up a separate Himalaya Church Mission Society. They recruited a Mr Rudolph to serve as a catechist in Kotgarh in 1843, and Prochnow joined him the following year. In 1847, the CMS agreed to take over Kotgarh after all. In May 1844 Prochnow travelled up the Sutlej valley to Kinnaur with a view to finding a suitable place for a new mission station near the Tibetan frontier (CMI 2[1851]:21). En route he distributed ‘a good number of Hindui and Thibetian (sic) tracts, the latter chiefly to wandering Tartars and Lamas’. He made further journeys to Kinnaur in September 1844 and May 1845. To his pleasure, he met a ‘wandering Lama from Chinese Tartary’ who had acquired one of his tracts inside Tibet, thus demonstrating that the written word could cross the frontier even if the missionaries themselves were unable to do so (CMI 2[1851]:21-22). At the monastery in Kanam Prochnow saw the room where Csoma de KIJrös had worked with his ‘Guru’, presumably a reference to his Zangskari teacher Sangye Phuntsog. Hearing this, Prochnow commented hopefully: His [Csoma’s] Guru should be still alive, we heard, but very old. I charged the Abbot to write for him and, if could not come, to write to

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JOHN BRAY H’Lassa for a learned lama to come to Kanum and if possible to Kotegarh to stay with us.14

However, in a letter to CMS Secretary Henry Venn in 1847, Prochnow lamented that he had not been able to pursue his Tibetan studies because the departure of Mr Rudolph had left him singlehanded at Kotgarh.15 He suggested that the CMS should send out a missionary specifically to learn Tibetan. The new recruit should take advantage of the availability of a Tibetan grammar and dictionary— evidently a reference to Csoma de KIJrös’s publications—and spend four or six months on the boundaries of Tibet to learn the language of the people. In this way, he would gain sufficient knowledge to translate the Bible into Tibetan. Prochnow himself seems to have been prevented from pursuing his Tibetan aspirations first by the demands of working on his own, and secondly as a result of a long leave in Germany. However, his catechist managed to translate part of the Gospel of St Matthew, a catechism and a number of other tracts with the help of Buddhist monks (Pagell & Heyde 1859:51,68). Meanwhile, the CMS retained its strategic ambitions for Tibet. In 1851, the editorial writer of the Church Missionary Intelligencer noted a newspaper report announcing the first stages of the construction of the Hindustan-Tibet road. With misplaced optimism, the report stated: The Marquis of Dalhousie has ordered a road to be opened from the foot of the Hills to the Chinese boundary through Kanawur, by which, no doubt, gold and silver will flow in abundance to India (CMI 2 [1851] 22).

The editorial continued with the comment that it is ‘remarkable how the mutual necessities of nations force them to commercial intercourse’, and added: These are not accidental changes, but of a providential character; and secluded countries are thus thrown open to observation, isolated nations brought forward from their obscurity, and Christian sympathy is awakened on their behalf.

Fortified by such ideas, Prochnow and his wife set out on another journey through Kinnaur towards Tibet in the summer of 1853. He procured a letter of recommendation from the minister of the Raja of 14 Prochnow. Report for April, May and June. Kotgarh, 30 June 1845. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 O232/21. 15 Prochnow to Henry Venn. Simla, 14 July 1847. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 O232/1.

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Bashahr (the princely state centring on Rampur on the river Sutlej), who had good relations with Tibet but this proved to be in vain. He reached as far as Shipke, the first village inside the Tibetan frontier, but the local official would not allow him to proceed any further (CMI 6 [1855]:230). The Prochnows therefore fell back on an alternative plan, which was to travel via Spiti and Rupshu to Ladakh and Kashmir. Their journey proceeded smoothly enough, but Prochnow does not seem to have visited Ladakh again during his remaining five years in India. The next missionary traveller to Leh was Robert Clark from the CMS station in Amritsar. Robert Clark’s journey to Ladakh in 1854 Robert Clark (1825-1900) belonged to a new generation of younger missionaries. Educated in Cambridge, he had arrived in Calcutta in 1852. Three years earlier, the British had annexed Punjab and, soon after his arrival, Clark helped establish the CMS mission station in Amritsar. In late 1853 he went to Peshawar to prepare the way for a new mission there. Then, in the summer of 1854, he made a reconnaissance journey to Kashmir, Ladakh and Baltistan. Clark’s reports from Ladakh are full of expansionist optimism: he envisaged a ‘great chain of Missions extending from the Panjab along and beyond the British borders into Central Asia and China’ (Clark 1907:112). Clark travelled through Srinagar, where he met Maharajah Gulab Singh, and on to Kargil, Leh and Hemis, before returning to Kashmir via Skardu. Of all the places that he visited, he wrote particularly enthusiastically about Hemis monastery, describing it as the ‘Cambridge of Middle Thibet’ (CMI 6 [1855]:182). One of Clark’s main concerns was language. He reached Leh in late July, preached twice daily in the bazaar, and distributed Christian tracts. The languages of the tracts reflected Leh’s status as a trading and administrative centre. Soldiers and officials from Jammu and Kishtawar preferred texts in Urdu or Hindi. One person asked for a book in Arabic, but the most popular language was Persian—then a widely used lingua franca. Clark added that the ‘Buddhist natives of Middle Thibet… are very seldom able to read any other language besides their own native Thibetian.’16 This meant there was an obvious need for missionaries to study Tibetan, and their work would have particular value because of Ladakh’s proximity to Tibet proper. 16 Clark to Henry Venn. Kashmir, 16 September 1854. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 O69/4.

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Clark took the view that: … the importance of Ladak is very great as respects the countries on which it borders, and especially that of Upper Thibet and its capital Lassa. The attention of all friends of Christian Missions is now turned toward China and to the extraordinary openings for the spread of the Gospel which will probably before very long occur in that country. 17

Tibetan translations made in Ladakh might well—with appropriate revisions—be of use in Lhasa once Tibet was opened to foreigners. Clark was well aware of the hardships that missionaries would have to endure in the Ladakhi winter. If suitable English volunteers were not to be found, he suggested that Ladakh might prove a suitable field for the Moravians who can ‘unite great powers of enduring hardship with simplicity of mind and devotion of spirit.’ Clark was also able to report that two Moravian brethren—Heyde and Pagell—had in fact arrived in India en route to Central Asia. Moravian continuities The Moravians’ decision to send missionaries to Central Asia came about as a result of the Protestant interconnections that have been one of the main themes of this paper. In 1849 and 1850 Karl Friedrich August Gützlaff (1803-1851) made a tour of Protestant missionary societies in Germany, England and Scandinavia. Like Schröter and the early CMS missionaries, Gützlaff was a graduate of Jänicke’s training school in Berlin: he had subsequently made a name for himself as a pioneer missionary in Java, Siam (Thailand) and—above all—China (see Schlyter 1976). The purpose of his tour was to press the case for new missions to China. In London CMS Secretary Henry Venn commented in his diary that Gützlaff’s accounts were ‘not to be trusted’ (Knight 1880:111). However, the Mission Board in Herrnhut responded more positively and, inspired by their earlier association with the Kalmyk Mongols, decided to send Heyde and Pagell to Inner Mongolia. They then had to decide how to get there, and consulted Prochnow who was in Germany on leave. Prochnow enthusiastically recommended the Indian route, and even suggested—mistakenly—that the Moravians might be able to meet Mongolian travellers on the Hindustan-Tibet road which passed through Kotgarh (Pagell & Heyde1859:5-6; CMI 12 [1861]:183-188). 17

Ibid.

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Heyde and Pagell were therefore associated with the CMS from the outset, and they continued this association on their journey to India, sailing from Portsmouth in 1853 in the company of the Rebsch family, who served the CMS mission in Benares (Varanasi), and two Gossner missionaries (Pagell & Heyde 1859:7). From Benares, Heyde and Pagell travelled to Kotgarh, where they stayed with Prochnow for several months, studying English, Tibetan and Hindustani before setting out for Ladakh and the Tibetan frontier in March 1855. They again stayed with Prochnow over the winter of 1855-1856, before setting up their mission at Kyelang in Lahul. From then on, their ultimate objective was Tibet rather than Mongolia. The Moravian missionaries maintained favourable relations with their CMS colleagues long after their own missions were established. For example, they regularly visited the CMS Kotgarh mission en route to Kyelang and Poo, and the CMS Srinagar mission en route from Kashmir to Leh. The Tyndale Biscoe school in Srinagar, which was founded by the CMS, has been one of the most respected providers of secondary education to Ladakhis even until recent times. Yonathan Paljor, who was ordained as a Moravian minister in 1956, subsequently served as pastor of what was now the Church of North India congregation in Srinagar. Arguably, the old CMS/Moravian connections still continue in new forms. The second theme of this paper—the missionaries’ relationship with government officials—now worked in the Moravians’ favour, both at the institutional and at the individual levels. The British authorities gave them permission to set up their mission in Kyelang, and provided them with 50 pine trees to help with the building. A Major Lake made a personal donation of Rs200 towards the building (Periodical Accounts 22 [1857]:201) In 1885 official lobbying by the British Viceroy persuaded the Maharaja of Kashmir to give permission for a mission in Leh—more than 30 years after Clark had first envisioned this. Similarly, individual officers, many of whom also were associated with the CMS, provided private donations. For example, in 1874 a Col Paske wrote to Robert Clark reporting that: I make a collection for the [Moravian] Mission every year and the money I collect I take up with me and give to Mr Heyde when I visit Kulu and Lahoul in the autumn of the year.18

18

Robert Clark to General Lake, 7 December 1874, enclosing letter from Col Paske dated 29 November. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 O69/57.

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The relationship with the government may have helped the missionaries in India, but it did not assist them in their ambitions to enter Tibet. From 1865 onwards, Pagell and his successors in Poo followed Prochnow’s footsteps in making a series of attempts to enter Tibet via Shipke: they were always repulsed, except on one occasion in 1867 when the Tibetans needed Pagell’s assistance with smallpox vaccinations (see Bray 1992). In the early 1900s Tibetans explicitly connected the missions with European expansionism, suggesting that the policy was first to bring the new religion and then to take the Tibetans’ land (Missionsblatt 68[1904]:265). The 1903-1904 Younghusband expedition to Lhasa did not—as expected—make it any easier for the missionaries to enter Tibet. On the contrary, British officials actively discouraged missionary activity inside Tibet for fear that religious opposition to Christianity would create a political backlash against British interests (see Bray 1994). In this respect, they unconsciously echoed the concerns of East India Company officials in Carey’s day. The third theme of the paper—linguistic research—is perhaps the area where the Moravians’ contribution is most widely recognised. Heyde and Pagell benefitted from the work of earlier scholars in that they were able to make use of Schmidt’s Tibetisch-Deutsches Wörterbuch as well as Prochnow’s copy of Csoma de KIJrös’s Tibetan Grammar while still in Kotgarh. By the time that they set out for Ladakh in 1855, they were able to read simple sentences and conduct basic conversations in Tibetan. Linguistic research was Jäschke’s priority as soon as he arrived in India in 1857. In addition to visiting Ladakh interviewing central Tibetan travellers passing through Kyelang, he also went to Darjeeling in 1865 to study central and eastern Tibetan dialects from that vantage point. In 1866 he published a Romanized Tibetan and English Dictionary on the Kyelang mission press; this was followed by a Tibetisch-deutsches Lexikon in 1871 and his Tibetan-English Dictionary in 1881. Thos dictionary expanded on earlier work by using new literary sources, and emphasising regional linguistic variations. In the preface to his 1881 dictionary, Jäschke reviews the work of his predecessors. He notes that his dictionary ‘pursues the object and accepts the plan of the work which was published by Mr Schröter’, but he is frank about Schröter’s deficiencies. The circumstances in which the 1826 dictionary was produced meant that: [it] cannot on any questionable point be accepted as an authority, and has only value for those who are already competent for themselves, to

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weigh and decide upon the statements and interpretations it advances (Jäschke 1881:v).

At the same time, he criticises the tone with which Isaak Jackob Schmidt had ‘recklessly and absolutely condemned’ Schröter’s work. Jäschke accords the highest praise to Csoma’s dictionary as the work of ‘an original investigator with almost unparalleled determination and patience’. In his own dictionary, Jäschke is careful to acknowledge sources, including words found in all three earlier dictionaries, as well as the Tibetan texts that he had studied himself. The Tibetan meaning of God One of the most striking points of continuity between the different missions concerns the word used to translate the Christian understanding of ‘God’. This is potentially problematic because in Buddhist thought there is no conception—and therefore no word— corresponding to a self-created almighty God. ‘Buddha’, which apparently was considered by one Mongolian missionary, obviously is inappropriate. The many local deities in Ladakh and Tibet are known as lha but, again, the attributes of these deities hardly correspond to the demands of Christian theology.19 Ippolito Desideri, the Italian Jesuit who had lived in Lhasa from 1716 to 1721 used dkon mchog, meaning ‘the precious one’, to translate ‘God’ in the sense of the ‘highest’, as well as kun gyi slob dpon che for ‘grand master of all’, and jig rten gyi dbang po for ‘Lord of all the World’ (Toscano 1981:325-326). As noted above, Schröter commented that dkon mchog had Buddhist associations, because it was used to describe the ‘three precious gems’—Buddha, Dharma and Sangha. For Christian teaching he evidently used the term rab byung dkon mchog, meaning ‘the self-existent God’, and in this he almost certainly followed della Penna, the Capuchin compiler of the Tibetan-Italian manuscript dictionary. Schröter’s dictionary (1826:134) gives dkon mchog for ‘God’ and dkon mchog thugs rje for ‘divine mercy’. It includes phrases for ‘God is everywhere’ and for ‘God being infinitely perfect and pure.’ Jäschke in his turn grappled with choices for the most appropriate terminology. In his dictionary (1881:10), he notes the Buddhist associations of dkon mchog but argues that:

19 However, Japanese Christians use Kami for ‘God’ even though the many Shinto kami arguably are analogous to Himalayan lha.

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JOHN BRAY … as to every Tibetan ‘dkon-mchog’ suggests the idea of some supernatural power, the existence of which he feels in his heart and the nature and properties of which he attributes more or less to the three agents [Buddha, Dharma, Sangha] mentioned above, we are fully entitled to assign the word dkon-mchog also the signification of God, though the sublime conception which the Bible connects with this word, viz. that of a personal absolute, omnipotent being, will only with the spread of the Christian religion be gradually established and introduced.

The Moravians continued to use dkon mchog in—for example—the 1948 Tibetan Bible (see Bray 1991) and in church services in Ladakh to this day. However, this usage has not been universally accepted. French scholars from the Société des Missionaires Étrangères de Paris (MEP), who worked on the borders of eastern Tibet from the mid-19th century onwards, explicitly rejected the use of dkon mchog to mean ‘God’ because of its Buddhist associations. Perhaps influenced by Chinese modes of expression, they favoured rnam kyi bdag po, ‘Lord of Heaven’, as the official Catholic terminology (Desgodins 1899:23-24). These variant translations reflect a continuing search among scholars of all persuasions for a terminology that reaches beyond linguistic and cultural superficialities to express deeper truths. Acknowledgements My greatest debt is to archivists at the University of Birmingham Special Collection for making available manuscript material relating to Schröter, Prochnow and Clark. Neil and Kath Howard provided hospitality and counsel during research visits to Birmingham. Peter Marczell, Herb Fader, Isrun Engelhardt, Heleen Plaisier and Christian Heyde helped me locate valuable sources. REFERENCES

(1) Church Missionary Society Archives. University of Birmingham Special Collection. Early Correspondence files 5-7 (1816-1820) XCMS/B/OMS/I1/E/1-. Papers of Rev John Dettlof Prochnow 1843-56. CMS/B/OMS/CI1 0232. Papers of Rev Robert Clark, 1858-1878. CCMS/B/OMS/CI1 069.

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(2) Published sources Aitchison, C.U. (Ed.). 1933. A Collection of Treaties, Engagements and Sanads Relating to India and Neighbouring Countries. Vol.12. Calcutta: Government of India Central Publication Branch. Bawden, C.R. 1985. Shamans, Lamas and Evangelicals. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Beck Hartmut. 1981. Brüder in vielen Völkern. 250 Jahre Mission der Brüdergemeine. Erlangen: Verlag der Ev.-Luth Mission. Bray, John. 1991. “Language, Tradition and the Tibetan Bible.” Tibet Journal 16, No. 4:28-58. _______. 1992. “Christian Missionaries on the Tibetan Border: the Moravian Church in Poo (Kinnaur), 1865-1924”. In Tibetan Studies:369-375. Edited by Shoren Ihara and Zuiho Yamaguchi. Narita: Narita Institute for Buddhist Studies. _______. 1994. “Christian Missions and the Politics of Tibet.” In Kolonien und Missionen. Referate des 3. Internationalen Kolonialgeschichtlichen Symposiums 1993 in Bremen:180-195. Edited by Wilfried Wagner. Münster/Hamburg: Lit. Carey, Eustace. 1836. Memoir of William Carey, D.D. Boston: Gould, Kendall and Lincoln. Carey, William. 1792. An Enquiry into the Obligations of Christians to use Means for the Conversion of the Heathens. Leicester: Ann Ireland. Church Missionary Intelligencer. 1850-1861. Vols 2-12. London: Church Missionary Society. Clark, Henry Martyn. 1907. Robert Clark of the Punjab. Pioneer and Missionary Statesman. London: Andrew Melrose. Csoma de KIJrös, Alexander. 1834a. Essay Towards a Dictionary. Tibetan and English. Prepared with the Assistance of Sans-rgyas Phun-tshogs. Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press. Csoma de KIJrös, Alexander.1834b. A Grammar of the Tibetan Language. Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press. Desgodins, Auguste (ed.). 1899. Dictionnaire thibétan-latin-français par les missonnaires Catholiques du Tibet. Hong Kong: Imprimerie de la Société des Missons Étrangères. Desideri, Ippolito. 1937. The Travels of Ippolito of Pistoia SJ. 1712-1727. Edited by Filippo de Filippi with an introduction by C. Wessels SJ. London: Routledge. Didier, Hugues. 2002. Les portugais au Tibet. Les premières relations jésuites 1624-1635. 2nd ed. Paris: Éditions Chandeigne. Felix, Rev. Father. 1912. “Remarks on the Tibetan Manuscript Vocabularies in Bishop’s College, Calcutta.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 8 (New Series), 379-397. Hamilton, J. Taylor & Kenneth G. 1967. History of the Moravian Church. The Renewed Unitas Fratrum 1722-1957. Bethlehem, Pa: Interprovincial Board of Christian Education, Moravian Church in America. Hodson, V.C.P. 1946. List of the Officers of the Bengal Army 1758-1834. Part III. London: Phillimore & Co. Hole, Charles. 1896. The Early History of the Church Missionary Society for Africa and the East to the End of 1814. London: Church Missionary Society. Jäschke, Heinrich August. 1881. A Tibetan-English Dictionary. With Special Reference to the Prevailing Dialects. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

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Jenkins, Paul. 1999. “The Church Missionary Society and the Basel Mission: An Early Experiment in Inter-European Co-operation.” In The Church Missionary Society and World Christianity:43-65. Edited by Kevin Ward and Brian Stanley. Klaproth, Henri Jules de. 1828. “Observations sur le dictionnaire tibétaine imprimé à Serampore par M. Klaproth.” Nouvelle Journal Asiatique 1 (2nd Series):401-423. Knight, William. 1880. Memoir of the Rev. H. Venn. The Mission Secretariat of Henry Venn. B.D. London: Longmans, Green & Co. Lamb, Alastair. 1986. British India and Tibet, 1766-1910. 2nd ed. London and New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Le Calloc’h, Bernard. 1987. “Le ‘Dictionnaire de Serampour’. Histoire tumultueuse d’un ouvrage controversé.” Revue de la Bibliothèque Nationale 26 (Hiver 1987):35-60. Ledderhose, Karl Friedrich. 1864. Johann Jänicke der evangelisch-lutherische Prediger an der böhmischen oder Bethlehemskirche zu Berlin. Berlin: by the author. Missionsblatt der Brüdergemeine 68 (1904). Pagell, Eduard & Heyde, August Wilhelm. 1860. Reisebericht der zum Zweck einer Mission unter den Mongolen ausgesendeten Brüder Pagell und Heyde. Gnadau: im Verlag der Buchhandlung der evangelischen Brüder Unität bei C.H. Pemsel. Papers Respecting the Nepaul War, Printed in Conformity to the Resolution of the Court of Proprietors of East India Stock of 3rd March 1824. London. Periodical Accounts Relating to the Missions of the United Brethren Established Among the Heathen 22 (1857). Perry, Cindy. 1997. Nepali Around the World. Kathmandu: Ekta Books. Petech, Luciano. 1952-1956. I Missionari italiani nel Tibet e nel Nepal. 7 vols. Rome: IsMEO. Potts, E. Daniel. 1967. British Baptist Missionaries in India. 1793-1837. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pinn, Fred. 2003. Darjeeling Pioneers. The Wernicke-Stölke Story. Bath: Pagoda Press. Schmidt, Isaak Jakob. 1841. Tibetisch-deutsches Wörterbuch, nebst deutschen Wortregister. Herausgegeben von der kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften. St Petersburg/Leipzig. Schroeter, Frederic Christian Gotthelf. 1824. A Dictionary of the Bhotanta, or Boutan Language. Serampore: Baptist Mission Press. Schlyter, Herman. 1976. Der China-Missionnar Karl Gützlaff und seine Heimatbasis. Studia Missionalia Upsaliensis 30. Lund : LiberLäromedel/Gleerup. Stock, Eugene. 1899. The History of the Church Missionary Society. Its Environment, its Men and its Work. 3 vols. London: Church Missionary Society. Terjék, József. 1984. Alexander Csoma de KĘrös 1784-1842. A Short Biography. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó. Toscano, Giuseppe (Ed.). 1981. Il Torangs (L’Aurora). Opera Tibetanne di Ippolito Desideri S. J. Rome: Istituto Italiano Per Il Medio Ed Estremo Oriente. Voigt, Karl Heinz. 2001. “Johann Dettlof Prochnow.” Biographisch-Bibliographisches Kirchenlexikon.. Verlag Traugott Bautz. www.bautz.de/bbkl. Wessels, C. 1924. Early Jesuit Travellers in Central Asia. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff.

THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE MORAVIAN MISSION IN THE WESTERN HIMALAYA: THE LIFE AND WORK OF WILHELM AND MARIA HEYDE CHRISTIAN HEYDE In the mid-nineteenth century the Moravian Church opened a new mission field in the Indian Himalaya. This became the Moravians’ sole successful attempt to found a mission in Asia. Although the mission stations in Lahul and Kinnaur eventually had to close down, the small Christian community in Ladakh still makes important contributions to Ladakhi society. This study reviews the beginnings of the West Himalaya Mission, with particular attention to the life and work of Wilhelm and Maria Heyde, one of the first Moravian missionary families in the region. The journey to Central Asia In 1850 the China missionary Dr Karl Gützlaff presented his ‘China Plan’ to the Moravian Church. He proposed that several mission societies should enter the Chinese Empire from different directions: the Moravians were asked to go to Mongolia (Pagell & Heyde 1860:3). The reason for this was that some earlier Moravian missionaries had studied the Mongolian language. In the 18th century, the Empress Catharine the Great had invited the Moravian Church to found a settlement in Sarepta (now a suburb of Volgograd) in southern Russia. There the missionaries had come into contact with the Kalmyks, a nomadic people of Mongolian origin who lived in the Russian steppes and practised Tibetan Buddhism. Two missionaries had travelled for a while with a Kalmyk tribe, and had studied their religious books in the Mongolian and Tibetan languages. However, they had to suspend their mission, because the ruler of the tribe had not granted them full protection. Now the Mission Board in Herrnhut (Saxony, Germany), the headquarters of the Moravian Church, chose two young men to be sent out to start a new mission in Mongolia. The first, Eduard Pagell, had come to the Moravian Church as an adult. He had already

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applied to work as a missionary, and was found to be qualified. The second, Wilhelm Heyde, had come from a poor farming family in Silesia that had converted to the Moravian church from Catholicism. Because of the family’s poverty, Wilhelm was sent to Herrnhut when he was twelve years old. He had to endure some very hard years of apprenticeship in a tinsmith’s workshop. Later, he became assistant to the director of the Moravian ‘Single Brethren’s House’. He looked after the apprentices in their spare time, and he took every opportunity to continue his own education. His appointment to the Mongolian Mission came as a big surprise for him. He knew nothing about Mongolia—not even where it was or how to get there. It seemed to be a risky adventure - but he accepted (Heyde 1921:14). In a Moravian settlement in the Black Forest, Pagell and Heyde started to learn the Mongolian language from Rev H.A. Zwick, the former director of the community in Sarepta (Heyde 1921:15). They also used a Tibetan grammar and a Tibetan-German-Russian Dictionary by I.J. Schmidt, who had studied the religious books of the Kalmyks (Francke 1901:1-3). The local doctor gave them an introduction to medicine and they subsequently consolidated their medical knowledge at a course at the Charité Hospital in Berlin. From a little book with the title Unterricht für die Brüder und Schwestern welche unter den Heiden am Evangelio dienen (‘Lessons for brothers and sisters who serve the Gospel among the heathen’) they received instructions on proper behaviour as missionaries. Finally, they were ordained in Herrnhut shortly before their departure on 13 July 1853. The Russian government refused to grant them transit visas (Bechler 1914:16). So they first travelled via Berlin and Hamburg to London. Then an East India Company clipper took them from Portsmouth round Africa to Calcutta. From there it took another six months to reach their first destination, Kotgarh, a village near Simla in the foothills of the Himalaya where they stayed with the Church Missionary Society (CMS) missionary Rev J.D. Prochnow. It was still a long way to Mongolia. Large tracts of Central Asia were still white patches on the map, and there was no indication how to reach the Mongolians. But it was certain that the two young brethren would have to travel for several months, or even years, through Tibetan territory. They therefore engaged a passing monk to teach them Tibetan. The following spring, the monk showed them the way to the Indus valley: through Kulu, Lahul and Zangskar to Ladakh.

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In mid-1855 Heyde and Pagell entered Leh, the capital of Ladakh, through one of the town gates. They stayed for three weeks, asking traders from Yarkand and Lhasa about Mongolians, but nobody had ever seen them or knew the way to Mongolia. In this time they made friends with a young monk who taught them Tibetan writing. He did so secretly, because a local official did not want foreigners to learn the Tibetan script. One day an experienced vazir (itinerant Muslim preacher) told them that they would find Mongolians a four-week journey to the east, beyond the Tibetan province of Rudok and a sandy desert (Pagell & Heyde 1860:139). So the courageous young missionaries went east to the shores of the Panggong lake, only to find the frontiers absolutely closed to any foreigner—particularly Westerners—because of the Dogra invasion of Tibet fifteen years earlier (Pagell & Heyde 1860:145-6). Since they could not stay for the winter, they turned south and went back through Spiti to Kotgarh. On the way they tried several times to cross the border into Tibet separately, but without success (Pagell & Heyde 1860:148ff.). The mission station in Kyelang Heyde and Pagell wanted to stay among ‘Tibetans’. The two missionaries had already begun to learn the Tibetan language, and moreover they liked the people. They therefore proposed to the Mission Board in Herrnhut that they should start a first settlement in Lahul as an outpost to reach Mongolia at a later date. At that time Lahul together with Spitti were the only ‘Tibetan’ parts of the western Himalaya under direct British rule. In the spring of 1856 the order came from Herrnhut to build a mission station in Lahul. The British government in India also gave permission, and supported the mission by providing land and wood. The construction of the large, solid mission house below the village of Kyelang (Keylong) took two full summers. Heyde and Pagell again spent the winter in between in Kotgarh. Like Ladakh, Lahul is totally isolated in winter because of the heavy snowfalls on the high passes. In March 1857 Heinrich August Jäschke came as director of the new mission station. He was a theologian and a great linguist. At first he complained that the mission house was too big, and therefore too expensive for a temporary outpost. He was not to know that they had already reached their final destination. After a year the three bachelors applied to the Mission Board for brides. They needed help to cope with the loneliness and manage their

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household affairs. And they needed wives and children to give an example of Christian family life. Wilhelm Heyde did not know that the young lady he asked to marry had already married another missionary, so the Mission Board in Herrnhut chose a new bride for him: Maria Hartmann. She had been born in Surinam as a missionary’s daughter and had worked near Herrnhut as a teacher in a boarding school for young ladies. She had never met Wilhelm before and she drew a lot to help her make her decision: this was an old Moravian tradition, still in practice at that time. She drew a ‘yes’ and took this as the will of God. After a short time of preparation, the brave 22 year-old woman joined the other brides in Hamburg for the long voyage. Wilhelm received a letter from Herrnhut saying that he would be the groom of a bride he did not know (Heyde 1921:47ff.). The new wives took care of the common household. They had to take turns to manage the kitchen, a major burden for the young and inexperienced Maria. Life in the mission station was Spartan, the furniture simple. As pietists, the Moravians attached little value to material pleasures, and used to lead a diligent life for the sake of God. Tensions between the three missionaries with their different characters made their common life in the station even more complicated. In October 1862 the Heydes left Kyelang with their two year-old daughter to start a mission in Kulu, the valley south of Lahul. Maria was pregnant and ill. Before she could see a doctor, she gave birth prematurely to a stillborn child. In the village of Jagat Sukh, Wilhelm rented a cheap house where Maria spent most of her time on her own with her little daughter. She was isolated for she could not speak any Hindi, and the villagers were hostile to these Tibetan-speaking foreigners. Wilhelm went on long journeys to organise the new settlement. Maria had another premature birth in September 1863: the little boy survived (Heyde 1862-63). In June 1864, when they had finally started to construct a new building, Heyde received a call back to Kyelang where they stayed until 1898. In 1862 the Pagells set out to found another mission, and eventually established a new station at Poo in the Kinnaur region. It was situated on the trading route from the Sutlej valley up to Tibet, and inhabited by Buddhists speaking a western dialect of Tibetan (Bray 1992:369370). After 20 years of work, Pagell and his wife died suddenly in early 1883. Jäschke finished a first Tibetan grammar and a Romanized Tibetan and English Dictionary before he and his wife went back to Europe in 1868, where he completed his Tibetan-English dictionary

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and the translation of the New Testament into Tibetan. This was published after his death in 1883 (Francke 1909:7.25; Jäschke 1883). Improvement of living conditions Heyde’s main objective was to improve the living conditions of the people of Lahul which, in his opinion, was the best way to show them the advantages of a Christian life. He built a large model farm to provide the mission and the new Christians with food, and to give an example of living Christianity by demonstrating the Christian spirit in daily life. By working in the fields as a farmer, Heyde came into closer contact with the people than he would have done as a preacher. To irrigate the dry slopes behind Kyelang, he built a water channel 14 km in length, which brought the water directly from a glacier to the fields. At first, the local lamas mocked him, but he was so successful that the Lahulis later orientated themselves by what happened at the farm rather than by the calculations of the lamas and oracles. Heyde extended the variety of locally available crops by introducing potatoes, rye and other sorts of vegetables. To improve the wood supply, he introduced the fast-growing Lombardy Poplar; to provide a richer diet, he introduced different sorts of fruit trees; and for the mission garden he brought yellow roses. The attempt to grow grapes failed, so wine for the Holy Communion was still imported. At this time European-style knitting was not known in the western Himalaya, and the missionaries’ wives therefore founded a knitting school, which remained for almost forty years under the leadership of Maria. From the whole valley around Kyelang dozens of women came to learn how to knit socks and gloves. The socks were sold elsewhere in the Indian Himalaya, mainly to the British army, so the women earnt a small income of their own. Even today, Lahuli women can be seen knitting in the German style, which differs from the British. The missionaries invented the small low stoves with pipes, which can be found in many variations all over the Indian Himalaya (Francke 1909). Previously there just had been open fireplaces in the rooms and open holes in the roofs in almost any house. The Moravians were the first to use wooden floors, glass windows and south-facing winter gardens. And they tried to improve the traditional roof construction by building a steeper slope for the clay roofs. Until recently, this could still be seen on the old ‘Sisters’ House’ on the Moravian school campus in Leh. Like other missionaries, Heyde looked after the supply of medicine in Lahul—combining the cure of souls with vaccinations and

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operations. At first the people were very suspicious: only the lamas could protect them from evil spirits. After some epidemics when the missionaries helped them with modern medicine, they began to come to the mission dispensary - often after local healers had tried and failed to cure them (Heyde 1921:87). One of the most important mission activities was the founding of schools. In the 1870s Heyde was the director of nine government schools in Lahul, all founded by the missionaries. Heyde and Jäschke wrote a number of school books in Tibetan: books on geography, astronomy, for calculation, an explanation of the calendar, Biblical stories and so on (France 1909:25ff.). Heyde also made a globe out of tin and in later years, when sport classes were given, he built some parallel bars. All the books were printed on the mission station’s own press, and Maria in particular became a real master in Tibetan calligraphy. Wilhelm also translated some religious books and German and English hymns into Tibetan. Whenever he travelled, he carried religious books to distribute to the locals and the lamas in order to spread the Christian religion all over the Himalaya (Heyde 1921:79). Research In the early years there was a debate about the translation of the Bible. The question was whether it should be translated into literary Tibetan or, as Heyde wished, into the local dialects. Jäschke, the linguist, took the decision to translate the New Testament into literary Tibetan. Meanwhile, Heyde energetically researched into Bunan, the local dialect in Kyelang. Besides his Tibetan translation work, he collected Buddhist pilgrimage prayers in Bunan, and translated some of the most important verses from the Bible into Bunan. He always involved young Tibetans and Ladakhis in the translation work. The missionaries studied the Buddhist scriptures to assist their Bible translation, and to gain a better understanding of the local culture (Heyde 1921:81); and they held long discussions about the meaning of Christianity and Buddhism with the monks who stayed at the mission station. The missionaries found certain parallels between the Christian and the Buddhist religions but at the same time emphasised the differences. For Heyde, the most remarkable was apparently that there was no equivalent for the Christian concept of ‘sin’ in Buddhism. As a scholar, Jäschke probably came in the closest touch with the metaphysical base of Buddhism. Through their descriptions of the people, their culture, customs, legends and ceremonies the missionaries did preparatory work for

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later ethnologists. Heyde began a collection of Lahuli songs which A.H. Francke later completed. They also collected artefacts for museums and for the Mission Collection in Herrnhut. Alongside their other work, Jäschke and Heyde undertook botanical research. They sent scientific descriptions of Himalayan flowers to botanical institutes in Calcutta and Berlin, and four plants are named after Heyde (Bechler 1930:39).

Figure 23. The text of a German children’s hymn by the 18th century Moravian leader Count Zinzendorf, translated and written out in Tibetan script by Maria Heyde (Heyde 1921:80).

Social life It was the rule for missionaries to send their children back to Europe at the age of six or seven for a proper education, and this was a major sacrifice. The other reason for this practice was that the missionaries should be able to do their work without the distraction of bringing up their own children. The Heydes had to send away three children in this manner. Three others died between the ages of three and seven, probably of typhoid fever; and one was stillborn. The only child they really saw grow up was an orphan from Nubra whom they cared for. In the spring Maria used to bring the children to a place on the slopes behind Kyelang above the model farm, where fields of blue lilies made a ‘carpet’ for picnics. In later years Maria organised tours and picnics for the children of the Christian families. For the new Christians it was no longer appropriate to take part in pagan village festivals, and the Buddhists excluded the converts from their social life. The young Christian community therefore had to establish its own social life, which took place mainly on the mission compound, the model farm, the school and pharmacy, the mission inn and the post office.

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The Christian congregation in Kyelang became more and more Heyde’s family, and it was his aim to lead the new Christians to independent work and responsibility. To internalise Christian values, they had to lead a diligent and simple life. In later years Heyde was often asked by members of the congregation, and also by villagers of other religions, for his advice on practical and spiritual matters. He was like a father to his congregation, who called him ‘Papa’ Heyde. New mission stations in Ladakh For 25 years Wilhelm Heyde had wanted to found a new mission in Leh, the capital of Ladakh. He had been to Jammu and to Srinagar, the winter and summer residences of the Maharaja of Kashmir, to ask him personally for permission to settle in Leh; and almost every year he made a visit to Leh on his preaching tours, and to speak to the local representative of the government of Kashmir. Finally in 1884, after an intervention of the British Viceroy, the Maharaja granted permission for a settlement in Leh (Bray 1983:82). After Kyelang in Lahul and Poo in Kinnaur, Leh became the third station in the Himalaya. By this time, many of the Ladakhis who had become Christians in Kyelang had already returned to Ladakh, and these members of Papa Heyde’s ‘family’ built the base of the new Christian community. Wilhelm and Maria Heyde remained in Kyelang until they left the Western Himalaya for good. However, in 1885 F.A. Redslob moved from Kyelang to Leh to found the new mission, and new young missionaries came from Europe. Soon, a small church was built and a school and a hospital were founded. New missions were started in 1893 in Shey, near Leh, and in 1899 in Khalatse (Khalsi), 100 km north-west of Leh. While the stations of Poo and Kyelang had to close down in 1924 and 1940 respectively, the three congregations in Ladakh still remain. Particularly in the field of education, they continue to make important contributions to Ladakhi society. The Heydes’ departure from Kyelang In 1898 the Heydes left Kyelang, which had been their home for 39 and 42 years respectively—and their main life’s work. For nearly five more years they stayed near Darjeeling. Together with a team of colleagues, Heyde revised the Tibetan New Testament on behalf of the British and Foreign Bible Society (BFBS). At the same time, he and Graham Sandberg revised Sarat Chandra Das’s Tibetan-English-

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Dictionary on behalf of the British government. This was published in 1902, and reprint editions are still widely available (Das 1902). In recognition of their work, the Heydes became honorary members of the BFBS (Heyde 1921:114-5).

Figure 24. The Heydes and their congregation, many of whom came from Ladakh, outside the mission house at Kyelang in 1896. Photo: Moravian Church House, London.

When the Heydes returned to Germany in 1903, they saw their sons again after separations of 25 and 35 years, but their daughter Elly had died some years earlier. In Berlin Heyde worked on several revisions for publications in Tibetan. In 1907, one month after he had finished his final work, he died in Herrnhut. For another ten years Maria lived among their sons and grandchildren and worked for the Moravian community in Gnadau (Heyde 1921:118ff.). Wilhelm and Maria Heyde spent the greater part of their life in Asia. Almost all of their lives’ work was in the Himalaya, far away from Germany. It was their strong belief in God, and their deep personal relationship with Jesus, that enabled them to withstand all the hard burdens of a life in these isolated Himalaya valleys. Their efforts to convert the Buddhist villagers to Christianity had little success. But their efforts to improve living conditions in Lahul had a powerful

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impact, and nowadays the early influence of Western culture brought by the Moravian missionaries is seen as part of the ‘indigenous’ culture of these regions. The main crop in Lahul today is the potato and in the many gardens one can see a lot of different vegetables and fruit trees. Woollen socks in their bright colours are the most famous craft work of the area, still knitted in the German way; and the old mission fields on the slopes behind Kyelang still get their water from Heyde’s irrigation channels. REFERENCES

Bechler, T. 1914. Kulturarbeit der Brüdergemeine im westlichen Himalaya. Herrnhut: Verlag der Missionsbuchhandlung. Bechler, T. 1930. H.A. Jäschke der geniale Sprachforscher. Herrnhut: Verlag der Missionsbuchhandlung. Bray, John. 1983. “The Moravian Church in Ladakh: the First Forty Years 18851925.” In Recent Research on Ladakh:81-91. Edited by Reinhard Sander and Detlef Kantowsky. Munich: Weltforum Verlag. ______. 1992. “Christian Missionaries on the Tibetan Border: the Moravian Church in Poo (Kinnaur), 1865-1924.” In Tibetan Studies Proceedings of the 5th Seminar of the International Association of Tibetan Studies, Narita 1989:369-375. Edited by Shoren Ihara and Zuiho Yamaguchi. Narita: Narita Institute for Buddhist Studies. Das, Sarat Chandra. 1902. A Tibetan-English Dictionary with Sanskrit Synonyms. Revised and edited by Graham Sandberg and A. William Heyde. Calcutta: Bengal Secretariat Book Depot, 1902. Francke, A.H. 1909. Die Mitarbeit der Brüdermission bei der Erforschung Zentral-Asiens. Herrnhut: Verlag der Missionsbuchhandlung. Heyde, Gerhard. 1921. 50 Jahre unter Tibetern. Herrnhut: Verlag der Missionsbuchhandlung. Heyde, Maria. 1862-63. Diary. Pagell, Eduard and Heyde, Wilhelm. 1860. Reisebericht der zum Zweck einer Mission unter den Mongolen ausgesendeten Brüder Pagell und Heyde. Gnadau: Verlag der Buchhandlung der evangelischen Brüder-Unität. Jäschke, Heinrich August. 1881. A Tibetan-English Dictionary with Special Reference to the Prevailing Dialects. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Taube, Manfred, und Walravens, Hartmut. 1992. August Hermann Francke und die Westhimalaya-Mission der Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine: eine Bibliographie mit Standortnachweisen der tibetischen Drucke. Stuttgart: Steiner.

SCHOOLS IN LEH A.H. FRANCKE TRANSLATED AND INTRODUCED BY GABRIELE REIFENBERG After a bright start in 1887, which did not last, the Moravian Mission School in Leh opened in earnest in October 1889.1 This followed an order by the Wazir that every family with more than one child should send one of these to school.2 In the Missionsblatt of January 1890 we read that the Wazir felt guilty that local youth was unschooled in “customs and manners, arts and knowledge”.3 He saw it as his duty to do something about this and asked the Moravians to undertake the teaching. They were loath to refuse because he might then later obstruct plans for their own school or, even worse in their view, he might ask the rival Roman Catholic mission to oblige him instead. According to the missionaries, the Wazir’s plan met with great resistance from the local population. They feared that the children would be transported to England and would be forced to convert to Christianity, or that they would be so highly educated that they would no longer wish to do manual work. However, there was not choice but to comply and the King’s head Lama went to each house in the town (4,000 inhabitants at that time) to register one son, where appropriate. We are told that the first timetable was made up of five morning sessions: 9-10am—Tibetan, Urdu, English; 10-10.30am—Geography, Sciences, Nature study; 10.30-11am—Arithmetic, Geometry; 1111.30am—Tibetan, Urdu, English; 11.30-12 noon—Bible study (voluntary). Among the teachers were: Joseph Gergan (Tibetan), Dr Karl Marx (English, Geography and Sciences), T.D.Shreve (English, Arithmetic and Geometry), and Captain Ramsay’s munshi (Urdu).4 1

For the background to the Moravian Mission in Leh see Bray (1983). The Wazir-i-Wazarat was responsible for Baltistan and Ladakh. He was ex officio Joint Commissioner with a British officer. 3 Missionsblatt aus der Brüdergemeine was the Moravian mission’s German-language newsletter, the English equivalent being Periodical Accounts Relating to Moravian Missions. 4 Joseph Gergan (1878-1946) was from Nubra. He was educated by the 2

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August Hermann Francke, who is well known among Ladakh scholars for his historical and linguistic researches, came to Ladakh as a missionary in 1896, aged 26. His article on education in Leh was published in 1898 in three sections in Herrnhut magazine (named after the Moravian church’s German headquarters) under the title “Die Schulen von Leh.”5 By the time that he wrote the article, the mission school was not as well supported as it had been some years earlier. The article gives a vivid picture of the educational situation at the time, and the problems that the mission teachers encountered. Francke’s comments on language at the end of the article are of particular interest. In pointing to the need to develop the Ladakhi dialect as a written language, he anticipated much of his own later research.6 He also touches on a linguistic and social debate that has still not been resolved more than a century later. Francke’s text Keen readers of the Missonsblatt who remember earlier reports from this station in detail will have noted with disappointment that the number of pupils in the school has fallen steadily since those days to its current average of ten. Numerous reasons have been put forward to explain the circumstances behind this decline, a familiar one being the complaint about the laziness of the younger generation compared with their elders. Some of the problems facing the Leh schools are described in what follows, to make it easier for Brethren at home to form an opinion on the matter. The majority of the population of Leh is Buddhist. There is a minority of immigrant Muslims and a small number of Hindus belonging to the ruling class. Only the last two religious groups are convinced of the advantages of education and, where possible, send their children to school. The Buddhists are almost always farmers, and missionaries in Leh until the age of 14 and then went to the Tyndale Biscoe school in Srinagar (see note 10) for two years. Dr Karl Marx: had arrived in Leh in 1887 to take over the hospital and clinic. He died in Leh in 1891. T.D. Shreve was a missionary who had previously worked at the Moravian stations in Kyelang and Poo. Captain Ramsay was the British Joint Commissioner at the time. Munshis were scribes, and Captain Ramsay’s had been educated in a mission school. T.D. Shreve was a missionary who had previously worked at the Moravian stations in Kyelang and Poo stations. 5 Herrnhut 1898, No. 21 (26 May), pp. 144-166; No. 23 (3 June); pp.171-173; No. 23 (10 June), pp.180-181. 6 See Walravens & Taube (1992) and Bray (1999) (Ed.).

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have inherited from their forefathers the view that agriculture is best carried out by those who have no book learning. Generally, one son in each family is sent to the local monastery, in part as insurance for the family’s spiritual well-being, and there an attempt will be made to teach him a little reading and writing. However, the standard of education received by Buddhist monks is seldom above that of the third year in a Volksschule [German primary school], often lower. If one were to put all the children of the more thoughtful Muslims and Hindus into one institution one might achieve a school of around 60 scholars. About ten years ago, when the Mission started in Leh and the Mission school was the first, and at that time only, school in existence, there was no problem in gathering together just such a number and making a good start. The school roll remained at this satisfactory level until 1891 when the Leh station was dealt the bitter blow of the deaths of Brothers Redslob and Marx.7 The community was effectively without leadership for several months and opponents of the Mission exploited this skilfully. Suddenly, a government school and several Muslim schools were founded, and when Brother Weber came to take over the leadership of the Mission after a number of months, barely 20 loyal pupils remained.8 The rest had gone over to the new schools. Brother Weber, by his total dedication to the task, managed to keep this little core of pupils together. It was impossible to retrieve the others, especially those from the government school. Even today, we notice that defectors from that school are forcibly fetched back by the police. However, Brother Weber’s pupils gradually outgrew the school, and when he himself finally had to leave the station, the number went down to ten. Not that the younger generation of missionaries consider the school as unimportant. In all our walks around the town, in particular when the Sisters visit families, we try daily to get more pupils; but to date all our efforts have been in vain. It almost seems as though the close link between the school and the Mission has now become clear to people. Moreover, our classrooms are in the church building, and this makes them even less willing to send their children to us. 7 Friedrich Adolf Redslob opened the mission station in Leh in 1885. He had succeeded H.A. Jäschke (see note 17) at the Kyelang station and worked on translating the Bible into Tibetan. 8 Julius Weber came to Leh from the station at Poo on the deaths of Marx and Redslob in 1891.

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At the time of the great misfortunes of the Leh station last autumn I was forced to take over responsibility for the school (see Missionsblatt).9 It will not be difficult to believe that because of my inexperience I had no idea what to do. Then God intervened and forced me, and all of us, to adopt an entirely new way of dealing with the matter. In the summer, a former pupil of the Mission school in Srinagar had been engaged as tutor by the Nahibwazir.10 He wanted to perfect his English and asked me to read English with him. During these reading sessions I had a chance to talk to the young man about religion and it was clear that the instruction given by the teachers in Srinagar had not been without effect. He was Christian at heart and had considerable yearning for baptism. One fine day, my young friend appeared at my house having been summarily dismissed. Now without occupation, he asked me what he should do. Apparently, he had cuffed the Nahibwazir’s somewhat cheeky son, and this was the reason for falling out of favour with his employer. Although as a teacher myself I could sympathise with his misfortune, I knew no way to advise him. So I suggested to him that he should return to Srinagar, and there seek other employment. This he was unwilling to do, perhaps with good reason. In Srinagar competition for jobs in educated or semi-educated fields is greater than anywhere else in the world, and he would have entered the contest without the slightest hope of success. After a few days, Abdul Gafar, as he was called, came to see me again. He said he wished to start a Mission school like the one in Srinagar, and that we should take him on. To me this suggestion was completely nonsensical for I thought that, as a beginner, he would never be able to gather a satisfactory number of pupils round him. So I said: “All right, go and try. For every pupil that comes regularly to your school you will receive two annas (16 pfennigs) a month pay.” On the following day I was visited yet again. The new teacher had found a classroom and needed money for the rent. I sorely missed the advice of an older Brother at that time, but I was entirely on my own, for one Brother was away and the other was very ill. I raised many objections and tried 9

Missionsblatt Jahresbericht Juli 1897-Juli 1998, p.31. Illness of three members of the station, two Sisters with altitude sickness and Brother Ribbach (see note 11) reported as “very ill.” 10 This school was started by Rev. J.H. Knowles of the Church Missionary Society in 1881. It was subsequently known as the Tyndale Biscoe School after the man who served as its Principal for many years (see Tyndale Biscoe 1921). The Nahibwazir was deputy to the Wazir.

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to prevent this new Mission school from happening, but it was impossible. Abdul Gafar, meanwhile, undeterred went to all the Muslim families in the town and tried to persuade the parents to place their sons in his care. Lo and behold, in no time he had got 16 boys together. Since then, the number of pupils is increasing steadily, while I have at last been relieved of sole responsibility for the new institution. Another day, Abdul Gafar appeared at my house and told me that a man had come to the school introducing himself as a teacher of classical Tibetan. He wished to teach at the new school. I said immediately: “That’s impossible. In such a small school there is only enough work for one teacher. If he wants to start another school, then he’s free to do so.” As I have said already, that was virtually impossible. Buddhist children were rarely sent to school and the Muslims were already catered for. I was discussing this new development on the school front with Brother Ribbach and he said: “Maybe this is the person who could start up a school in Shey (2 hours from Leh).11 I must meet him”. It turned out that this intelligent man had been the teacher of the Catholic priests here, and that he might well be suited to the new post. When Brother Ribbach went to talk to the authorities in the village of Shey and put the plan for a school to the family elders, he met with much objection. It was assumed that the setting up of a school originated with the government, and that its purpose was to train the village boys as soldiers. There was great resistance on these grounds and it took many hours to disabuse the villagers of this notion. Eventually, everything was ready. A house had been rented and instruction for around nine boys could begin. One day following this, Brother Ribbach rode to Shey and took a football with him to play with the children. This tempted more to come and at the end of the game nine more enrolled as new pupils. Here, as in Leh, almost all those eager to learn were Muslims. Thus we now have a second school in Shey and we hope for its success. Now let us take a little walk and look at the various educational establishments in Leh. Passing through the Town Gate by the Bazaar, we find ourselves entering directly below the Government school, a fact clearly brought home to the visitor by the tumultuous noise greeting him from above. According to the register, this school has about 20 pupils but one rarely finds more than ten present. We are not

11 Samuel Ribbach succeeded Francke at the Khalsi (Khalatse) station opened in 1899. Shey is 15km (approximately nine miles) south of Leh.

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allowed to visit the school itself, but we can imagine what kind of knowledge is imparted there since the teachers often come to us for help. One of them is quite uneducated; the other stupid and conceited with it. The State also does not seem to be entirely convinced of their intelligence as it does not pay these teachers a regular, fixed wage, merely awarding them small irregular sums from month to month. It is hard to discover any sign of the existence of the small Muslim schools. The only thing taught in them is the reading of the Koran and as that also happens in our Muslim school we will take a look at such teaching there. After we have threaded our way through several narrow, dirty lanes and have gone through a courtyard, we go through the back door of a house, and climb up some very uneven steps. Now the noise of young voices assails us and finally we arrive in a large room dimly lit by one window. Here we find pupils and teacher at work. The school has to be entirely Asiatic in character; having learnt by experience, we refrain from introducing European methods until the time is ripe. Last year, for example, when about six young people came to me wanting to learn English, I decided to teach them by using the children’s song, Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep, intending to widen their knowledge by means of the vocabulary and grammatical rules learnt. By such playful means, I hoped to make them into little Englishmen. We had not progressed beyond the first line of the simple song by the end of the second lesson at which point not one of the hopeful scholars re-appeared. Only by dint of many visits was I able to persuade one of them to try again. After much discussion back and forth, I finally realised why they had stopped coming. There is one edition of an English reader in use in the whole of India, starting with a Primer and going up to Book 8. A learner’s prowess in English is judged great or small according to how many, or how few, of these books he has mastered. If a method for learning English other than this universally known series of books is used, then the normal means of measuring knowledge is missing and all efforts are considered useless. My pupils did not want to tax their brains for no gain, and so they simply stayed away. I then began to read the highly impractical Primer with the one pupil I had won back, and to this day I have not succeeded in finding a way to avoid using this book. In such circumstances, I am sure there will be agreement with my view that the time has not yet come to adopt in Leh schools the methods dreamt of by modern school inspectors.

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So here we see Abdul Gafar’s pupils sitting in various groups and ask what their tasks are. He points to a row of small lads who are sitting cross-legged in front of music-stand-like book rests, and says: “This is the Koran class. Ready, boys, read!” On this command, rocking their torsos from side to side, all begin to read, not on the same line however, but each one from the place he has reached. After we have had enough of this noisy confusion we ask the teacher to have some of the passages translated from the Arabic. “Well, none of the children can do that, nor can I. Who knows whether the Mullah in the mosque can!” There we have it. Indian Muslims have experienced the same as the Hindus, the Buddhists and to some extent the Roman Catholics. Why is it that human beings everywhere are inclined to regard knowledge of the alphabet more highly than that of spiritual matters? Why must prayer become a meaningless chatter, religion a lifeless repetition of formulas? It just seems so much easier to attain redemption through outer works than to let the heart be cleansed by God and to dedicate it utterly to Him. Fortunately, the Koran class is the only one in which the spirit is neglected in favour of form. The pupils are able to deal with everything else that is read in Urdu or Persian. Abdul Gafar has very boldly introduced the New Testament as reading material in Urdu, and so far this is the only way to bring the word of God to these youngsters. The Gospel of St Matthew is being read and, it seems to me, understood. So far, there is no obvious objection to this Bible reading. Only once one father came to the schoolroom, saw a copy of the New Testament lying there and objected to such a bad book. “Indeed,” said the teacher, “do you have any idea what it says?” He thereupon opened the book at random just at the place where Jesus talks about sinful thoughts. When the Muslim read these words he had nothing to say. If this school succeeds, we will be able to proceed in the same way as in Srinagar. For the moment, we will give a weekly talk on Christianity, similar to a children’s hour, and then gradually turn this into proper religious instruction. Since such a procedure cannot be dealt with too carefully, and the first time a missionary undertakes such work always causes a crisis, it is perhaps best if the initial teaching comes from an indigenous person. Once the school has withstood this crisis, it will then perhaps be possible for us to introduce carefully improved methods for teaching mathematics and languages. Now we move on to the Mission school that has been installed in our meeting hall, which we can, without doubt, call the best school of

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the region. Outwardly it is indistinguishable from the others: our teachers and pupils sit cross-legged on the bare floor and occasionally you will hear noisy chatter. But let us take our Shamuel as an example.12 He is the boy who has been with us right through the school and it is astonishing what wisdom he has. Not only is he wellversed in various oriental languages and English and does mathematics as well as the most astute businessman in Leh, but also his view of the world and his clear-sightedness about history and geography makes him unique amongst his fellow countrymen who have no idea about such things. Even if Shamuel is the best of our pupils, the others are not far behind. Despite this, it is impossible to get pupils for this, the best school in Leh. In the school we openly teach religion and this may be a hindrance. But stop: we must not say too much, for one fine day six young men around 20 years old (all former pupils from our most flourishing years) suddenly appear wanting to have further instruction to complete their education. “So, what do you want to learn?” we ask each of them in turn. It transpires that one wants to learn arithmetic, the next one classical Tibetan, the next one Urdu, the fourth Persian, the fifth English and the sixth how to write letters. They have no idea what a problem they pose with their individual wishes. However, we do not want to let the opportunity go by to teach them something for their spiritual good as well, and so oblige them as far as possible. It is a great pleasure for us to see these young men day after day, and we tell ourselves that they must like it at the school, but then our delight is brought to an end by the great Muslim fast. In around February every year the Muslims have to fast for four weeks, i.e. they may not eat from six in the morning to six in the evening.13 As they live like everyone else the rest of the time, their body has difficulty in adjusting to this new regime and, because they cannot eat much at night, they get weaker day by day until finally they are unable to undertake even the smallest task. Because the young men could not do their schoolwork, they simply stayed away and were lost for the winter.14 From this it is not hard to imagine how matters stood in 12 Shamuel was one of the orphans helped by the Moravians’ Leh Support Fund. He was 15 at the time of this article. 13 Francke is not quite correct about the timing of Ramadan. This falls in the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, which is lunar, and it can therefore occur in different months of the Western calendar. 14 Footnote to the original text: “Lives are also sacrificed through this great fast. This year 20 formerly healthy people succumbed.”

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Abdul Gafar’s Muslim school: teachers and pupils at best have headaches and work remains undone. Since Hindustani is one of the most important teaching tools in our Mission school it is more or less imperative for the Brother who is in charge of the school to be familiar with that language. However, up to now this has not been achieved to any satisfactory extent. First of all, the work of the Church and the Mission takes up all the working hours of a beginner. Secondly, no Brother so far has been able to stay in Leh for more than five years - either he has died after this length of time or has been forced home through ill-health. The method of learning Hindustani is of course the same as English, i.e. one reads until the pupil has achieved a certain ability to understand. Grammar or a deeper examination of the text does not come into it. The method of teaching arithmetic is on a significantly higher level and has always been undertaken by one of the missionaries. Since there have been noticeable achievements in this field, it can count as the main attraction of the school. The majority of the heathen children who still come to us want to be educated in arithmetic. One big difficulty in this teaching is the lack of a good schoolbook for each pupil. What exists appears to represent an English-Indian method from the middle of the century and it progresses somewhat rapidly. In the first part which deals with addition, the first exercise requires addition of single digits, the second that of tens and single digits, the third of hundreds, tens and single digits and so forth, until we reach the ten millions in the eighth exercise. Naturally, the teacher has to intersperse these set exercises with a number of his own and thus the arithmetic school with its five or six subdivisions is extremely tiring for one teacher. The children who attend morning school assemble again daily after lunch with the Christian girls for afternoon school, which is taken by the Mission Sisters. Because there was a shortage of workers last year, I took over the reading school and with that was presented with another puzzle. In order to explain this, I have to add first that the Mission here has to deal constantly with two parallel languages differing significantly in their grammar. The old classical speech, which has remained the written language until today, is the language of our Bible, Hymnbook and the Litany. The Ladakhi dialect, however, is the language of sermon and verbal communication. It is therefore natural that the old classical language is taught in our schools but, on the other hand, it is just as natural to me that the school must not neglect the spoken dialect. This last has not happened

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up to the present time. The reason for this lies in the marked difference in attitude between the old and the young. The older generation [of missionaries] accepted what already existed in the region: the use of the classical language as the correct medium for the written language, and taught only this in the school. The younger generation on the other hand, did not want to know about the classical language at all and demanded that even the translation of the Bible should be in the local dialect. I have personal experience of the impracticability of using the classical language in every day life. To give one example: new instructions about cloud observation arrived here unexpectedly.15 As I had to inform the weather observers, I translated the instructions as best I could from English into the local dialect. These men then wrote out my remarks but of course in the classical language, not in the words they had heard me use. When finally I had them read what had been observed, they used the same general descriptive phrases for every type of cloud. The limited vocabulary of the classical language stored in their heads did not allow them to describe small differences. Another sore point among our people is letter writing. If one looks at a letter by our Christians, one sees at the beginning and the end rather beautiful phrases in the classical language. In the middle, however, in the actual letter, all grammar and spelling is abandoned. The writer, because of his poor knowledge of the classical language writes as he speaks. As he has to make up his own spelling one can imagine that letters in this part of the world are amazing works of literature. One has to accept that practising writing essays in the classical language is quite impossible because neither any of the missionaries here nor the native Christians have sufficient grasp of it. Beginners have great difficulty reading fables in the classical language, not only because the written word differs greatly from its pronunciation but also because a beginner can guess the meaning of only a few words. So the following emerges from all these difficulties: we must do our best to raise the Ladakhi dialect to be the written language and to teach reading and writing in it. Once it has been mastered reasonably well by the pupils, they can be introduced to reading in the classical language.16 15 The Moravian missionaries, and their local assistants, were responsible for keeping weather records on behalf of the Indian government. 16 Textual note from the original: “ D.B. [?Editor]: It is often said that one should ignore the dialects because their area of influence is small. That of the Leh dialect, however, is the greatest of all. At this time it is understood by tens of thousands; and it

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Indications of how the Leh dialect can be written are found in many of Jäschke’s works.17 Shawe has also made a first attempt to write in this dialect.18 One can see that such a transformation of the curriculum of the reading school would be a life’s work for one missionary. One would need an orthographic dictionary of the dialect, a grammar to establish the difference between dialect and classical language and finally to write a series of readers. This would be a lot of work but it would be most worthwhile. Finally, let me point out one or two more external difficulties with which the Leh school has to contend. Firstly it is regrettable that Leh has no fixed time. At our meteorological station we fix mid-day once a month, if possible, and this has, at times, shown our watches to be three-quarters of an hour fast or slow. However, as few people besides us have watches, we cannot demand punctuality from our pupils and the start of the school-day leaves much to be desired. Then discipline could be better. However, since our non-Christian pupils are not sent by their parents (who practise no upbringing whatsoever) but come of their own free will, the teachers are, to a certain extent, dependent on the goodwill of the children and are forced to work more through love than severity. A further lack in our school is that we have no classes. This will probably improve only when our Christian community grows and the Christian children, obliged to attend the school, form the basis for separate classes. Until now almost all instruction is individual and I have found it impossible to keep two or three of the local children together, since either the Buddhist or Muslim festivals or work at home means that one or the other gets behind. An interesting and important question is the following: how can we persuade the children of the Buddhist Ladakhis to attend the school? The children of the local farmers are part of the workforce and represent monetary value. This is why orphans are immediately adopted. The farmers would decide to send their children to school only if we offered them financial recompense. However, we have already found that this is inimical to our way of conducting a Mission and so I need not go into it further. While I was writing the foregoing lines, something happened which puts the existence of our Muslim school into jeopardy. Abdul Gafar is possible that with the expansion of Leh town and its increasing influence, that this dialect will soon have conquered the whole of Western Tibet.” 17 Heinrich August Jäschke is best known as the compiler of the highly regarded Tibetan-English Dictionary (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul 1881). 18 Dr Earnest Shawe arrived in 1897 to replace the late Dr Marx. He died in 1907.

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has come forward for baptism.19 We are tempted to say to the young man: “Wait a few more years before becoming a Christian so that we can continue to indulge in the pleasure of a big school.” But that would mean going against God’s will. Perhaps the Lord is asking us to make, in a small way, an offering like Abraham did of Isaac. We are to show whether we are willing to give back to Him that which He has given us. So we must be patient. The Lord has already helped us graciously with difficult problems. He will not deprive us of his blessing. Acknowledgements Particular thanks to John Bray who provided the source material and several relevant articles. Thanks also to a number of others who provided information for the translator’s notes. REFERENCES Bray, John. 1983. “The Moravian Church in Ladakh: the First Forty Years 1885-1925.” In Recent Research on Ladakh: 81-91. Edited by Reinhard Sander and Detlef Kantowsky. Munich: Weltforum Verlag. Bray, John. 1999. “August Hermann Francke’s Letters from Ladakh 1896-1906. The Making of a Missionary Scholar.” In Studia Tibetica et Mongolica (Festschrift Manfred Taube):17-36. Edited by Helmut Eimer, Michael Hahn, Maria Schetelich and Peter Wyzlic. Indica et Tibetica. Vol. 34. Swisttal-Odendorf: Indica et Tibetica Verlag. Tyndale Biscoe, C.E. 1921. Kashmir in Sunlight and Shade. London: Seeley Service and Co. Walravens, Hartmut and Taube, Manfred. 1992. August Hermann Francke und die Westhimalaya Mission der Herrnhuter Brüdergemeine. Mit einem Beitrag von Michael Hahn. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag.

19 By 1901 Abdul Gafar was teaching in a Government school in Kargil, and no longer working for the Moravian mission.

PRINCE PETER, POLYANDRY AND PSYCHOANALYSIS POUL PEDERSEN To Ladakh scholars Prince Peter of Greece and Denmark is famous for being the first anthropologist to do field research in Ladakh.1 His work there was the beginning of a major comparative field project on polyandrous societies in South and Central Asia, which he worked on intermittently during the years 1938-39 and 1949-57. The major outcome of the project was the publication of A Study of Polyandry (1963), whose substantial section on polyandrous families in Ladakh has been an important source for scholars on Ladakh kinship and marriage (Crook and Shakya 1983; Schuyler Jones 1996:24).2 In this chapter I will say little about this. Instead, I focus on an aspect of Prince Peter’s work, which has drawn little attention so far: the engagement with psychoanalysis that motivated his interest in polyandry, and made him go to Ladakh. The problem In 1936 Prince Peter finished his anthropological studies with Bronislaw Malinowski at the London School of Economics, and in early 1938 he went to Ladakh to study polyandry: It was through a study of Freudian psychoanalysis that I first became interested in a problem which eventually led me to take up the subject of polyandry. At the age of twenty, in the course of my work, I was psychoanalyzed, and in this way acquired some personal experience of the operations of the unconscious (Peter 1963:13, italics added). 1 This paper is dedicated to the memory of my colleague, mentor and friend Klaus Ferdinand, who died while I was preparing it for publication. As a young anthropologist Klaus met Prince Peter, who had been appointed head of the Danish Henning Haslund-Christensen Memorial Expedition to Afghanistan in 1953-54. Prince Peter invited him to join the expedition in order to do research on the nomads of Central Afghanistan, thus starting him on his career as a distinguished Afghanistan scholar. Klaus has reported on the research they did together in Ferdinand 1978. 2 Prince Peter’s work has often been so strongly identified with the study of polyandry in Ladakh that this has overshadowed his important work in other areas. See the comprehensive bibliography in Schuylor Jones (1996).

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These are the powerful opening lines of the Introduction to A Study of Polyandry. The ‘problem’ Prince Peter is referring to is the Oedipus complex: the psychoanalytic term for a desire for sexual involvement with the parent of the opposite sex and a concomitant sense of rivalry with the parent of the same sex. Freud’s claim that the Oedipus complex formed the universal psychological structure and dynamics of the family was a fundamental component of psychoanalytic theory, though—as Prince Peter emphasised in the Introduction—there was little empirical basis for saying that it was a universal phenomenon.3 Indeed, he said, it might only be characteristic of the Western “monogamous, patrilineal and even patriarchal family organization”, and other cultures might exist “with an entirely different psychological structure, the Oedipus complex being notably absent” (Peter 1963:13). With this in mind, the Oedipus complex was a challenge, which “called for research of a comparative, anthro-pological character”. Suggesting that polyandrous societies with their very special family organization offered the best possibilities for such an empirical investigation, he “resolved to undertake the work” (ibid.).4 The first part of the Introduction clearly shows what Prince Peter had in mind when he set out for the field. In order to solve the problem of the Oedipus complex he would study polyandry by bringing together psychoanalysis and anthropology. However, this is, surprisingly, not what the book is about. Toward the end of the Introduction he explains that from the beginning of his fieldwork, he had seriously underestimated his task. “From a simple research into family life,” he says, “I found myself having to examine not only every aspect of the culture in which people practising polyandry lived, but also anthropological concepts such as ‘polyandry’, ‘marriage’ and related problems, so that in the end, the study had developed far beyond the proportions which I originally believed that it would have” (op.cit.:15). His research, first thought to be focussed on psychoanalytic problems, had: … grown notably in anthropological significance. So much so that, although I initially set out to make a psychological investigation of a 3

Freud presented the Oedipus complex in The Interpretation of Dreams (1953 [1900]) and Totem and Taboo (1955[1913]). For a discussion of Freud and anthropology, see Wallace (1983). 4 These statements refer to his thoughts before he went into the field. In an article written on the occasion of Freud’s 80th birthday in 1936, he called in the same way for further collaboration between psychoanalysis and anthropology, a recommendation that he would repeat much later in his life (Peter 1936, 1975; Bald 1948)

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comparative nature, I have found it unnecessary to go into the psychoanalytical aspects of the question for the time being. This [book] will therefore be concerned only with the anthropological study of the institution of polyandry, a study which I consider worthwhile because it has never been seriously attempted before (ibid, italics added).

It is striking how little Prince Peter says about this “anthropological study”, considering his thorough discussion of what the book is not about. He simply returns to psychoanalysis and lists the “psychological findings” of the fieldwork, adding that he has decided to “leave [them] for further publication later” (ibid). The Oedipus complex, the fundamental problem of his project, is not among these, and in his subsequent publications he never addressed it systematically. At the end of the book he sums up his theory of polyandry by stating that it “is a latent male homosexual and near-incestuous form of the marital institution, correlated with excessive economic and social pressure on the nuclear family of peoples living in a difficult natural or social environment, provided no special norm is opposed to it; it persists through historical tradition, or as the result of a reactionary ‘national’ defence mechanism” (ibid:569). However, he does not spell out how this psychoanalytic and functionalist definition relates to the Oedipus complex that made polyandry such an interesting case. Thus, A Study of Polyandry stands out as a monument of an ambitious, but failed psychoanalytic and anthropological project. However, if we look at Prince Peter’s commitment to psychoanalysis in a wider perspective, we will see a different picture. Looking for the ideal people Prince Peter’s initial ideas about where to study polyandry were vague, and Ladakh was not among them. On his way to the field, accompanied by his fiancée, he wrote to Malinowski from Hotel Kayam in Tehran on 25 January 1938: Dear Professor You have perhaps heard that I have started out for the field [...] I have set out to find a matriarchal tribe or more generaly [sic] one whose social organisation is deeply different from our occidental communities. You remember that I wrote to Lowie in California and got a discouraging answer about North American Indians off the Mexican Pacific coast. Then the same kind of letter came from Bougainville, and except for Africa’s unhealthy tropics and the isolation of Pacific islands, things narrowed down to India for me. So I have decided to go out there and look about for what I want as the ideal people. I heard that on

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POUL PEDERSEN the Malabar coast and in the hills of central India, primitive tribes still live on. So I will have a look at them and see if they will do. Assam can also be investigated.5

Arriving in India, they stayed for some time in Lahore “in order to gather information about the possibilities of studying polyandrous peoples in or around the Punjab”. After having searched—in vain— for such peoples in the Kulu valley “where the Kanets were still said to practise polyandry”, he was told “about the custom further north, in the Himalayas”. In Kyelang: … we remained for a month, gathering extremely useful information and studying actual polyandrous families for the first time. My interpreters and informants repeatedly mentioned to me during this period that theirs was only a pale reflection of Tibetan polyandry practised still further north. So interesting were they and so interesting did the prospects appear of discovering other people even more addicted to this special form of marriage, that in the end I decided to go on and return to the Indian plains by way of Kashmir and the trade routes from Kulu to that State (Peter 1963:575).

It is evident that Prince Peter did not think or even know of Ladakh before he virtually stood on its doorstep.6

Figure 25. Thakur Partap Chand’s castle at Kolong. Photo: Prince Peter. By courtesy of the Ethnographic Collections, National Museum of Denmark, Copenhagen. 5 Prince Peter to Malinowski, 25 January 1938, Malinowski/Stud/7, Malinowski Collection, Archives, London School of Economics. 6 For his account of his travels in Ladakh, see Pierre 1958.

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In the middle of July he hired some ponies from the Gyakar Khampa, Tsewang Norbu, chief, horse dealer and caravaneer, who had followed them from Kulu to Kyelang, and they left for Rupshu. The first stage was the Shar Shu monastery, near Kolong, where the Wazir of Lahul resided. They spent the night at Thakur Partap Chand’s fortlike castle. Here they met the goba (chief) of the nomads of Rupshu, who invited them to Korzok. The next day they proceeded to Patseo, or Dozam, where they camped with Tsewang Norbu and his people: This gave us the opportunity to attend the local fair and annual market here and to see for our selves in what manner goods from the nomads further north were bought or exchanged for other products by the sedentary Lahulis (ibid.:576).

Figure 26. Crossing the Tsarab chu (river). Photo: Prince Peter. By courtesy of the Ethno-graphic Collections, National Museum of Denmark, Copenhagen.

Leaving Patseo, they climbed the Baralacha pass (16,147 ft.) and travelled on the flat Lingti plain along the banks of the Yunnan river. They reached the Ser chu and then the Tsarab chu, which they forded to reach Spiti. A short distance further on they crossed the south-east boundary of Kashmir. In early August they reached lake Tso Moriri and Korzok, where the goba, resided, and in whose camp they put up their tents. On 7 August they left for Leh. They crossed three passes until they reached lower ground near Tso Kar (mTsho dKar), “the White Lake”. They proceeded down the Gya valley, where they saw houses and fields again and received their first letters in many weeks,

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addressed to them by Rev Walter Asboe, the Superintendent of the Moravian Mission in Leh. Further on, they crossed the Indus near Upshi, and followed its right bank past Tikse monastery to Shey: On the 22nd August, 1938, we came to Leh in the early afternoon and were received at the entrance of the town by the Moravian Missionary, the local authorities and a crowd of Ladakhis, men, women and children. We were taken past the mile long mani wall to the Residency in the south-westerly quarter, where we had been authorized to stay during the period of our visit to Ladakh. Very soon, we met those who were to act as interpreters and informants and a useful period of study opened up, destined to last until the 24th of September, 1938 (ibid.:578).

Figure 27. From left Walter Asboe, unknown, Prince Peter, unknown, Joseph Gergan, Aksakal Khwaja Abdullah Shah, and Nono Tsetan Phuntsog (who acted as one of the Prince’s interpreters). Photo taken during Prince Peter’s visit to Leh. By courtesy of the Ethnographic Collections, National Museum of Denmark, Copenhagen.

After Leh, they went to Spituk, where they failed to meet Skushog Bakula, because he was in Central Tibet for his education. Six days later, they were in Rizong, where they met the bandit, Norgyäs (NorrGyas), from Tibet proper, who had taken refuge in Kashmir to escape from the Tibetan Government. On their way to Srinagar, they were able to find polyandrous households as far west as Mulbek. They crossed the Indus at Kalatse, went though Kargil, crossed the “illfamed” Zoji-la, and a few days later reached Srinagar.

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The Prince “Deeply interested in both scholarship and sports, Peter is an anthropologist, an authority on psychoanalysis, a law school graduate, a researcher in polyandry. He has been everywhere with gun, spear and textbook.” This is how an American magazine introduced Prince Peter to the public in 1948 (Bald 1948:3).7 We could add to this colourful portrait that Prince Peter had been a friend of Jomo Kenyatta in the 1930s; that he was a highly decorated veteran of World War II, distinguishing himself in the battles of El Alamein and Monte Cassino; that he was a member of the Danish Nudist Association; that he spoke seven languages and was the most intelligent person in the whole of the Greek royal family; that he wanted to be king of Greece; that anthropological colleagues remember him as a most charming person; and that he died a very

wealthy man.8 He was born in 1908. His great-grandfather, King Christian IX of Denmark, was widely known as ‘Europe’s father-in-law’ and had married his numerous offspring into many of Europe’s royal houses, making Prince Peter a relative of almost all the European royal families. In 1863, Christian IX’s son, Prince Wilhelm, had been elected King of Greece under the name of George I, and one of his sons, Prince George, was Prince Peter’s father.9 Prince Peter’s mother was Princess Marie—better known as Marie Bonaparte, whose father, Prince Roland Bonaparte, was descended from Lucien, the impoverished brother of Napoleon I. Prince Roland was a distinguished scientist and president of the French Société de Géographie et de l’Institut International d’Anthropologie. Princess Marie’s mother came from the immensely rich Blanc family, who owned the casino in Monte Carlo, and at the time of her marriage to Roland she was known as “one of the most moneyed heiresses of Europe” (Bertin

7 Interestingly, the presentation also mentions that Prince Peter was attempting to unite psychoanalysis with anthropology, cf. footnote 4. 8 Murray-Brown 1972: 188-9; Gram-Andersen 1978; Papers of Prince Peter, Ethnographic Collection, National Museum, Denmark; Biographical Notes in Hansen ed. 1978, Bramsen 1992: 52; Papers of Prince Peter, Danish National Archives; Alexander McDonald, personal communication; Bramsen 1992: 52, Ugeskrift for Retsvæsen 1988, U.1988.831. His assets amounted in today’s value to about US$8 million. 9 The children of George I kept their princely relationship with Denmark, along with their elaborate titles as Princes or Princesses of Greece and Denmark.

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1982:16). She died one month after giving birth to Marie, who inherited her vast fortune. Prince Peter was educated in France, receiving the law degree (Docteur en Droit) from the University of Paris in 1934. He had his military training in Denmark and Greece, becoming an army officer in both countries (Gram-Andersen 1978). In 1935-36 he followed Malinowski’s anthropological postgraduate seminars at the London School of Economics, and in 1938-39 he did fieldwork in Ladakh, South India and Ceylon. During a stay in Madras in 1939 he married (secretly and against his family’s wishes) his fiancée, the Russian emigrée Irina (Irene) Alexandrovna Ovchinnikova, who, besides being a commoner, had been married and divorced twice (Hourmouzios 1972:140). At the outbreak of World War II, the couple returned to Europe, and he joined the Greek army and became Chief Liaison Officer and Representative of H.M. the King of Hellenes in the Middle East with headquarters in Cairo, where he was accompanied by his wife.10 He was demobilised in 1947, and two years later he and his wife were back in the field again, continuing the study of polyandry in Ceylon and South India. In 1950 they moved to Northern India and settled at Kalimpong, close to the Tibetan border. Here Prince Peter pursued his psychoanalytic research interests and headed various scientific projects initiated by Danish research institutions, including the Third Danish Expedition to Central Asia, 1950-52, and the Danish Scientific Mission to Afghanistan, Henning HaslundChristensen Memorial Expedition, 1953-54.11 Prince Peter and Irene left India in 1957, and he returned to the London School of Economics, where he submitted a thesis on polyandry, for which he was awarded the Ph.D. degree in 1959 (published in 1963 as A Study of Polyandry). His supervisor was Raymond Firth, whom he knew from the early days of the Malinowski seminars (Malinowski had died in 1942). In 1960 he received an honorary doctorate from the University of Copenhagen.12 From 1966 to his death in London in 1980 he served as chairman of the board of the Danish bank Finansbanken. 10

For an account of Prince Peter’s military career, see Gram-Andersen 1978. Peter and Irene appear in Artemis Cooper’s brilliant military and social history of Cairo during World War II, Cairo in the War (1995:31-2), and in Olivia Manning’s masterful fictional trilogy, The Levant Trilogy (Manning 2001:526). 11 Peter 1953, 1954; Schuyler Jones 1996. 12 Besides this, he held an honorary M.A. from Asia Institute, New York (1948), an honorary M.D. from Athens University (1957), and an honorary LL.D. from Salonica University (1959) (Biographical Notes, in Hansen ed. 1978).

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Psychoanalysis Prince Peter is very brief about his psychoanalysis; it happened, as mentioned above, in the course of his work.13 Celia Bertin, Princess Marie’s biographer, offers a fuller account in which his mother plays a central role.14 In 1924, after her father’s death, Princess Marie consulted the psychoanalyst René Laforgue to seek help against the depressions that had tormented her periodically for several years. Her misery was no doubt related to her position as a woman with an independent mind in a restricted and in its own way very conventional milieu. But her situation was also aggravated by strong feelings of emotional rejection and sexual humiliation. She had realized a few years after her marriage that Prince George, her husband, had no erotic interest in her, or in other women for that matter. Intercourse served for him only reproductive purposes. According to Bertin, George’s real love was his uncle, Prince Valdemar of Denmark. To make up for what she had lost, she began to take lovers, who gave her the comfort of feeling desired. However, she never experienced full sexual satisfaction in these relationships, and over the years she came to see herself as frigid and would, in addition to her psychoanalytic treatment, go through three—unsuccessful—operations to be cured. René Laforgue suggested that he recommended her as a patient to Sigmund Freud, whom he knew well, and 30 September 1925 she began her analysis with Freud in Vienna.15 The analysis developed into a very deep friendship with Freud and led to her total commitment to the psychoanalytic cause. With her influence and money, she was able to organise a psychoanalytic society in France; she translated many of Freud’s writings into French; and subsidised a large part of the psychoanalytic publishing. 16 In 1938 she paid the ransom to Gestapo that made possible Freud’s escape from Nazioccupied Vienna to London. In the 1930s she was the most powerful 13 Elsewhere, he mentions that he studied psychoanalysis in Paris for five years under Rudolph Loewenstein, Henri Claude and Adrien Borel (Bald 1948). 14 The following is based on Bertin 1982, esp. chapters 4-8. Let me also draw attention to Lisa Appignanesi’s entertaining novel, Memory and Desire (1991), a roman a clef partly based on the life of Princess Marie Bonaparte. 15 Princess Marie and Laforgue also discussed the contact to Freud with Otto Rank, the Austrian psychoanalyst who belonged to Freud’s inner circle. However, Rank never raised the question to Freud, perhaps because he hoped to analyse Princess Marie himself (Lieberman 1985:259). 16 Nellie L. Thompson gives an excellent overview of Marie Bonaparte’s life and central psychoanalytical ideas (Thompson 2003).

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person in French psychoanalysis and very influential in the international psychoanalytic movement. If Prince Peter did not drink psychoanalysis with his mother’s milk, he did get it as a teenager. In 1926 and 1928 he visited Freud with Princess Marie, and in 1929 he followed her to the International Psychoanalytic Congress in Oxford. In their house in Paris there was a coming and going of psychoanalytic celebrities.17 Prince Peter’s own psychoanalysis took place in 1930, when he was 21. According to Bertin, he was unhappy because of a hopeless love affair, which nevertheless had cost him his virginity, and confided in his mother and said that he wanted to be analysed. However, this was not the only reason. He had often felt unhappy and neglected by his mother, and received no comfort from his father either, because he was also elsewhere engagiert. It is striking that he chose Rudolph Loewenstein to be his analyst. Loewenstein was a Polish psychoanalyst living in Paris. He had analysed Princess Marie and was her close collaborator and lover. Prince Peter knew about this and was jealous of him, as he was of another of her lovers at the time. Loewenstein told Princess Marie that Prince Peter during his analysis had been working on these problems for months. This oedipal tension showed its other side, when Princess Marie and Prince Peter discovered that they were tempted by incest. “If I were to spend a night with you, it might cure me”, Prince Peter told his mother in April 1932. She sought advice, as she always did, from Freud, who—probably effectively—warned her strongly against it (Bertin 1982:184-5).18 In the Introduction to A Study of Polyandry, Prince Peter said that by being psychoanalysed he had acquired some personal experience of the operation of the unconscious. Speaking in psychoanalytic terms we might say that he experienced at close encounter the powerful forces of the Oedipus complex, the very subject that made him turn to the study of polyandry.

17 See, for example, Prince Peter’s reminiscence of his meeting with Géza Róheim in 1928 (Peter 1975). 18 Freud’s response to Marie Bonaparte is reproduced in Ernest Jones (1957: 484).

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Anthropology In the Introduction to A Study of Polyandry, Prince Peter mentions that before he decided to do his study of the Oedipus complex among polyandrous peoples, he had thought of visiting a matrilineal society, where, he believed, the absence of the strong father figure would present an interesting context for studying the Oedipus complex. However, he changed his mind as he learned that in matrilineal kinship systems the authoritarian father role was taken over by the mother’s brother. This meant, in psychoanalytic terms, that the matrilineal society was a variety of and not fundamentally different from Western patrilineal society, and thus less interesting for the study of the Oedipus complex (Peter 1963:14). Patriarchy and avunculocracy, we might say, are not mutually exclusive. It is striking that Prince Peter here makes no reference to Malinowski, his old teacher, who, in fact, had questioned the universality of the Oedipus complex by pointing out that matrilineal societies were at odds with Freud’s general theory of the Oedipus complex. In a number of publications in the mid-1920s Malinowski had hoped to establish a dialogue with Freudian psychoanalysis by “seeking simultaneously to apply psychoanalytic concepts to anthropology and to modify them in the light of ethnographic evidence” (Stocking 1986:35). However, his invitation was not accepted, and his revisionist ideas of matriliny and the Oedipus complex were coldly rejected by Ernest Jones, “the most loyal guardian of Freudian orthodoxy” (Stocking 1986:38, 40). After this, he became less interested in the dialogue with psychoanalysis. Malinowski and Marie Bonaparte met in 1932 in Paris and were instantly attracted to each other, apparently unconcerned by the facts that she was Freud’s devoted advocate and he the anthropologist who had tried to disprove the universality of the Oedipus complex. They were from their first meeting strongly attracted to each other and kept a deep and affectionate friendship until Malinowski’s untimely death in 1942.19 They saw each other for the last time in 1938, when Malinowski went to the United States to take up a position at Yale University, where he was forced to stay because of World War II. 19

Their correspondence is a moving testimony to their feelings; see Letters from Malinowski to Princess Marie Bonaparte/Malinowski/Appendix, Malinowski Collection, Archives, London School of Economics and Bronislaw Malinowski Papers, box 1, folders 62 and 63, Archives, Yale University Library; microfilm at the Archives, London School of Economics.

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Prince Peter had been introduced to psychoanalysis by his mother, and she was—via Malinowski—also responsible for his involvement in anthropology. In 1932 Peter thought of studying anthropology, and the idea was discussed with Malinowski—now a frequent guest in Marie Bonaparte’s house in Paris—who invited him to follow his postgraduate seminars at the London School of Economics, when he had finished his law studies and military training. On 18 July 1935 Peter wrote to Malinowski, “I have finally decided to go to London [in October 1935] as one of your pupils”.20 Malinowski was quite happy about this, because he feared that Peter might be tempted to go to the ‘competitors’ at the Institute of Social Anthropology in Oxford (Wayne 1995:221). Problems in the field Let me sum up what I have been saying so far. The Introduction to A Study of Polyandry focuses on psychoanalysis and the Oedipus complex, though the book deals with something else. After the publication of the book Prince Peter did publish some of his “psychological findings”, but he never took up the questions concerning the Oedipus complex that he had raised in the Introduction. There seem to be good reasons for this. His intention was from the beginning to study the Oedipus complex in an anthropological context. It is, however, clear from the Introduction (1963:15) that he had seriously underestimated the problems with collecting psychoanalytic data. This suggests that, when he in the late 1950s began to synthesise his work, he realized that his primary material, the psychoanalytic data, was insufficient for the comprehensive and coherent presentation that he first had in mind. In this situation he was left with the material on the “anthropological context”, which he subsequently turned into a monograph that was much more functionalist than psychoanalytic. It had little bearing on psychoanalysis, and his initial psychoanalytic leanings mostly appear in phrasings like “Polyandry is a latent male homosexual and near-incestuous form of the marriage institution [...]” (1963:569).21 In 1965 Prince Peter wrote about the problems he encountered when he was collecting psychoanalytic data among Kandyan Sinhalese, Indian Malayalams, Todas, and Tibetans. The observations 20

Prince Peter to Malinowski, 18 July 1935, Malinowski/Stud/7, Malinowski Collection, Archives, London School of Economics. 21 And in his interest in coital positions, and how the husbands decided who should sleep with the wife and when.

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he made, he said, could be interpreted along psychoanalytic lines as relating to the Oedipus complex, fear of castration, or hysterical conversion, but there was only one way to test the validity of such interpretations: he had to psychoanalyse the people he studied. In the end, this proved impossible. Either he did not speak the local languages as with the Kandyans, Malayalams, and the Todas, or, as with the Tibetans, they were not interested (1965:418-422). Realizing that he would never be able to psychoanalyse any of those he studied, he “decided that it would be better than nothing to give them psychological tests” (1965:421). So, he had a number of Todas and Tibetans go through the Rorschach and the Thematic Apperception Tests. It is doubtful whether this was “better than nothing”, because it is not at all clear what his “psychological findings” were or what they were worth.22 For example, the following “finding” is based on the test of three persons: “The Buddhist religion, with its emphasis on nonviolence and the resulting repression of aggression to which it leads its followers, has certainly something to do with [the Tibetans’] unavowed preoccupation with jealousy and rivalry within the body social” (1965:502). Conclusion In 1936 Prince Peter published an article in Man commemorating Freud’s eightieth birthday and calling for a fuller collaboration between psychoanalysis and anthropology. This was well before he turned to the study of the Oedipus complex and polyandry, but his ideas were in line with the statements he made in the introduction to A Study in Polyandry 27 years later, only phrased in more general terms. “Anthropology”, he said, “can greatly assist psycho-analysis [...] by controlling [he means testing] the universality of Freud’s theories” (Peter 1936:135-36; italics orig.). Reflecting on the methodological aspects of such collaboration, he added: “The possibility of analyzing the native as a method of anthropological investigation is still too unsettled for me to mention here” (Peter 1936:136). As we have seen, he would never settle that question, and his attempt to bring anthropology and psychoanalysis together was a failure. Still, A Study of Polyandry is an important work in the history of Ladakh research.

22

Spain (1972) offers a thorough discussion of the Rorschach and Thematic Apperception Tests. Prince Peter’s tests seem to fall well below the standards required for psychological testing.

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From the beginning, Prince Peter’s research on polyandry was a means to shed light on the Oedipus complex. One could ask whether his work also served other purpose. Seeking an answer to this question it is tempting to turn the weapons of psychoanalysis against the psychoanalyst himself. We could, for example, look at Prince Peter’s extraordinary family and notice its striking similarities with a polyandrous family. With a liberal use of inverted commas we could identify Princess Marie as the “polyandrous wife” and her husband, Prince George, and her lovers as making up a group of “polyandrous husbands”. In the Introduction, Prince Peter takes a child’s view of the polyandrous family: …there was a mother with a number of husbands, all of whom [the child] looked up to as its “fathers”. What could happen to the Oedipus complex in such a setting? On which father, if any, would the infant be able to develop its identifications and rejections, such as children in our societies do? (Peter 1963:14)

If we now recall that the Oedipus complex involves a desire for sexual involvement with the parent of the opposite sex and a concomitant sense of rivalry with the parent of the same sex, we get a sense of the background to Prince Peter’s jealousy and feelings of neglect. It seems, then, not farfetched to suggest that Prince Peter’s scientific interest in polyandry was a projection of personal problems brought about by his growing up in a “polyandrous” family. I will resist this temptation to psychoanalyse Prince Peter, and instead point to another complicated aspect of his life. His most urgent problem was that he had married against his family’s wishes. While his father, Prince George, did not know about his relationship to Irene, his mother did, but she was not at all happy about it and tried to persuade Peter to terminate it. When Prince George learned from the newspapers that he had married Irene in Madras, he “ordered Marie to inform Peter that he was forbidden to enter their homes in Paris and Athens. Peter had to forfeit all his Greek and Danish prerogatives. He had been cowardly in presenting them with a fait accompli. But Marie decided not to deprive Peter of financial support. She let him know this immediately (Bertin 1982:208). In marrying Irene, he had not only challenged his parents, but also his uncle, King George II of Greece, because he had never asked for the King’s permission, probably anticipating that this would not be given. Indeed, the marriage was not officially recognized, and the royal family never accepted Irene as Princess of Greece. “The dispute came out in the open in September 1964 when Prince Peter called a press conference

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in Athens and revealed his conflict with the Royal Family over the status of his wife” (Hourmouzios 1972:140). This was his situation when Prince Peter was demobilised from the Greek army in 1947. What could he do? His father had rejected him. He and Irene had a strained relationship with his wider family, including the Greek and Danish royal houses and almost all other royalty in Europe. A reasonable solution would be to go far away for a long time with his wife and do what they had been happy to do before the war: study polyandry. Being a scientist at a faraway place gave him the freedom and recognition he would lose at home, and he could still count on his mother’s money. In his contribution to the memorial volume to Marie Bonaparte, Prince Peter expressed his gratitude to his late mother, “to whom I owe so much of my inspiration and achievements in anthropology” (1965:502). Was there, deep in his heart, something else he was grateful for? Did he secretly thank her mother for the money that kept him going as an anthropologist far removed from the mess of his family? If so, perhaps his failure in uniting anthropology and psychoanalysis was not so bad at all. Acknowledgements I have received much help and information from many people and am particularly grateful to Wilhelm von Rosen, Flemming Rasmussen, Klaus and Janne Ferdinand, Svend Castenfeldt, Rolf Gilberg, Jesper Kurt-Nielsen, Christel Braae, John Bray, Michael Busch, Helena and Frank Hellstén, Alexander Macdonald, Peter Riviere, Nellie Thompson, Alexander von Lilienfeld, the late Lise Østergaard, the late Halfdan Siiger, the late Mogens Mugge Hansen, and the staff of the Archives of the London School of Economics REFERENCES Appignanesi, Lisa. 1991. Memory and Desire. London: Fontana. Bald, Wambly. 1948. Prince and Princess Charming. New York Post and Home News Week-end Magazine, 23 May, 1948, p. 3. Bertin, Celia. 1982. Marie Bonaparte: a Life. New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich. Bonaparte, Marie. 1951. “Some Psychoanalytic and Anthropological Insights Applied to Sociology”. In Psychoanalysis and Culture: Essays in Honor of Géza Róheim:145-149. Edited by George B. Wilbur and Warner Muensterberger. New York: International Universities Press. Bramsen, Bo. 1992. Huset Glücksborg, Vol. 2, 2nd ed. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Cooper, Artemis. 1995 [1989]. Cairo in the War 1939-1945. London: Penguin.

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Crook, J.H. and T. Shakya. 1983. “Six Families of Leh.” In Recent Research on Ladakh: History, Culture, Sociology, Ecology:195-216. Edited by Detlef Kantofsky & Reinhard Sander. Munich: Weltforum Verlag. Ferdinand, Klaus. 1978. “Nomadebazarer i Central-Afghanistan.” In Hansen (1978 : 133-153). Freud, Sigmund. 1953 [1900]. The Interpretation of Dreams. Standard Ed.. Vols. 4 & 5. London: Hogarth Press. Freud, Sigmund. 1955 [1913]. Totem and Taboo. Standard Edition. Vol. 13:1-161. Gram-Andersen, Jesper. 1978. “Prins Peters tjeneste som soldat.” In: Hansen (1978:15-57). Hansen, Mogens Mugge. (Ed.) 1978. Venner af Prins Peter. Friends of Prince Peter. Les amis du Prince Pierre. Copenhagen: Finansbanken. Hourmouzios, Stelia. 1972. No Ordinary Crown: a Biography of King Paul of the Hellenes. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Jones, Ernest. 1957. Sigmund Freud, Life and Work. Vol. 3. London: The Hogarth Press. Jones, Schuyler. 1996. Tibetan Nomads: Environment, Pastoral Economy, and Material Culture. London: Thames and Hudson. Lieberman, E. James. 1984. Acts of Will: The Life and Work of Otto Rank. New York: The Free Press. Manning, Olivia. 2001 The Levant Trilogy. London. First publ. 1980. Murray-Brown, Jeremy. 1972. Kenyatta. London: George Allen and Unwin. Peter, Prince of Greece and Denmark. 1936. “Psycho-Analysis and Anthropology: Suggestions for a Fuller Collaboration”. Man, 36, article no. 181, 135-36. ______. 1953. “The Third Danish Expedition to Central Asia.” Journal of the Royal Central Asian Society 40:7-10. ______. 1954. “The Third Danish Expedition to Central Asia: Its Work in the Himalayas.” Journal of the Royal Central Asian Society 41: 228-237. ______. 1958. See, Pierre, Prince de Grèce ______. 1963. A Study of Polyandry. The Hague: Mouton. ______. 1965. “The Psychological Testing of Todas and Tibetans”. In Drives, Affects, Behavior: Essays in Memory of Marie Bonaparte, edited by Max Schuh. New York: International Universities Press, 418-502. ______. 1975. “Geza Roheim: Psychoanalytic Anthropologist”. RAIN, Royal Anthropological News 11 (November/December), 1-5. Pierre, Prince de Grèce [Prince Peter of Greece]. 1958. Chevauchée Tibétaine. Paris: Fernand Nathan Editeur. Spain, David H. 1972. “On the Use of Projective Tests for Research in Psychological Anthropology.” In Psychological Anthropology: 267-308. Edited by Francis L. K. Hsu. Cambridge, Mass.: Schenkman Publishing Company. Stocking, George W. Jr. 1986. “Anthropology and the Science of the Irrational: Malinowski’s Encounter with Freudian Psychoanalysis.” History of Anthropology 4:13-49. Thompson, Nellie L. 2003. “Marie Bonaparte’s Theory of Female Sexuality: Fantasy and Biology.” American Imago, 60 (3):343-378. Wallace, Edwin R. 1983. Freud and Anthropology: A History and Reappraisal. New York: International Universities Press. Wayne, Helena (Ed.). 1995. The Story of a Marriage: The Letters of Bronislaw Malinowski and Elsie Masson. Vol. 2. London: Routledge.

TRADE AND MIGRANT LABOUR: INFLOW OF RESOURCES AT THE GRASSROOTS JANET RIZVI As in any marginal economy, some among the Ladakhis have always been ready to travel outside their own region in order to make money. The two main modes of earning were trade and migrant labour. I have already tried, in my book Trans-Himalayan Caravans (Rizvi 1999a), to describe in detail the various subsistence and other trades which were so basic to the economy of pre-modern Ladakh. In this paper, therefore, I give only a summary account of the activities of the peasant traders of Sham, the Suru valley and Zanskar, the network of whose operations often extended beyond Ladakh’s borders. Migrant labour was mostly from the Suru Valley and to a lesser extent from Zanskar. I have material to provide a reasonably detailed account of migrant labour out of the Suru valley, and a rather more sketchy one of Zanskar. The Ladakhi trade network While local trade in subsistence commodities like salt, butter and barley was basic to the economy of communities along the whole line of the Great Himalaya, Ladakh was unique in that a trade in a highvalue luxury commodity was integrated with that in subsistence commodities. This luxury item was pashm, raw material for the multimillion rupee Kashmir shawl industry, the bulk of which came from western Tibet and reached Srinagar via Ladakh. It was brought down from the high-altitude pastures of Changthang by a handful of substantial merchants of Leh and its environs, and also by some hundreds of peasant traders from the Sham Ilaqa (district), who in return carried up to the Changpa herdspeople barley from their village fields, butter, tea, dried apricots and other necessities. They brought back sheep’s wool as well as pashm; and in the autumn of every year the Changpa themselves came with thousands of sheep laden with salt from western Tibet’s brackish lakes, down as far as Chemrey. There they rendezvoused with peasants from as far as

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Mulbekh, Chigtan and Baltistan, with whom they bartered their salt for wheat and barley. Salt was an essential commodity, for which from time immemorial Ladakh and neighbouring regions were dependent on western Tibet. Independently of the Chemrey salt market, Changpa from Rupshu trekked into western Tibet to bring it back, and carried it on to Zanskar, from where an intricate network of sale and barter carried it over the Great Himalaya to Kashmir and the villages of upper Kishtwar, and down the Indus to Baltistan. From Zanskar, the principal export to Kulu and other regions of what is now Himachal Pradesh, was its famous ponies which could fetch the trader a profit of close on 100 per cent. Some of the profits thus earned were devoted to the purchase of subsistence and non-subsistence items from outside—pre-eminently rice from Kashmir and Kishtwar, but also cheaper food grains like maize, millet and buckwheat—together with such modest luxuries as tea, cooking oil, gur (molasses) and kerosene. A handful of more ambitious traders, incorporating Zanskar into their circuit, extended their operations to Calcutta, Kalimpong and even Lhasa. The items they imported included turquoises, Chinese cups (six rupees the hundred in Calcutta’s China Bazaar in the 1930s) and religious books and other artefacts for the monasteries. The work of the kiraiyakash, transporters based mainly in the Dras, Leh and Nubra regions, on whom the long-distance trade between Amritsar and Yarkand, via Ladakh depended, also represented an inflow of resources from outside. Their kiraiya [hire], incorporated in the final selling price of the commodities they carried, represented a transfer of money from the well-lined pockets of merchants in the Punjab, or Kashmir, or Sinkiang, to villagers in Dras or in Nubra otherwise living on the margin; and at the same time an increase in the resources of Ladakh as a whole (Rizvi 1999a:260). In pre-modern societies, trade necessarily involved travel, and interaction with people of other countries, other communities. Thus Zanskari villagers selling Tibetan salt were a familiar sight in the villages of upper Kishtwar, and the Sham traders were known from Gertse, deep in western Tibet, to Skardu in Baltistan. In the same way every summer the Dras kiraiyakash with their horses thronged the Safai Kadal and Idgah areas of Srinagar in search of work, and some of those from Leh and Nubra, working the Karakoram route, were as much at home in Yarkand and Kashgar as in their home villages.

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Migrant labour The kiraiyakash were not the only group of Ladakhis who sold their labour to make their own ends meet and at the same time enrich their country. The tradition of migrant labour in Ladakh has been documented since at least the mid-19th century. A traveller in 1852 found most of Leh’s male population absent, working in the sulphur and borax mines at Puga, leaving the womenfolk to work as porters, both carrying travellers’ baggage on the roads and shifting loads of merchandise in Leh bazaar (Adams 1867:268–69). It seems likely that the relatively large-scale movement of labour from Ladakh to the neighbouring regions of the Punjab and what is now Himachal Pradesh was a function of the establishment of British rule in those areas and the consequent large-scale programme of construction, especially roads and bridges. In 1860 an expedition setting out from Simla employed as porters 35 Ladakhis, the able-bodied portion of the inhabitants of a small village near Simla occupied by emigrants from Ladakh, who had been induced to leave their native wilds by the (comparatively) high prices given for coolie labour in and about Simla. Their principal work consisted of bringing in from the forests in the interior, planks, heavy beams and rough timber for building purposes. As the expedition leader commented, “After loads such as these our burdens were light” (Torrens 1863:8). By 1910 it was established that most of the ‘coolies’—i.e. loadcarrying porters, as opposed to the rickshaw-pullers—in Simla were either Kashmiris, or Shia Muslims from Kargil. They were said to have been brought originally by a Kashmiri labour contractor some decades earlier. The Kargilis were largely engaged in house construction; they lived in the Ladakhi Mohalla below the Cart Road, and their social life centred around the Imambara (Kanwar 1990:180). Some brought their families with them. Jamila Begum was born in Simla around 1919 to one such labourer, originally from Chhanra in the Suru Valley, and his wife. The family was perhaps unusual, in that the girl was sent to school and studied up to Primary Pass. But at the age of 13 she was married off to a Ladakhi from Chushot working in Simla not as a labourer, but employed by the ‘Angrez’, perhaps as a domestic servant. At that time, she says, the 1930s, many went from the Leh area to Simla. A few years later she moved with him to Chushot; but clearly she regarded Simla as home, because on becoming a widow, she planned to return there. In the event, she was

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invited to open a Government girls’ primary school in Kargil, where she remained (Jamila Begum, S1). Apart from the community of labourers from Purig more or less settled in Simla, almost all the able-bodied young men in the Suru valley went to the Punjab every winter to labour on the Government programme of road-construction, leaving only the women and children, together with the old men, in the villages. The custom is said to have continued, though with dwindling numbers, as late as the 1970s (Ibrahim, A/S2). Three such former migrant labourers belonging to Panikhar village were good enough to share their experiences with me—Mohammad Yakub, born about 1918, and Haji Razak and Ibrahim, both born between 1925 and 1930. None of the three came from a family particularly poor by local standards. Yakub’s family land, about 55 kanals1 (just short of seven acres or three hectares), yielded six-fold, approximately 100 maunds2, enough grain for the 10 or 12 members of the family, plus the one horseload (2½ maunds or thereabouts) taken by Government by way of jinse (revenue taken in kind). Malia, the cash component of the land revenue, amounted to Rs 20 per year. Haji Razak was a bit cagey when asked about his land, but grudgingly admitted that his family probably owned around 25–30 kanals yielding six to eight-fold depending on conditions in a particular year, and giving a harvest of about 40 maunds of wheat, barley and peas (Yakub, S1; Razak, A/9, B/14). Every family, all up and down the Suru valley, sent their menfolk; from Panikhar and its satellite villages the tally was around 40 or 50. They set out at the end of October or early November (December, according to Ibrahim), and returned at the beginning of May. They travelled in groups of about 20, each man carrying on his back enough supplies for the journey in the form of atta (wheat flour) and sattu (roasted barley flour), salt and tea, together with cooking utensils, a blanket for the night halts, and a few spare clothes The journey on foot, via the Chelong Nala, Warwan, Kishtwar, Bhadarwah and Chamba, to Jammu used to take 10–12 days (according to Mohammad Yakub) or 15–20 days (Haji Razak). En route, they spent the nights on the verandah of some house, or in the fields. Some of the 1

Kanal = approx. 1/8 of an acre, or 1/20 of a hectare. 1 pukka maund = 40 seers, (1 seer = just over 2 lb avoirdupois, but marginally less than a kilogram), or 37.4 kilogram See Rizvi 1999a, Appendix 1, ‘Weights and Measures’, 277–78. 2

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labourers, though none of my informants, took the Kashmir/Banihal route. Haji Razak preferred whichever route was more mountainous; he reckoned that a uniformly level route was much harder on the feet than the variation of up and down (Yakub S1; Ibrahim A/S1; Razak B/15). According to Mohammad Yakub, one local fellow stayed down all year, prospecting for work, and would have written telling him and the others where work was to be found. Ibrahim, on the other hand, remembers meeting the labour contractors’ agents in Jammu, or even on the road short of Jammu; these would direct them where to go. From Jammu they proceeded by bus. The fare from Jammu to Simla, for example, was about Rs 2. All the work was on road- and bridgeconstruction, in fact many of the roads in the Punjab and Himachal Pradesh were made by Suru valley labour. Ibrahim worked in the Jammu region, in Udhampur and Reasi, and on the road leading to the pilgrim destination of Vaishno Devi; also at Pathankot, Simla and various places in western UP: Saharanpur, Moradabad, Mussoorie, Chakrata and Dehra Dun. Haji Razak mentions in addition Dharamsala, Dalhousie and Chamba (Yakub S1; Ibrahim A/S1; Razak B/14, 15).3 At the time Yakub started going, which would have been the late 1930s, his earnings were about four annas4 a day; but payment was made irregularly, sometimes after 15 days, or one or even two months. All in all, on return the following April, he reckoned to bring home Rs 20–30. In the next ten years there was little change. Haji Razak was fortunate enough to get a Government job soon after Independence, while still quite a young man, and thus to escape from the hard life of the migrant labourer. Accordingly, he went to the Punjab only three or four times; his recollections thus provide a freeze-frame of conditions around the period of Independence. He remembers that the daily wage was 12 or 14 annas, with a really strong man, a good worker, able to command one rupee. Ibrahim says that as a young lad about the same time he could earn 25 to 50 paise a day. At best, the net earnings brought back from four months’ labour would be in the 3

One informant mentioned labourers from the Kargil region who had gone to work in the western part of the Punjab, and as far away as Karachi, and who got stuck on the wrong side of the border at the time of Partition in 1947. He had heard that even now there is in Karachi a Kargili basti (settlement), home to 200 families, and known as Purigistan (Kacho Habibullah Khan, A/S2).. I have not been able to verify this or follow it up. 4 16 annas to the rupee.

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region of Rs 20–40. By the time he gave up going, in the mid-l960s, the daily wage had risen to Rs 5. The group-leader (‘mate’) got a preferential rate; if the regular wage was eight annas, he would get a rupee5 (Yakub S1; Ibrahim A/S1–2; Razak A/9, B/15). All three informants were at pains to point out that the term ‘rupee’ meant something very different at the time they were talking of, the 1930s and 1940s, from what it does today. To give perspective, they quoted prices: good strong cotton cloth (latta) came for two annas a yard; the material for a ‘suit’ (kurta-pyjama) cost Re. 1. Tea cost four or five annas a pau,6 butter, Rs 5 a kilogram; gur (molasses) 1 anna a kilogram; and you could buy 16 eggs for a rupee. Ata, whole-wheat flour, was available at 2 annas a kilogram, or Rs 7 for a 2½ -maund sack; and Rs 20 was the price of 20 maunds of whole grain whether wheat or barley, which was more than adequate for one man’s subsistence for a year (Yakub S1; Ibrahim A/S1; Razak B/16). On the job, the men often lived in temporary shacks that they constructed for themselves; otherwise the labour contractor took a place on rent for them. Sometimes he also arranged for their board, cutting the cost from the men’s wages. Naturally, he kept the accounts himself, and the labourers had no option but to accept his calculations and take whatever he was willing to give them. Occasionally, when the time came for the final reckoning, the contractor simply disappeared. Haji Razak’s account, however, implies that the men purchased their own food. Daily consumption cost in the region of four to six annas, so out of a daily earning of one rupee, it was possible to save some 10 to 12 annas. Mindful of their obligation to save as much as possible to take home to their families, they ate the simplest food: rotis, thick cakes of unleavened bread like jumbo-sized chapatis, with an occasional vegetable dish to help them down, otherwise simply moistened with tea (Yakub S1; Ibrahim A/S1–2; Razak B/15–16). At the end of four months, Haji Razak was able to make some purchases, mainly clothes for the women and children of the family; this together with the supplies and other necessaries for the journey 5

This raises interesting questions, on which unfortunately I can shed no light, on the dynamics of the groups into which these labourers organised themselves, and the relationship of the group-leader with the contractor. It was normal for traders and transporters in this rugged mountainous region to travel in groups; but only one of my informants, Meme Tsering from Mulbekh, describing a way of life that combined individual trade with earning as transporters, talked of the organisation of the group, or made any mention of a group-leader, in that case known not as ‘mate’ but as ‘mester’ (master?). (Rizvi 1999a, 247). 6 Pau = ¼ of a seer, approx. 250 gms.

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made up a load 20 or 30 kilograms, which he thought nothing of hefting on his back for the 15-day trek home from Jammu. The purchases made, he might bring home, sometimes Rs 25, sometimes Rs 30 or even Rs 40, enough to make a real difference. Ibrahim reckoned that if someone brought back even Rs 4, that was enough to look after the cash expenses of a family of five for six months (Ibrahim A/S1; Razak B/17). In summer these same young men would trek with their horses through the mountains to Kashmir to spend some of their cash earnings on rice (Rs 4 for a horseload of 2½ maunds) and maize (Rs 2). From the Bakarwals, nomadic pastoralists, they bought butter at the rate of one rupee for two kilograms, some of which they could resell in the village at one rupee for seven pau (1¾ kilograms)—a modest enough profit. Ibrahim remembers taking some of the rice he had brought from Kashmir to Kargil, to sell to rich people there. What he had purchased at Rs 4 for a horseload of 2–2½ maunds (i.e. 20–25 kilograms to the rupee) he sold at 12 kgs. to the rupee (Yakub S1; Ibrahim A/S1–2). Haji Razak, on the other hand, traded on a more elaborate scale, going with his horses to Zanskar to barter grain for salt which he then took to Baltistan and Kashmir and resold at a profit (Razak A/2–B/13; Rizvi 1999a:137–38). Zanskar Unfortunately, my research in Zanskar, while it revealed a wealth of information about patterns of trade, (Rizvi 1999a:124–30) was less fruitful when it came to migrant labour. The kind of detail the Suru valley informants gave me was lacking. However, there were enough references to show that in Zanskar too migrant labour was an option, which for some could make all the difference between subsistence and starvation. The anecdotal evidence in Christina Noble’s book At Home in the Himalayas (Noble 1991:8, 25, 45–6, 49) indicates that by the 1970s there was a regular Buddhist colony comprising Zanskaris as well as Lahulis and Tibetan refugees, settled in Manali, many of its members doing casual work as porters and ponymen with foreign trekking expeditions. This corresponds to my findings, which show that Manali and the Kulu valley were one of the two principal destinations for those Zanskaris who travelled for trade or labour. The other was Padar in upper Kishtwar, to which the villagers of central Zanskar trekked over the Umasi-la to barter Changpa salt for rice, millet, buckwheat and other items. Many of them might augment their profit from the trip by staying on for a couple of weeks,

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sometimes carrying on down as far as Kishtwar town, and doing whatever work was available. Tsering Standzin, born about 1902 and belonging to Zangla where his family had a few kanals of land, was one such. He could weave, so it was sometimes weaving, or work in the fields, or cutting wood, or tanning leather. He was paid not in cash but in kind: rice or other grain, butter, or tsangdan, a bark which was infused to make a kind of ersatz tea7 (Tsering Standzin, A/4). This was fairly usual, as confirmed by other informants (Lobsang Tsering, A/5– 6; Tashi Spalzang, A/6). But it was to Kulu-Manali that regular migrant labour went in a pattern something like that of the Suru valley. True, there does not seem to have been the regular exodus of able-bodied men from every household every year, as in the Suru valley; but there was at least a trickle of labourers going out probably most winters from Zanskar to Kulu. Even young men belonging to families of status and (comparative) wealth might go. Among these was the old Gyalpo (king) of Zanskar, who was born around 1910. Notwithstanding his family’s status and their relatively substantial ownership of land, he himself went one year, part of a group of 20 or 25 young men, to work on the tunnel of a hydro-electric project at Barot, on the Uhl river above Mandi. A labourer’s daily wage was 12 annas, while a skilled man might get 15 annas. At that time, rice came for 12—15 seers to the rupee; ata the same. Zanskari butter was one rupee a seer (Gyalpo of Zanskar, B/10). Another who embarked on the venture only once was Abdullah Bhat, a member of Padum’s small Muslim community. His family seems to have had a substantial amount of land, but he says that the yield was so low that there was no question of it supporting the ten members his family consisted of in his youth. They had to get grain from Padar, Ladakh and Lingshed; the cash to buy it they got from the sale of their livestock, and from trading butter in Kulu, also from labour. He went to Kulu at the age of 18, i.e. perhaps about 1928. He left Zanskar in October–November, before the snow, and came back in March; the journey from Padum to Kulu took eight days. He travelled with two or three relations, each carrying his own ‘ration’ and blankets on his back. They lived mostly in their own tents and worked at road-building for a daily wage of 12 annas, of which four annas went on food. Their saving of eight annas a day amounted to 7

“The bark of the yew, Taxus baccata (posthil), not long ago, when tea was a luxury only enjoyed by the few, was regularly used by the Kashmiris in the place of tea, and was largely exported to Ladakh.” Lawrence 1895:73–74.

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just enough to buy some spices, tea, tobacco—a load of 10–12 bhattis8—and also clothes for himself and shoes for the children; there was no question of bringing back any cash (though it may be surmised that some of the tobacco was for resale among the Muslim community) (Abdullah Bhat, A/S1–2). The family of Sonam Angchuk, the Karsha Lonpo, was no doubt one of status in Zanskar, their estate in his grandfather’s time amounting to 400 kanals in several villages. Of this, his father, one of three brothers, took the Karsha land, about 180 kanals. Some of it was cultivated by tenants, sharecroppers who gave them one quarter of the crop. Even so, Sonam Angchuk informed me, the depredations of Zorawar Singh’s army left the family so poor as to necessitate his father going out to earn money by labour in Kulu–Manali, like many others from the village. The reason why he, Sonam Angchuk, received a formal education in the modern sense was that his father felt at a disadvantage outside Zanskar, especially in dealing with officials, as he knew no Urdu. So he made a point of having Sonam Angchuk admitted to school to learn Urdu (Sonam Angchuk, A/4–5,10). Several informants, whether they themselves had gone or not, confirmed that on the whole it was the poorer people who made the trek to Kulu–Manali to earn money by labour. The family of Sonam Phuntsog, born around 1904, owned land amounted to 180 kanals in Sani. Although he himself made trading expeditions to Padar, clearly he had no need to earn by selling his labour. But he confirmed that from his village, as from others, people went to both Manali and Kishtwar to work. They would leave in October, and return in March in time for the ploughing. They brought back tea and spices, some pattu (woollen homespun cloth), and a little cash—just enough to tide them over till the next harvest (Sonam Phuntsog, A/4–5). Similarly, the Gyalpo of Zanskar, making a general point about conditions in the days of his youth—i.e. the 1920s and 1930s—talked about the very poor who, having borrowed grain from their richer neighbours, were obliged to return it when the harvest came in, and might be left with literally no food in the house to see them through the winter. Such people would migrate for the winter, whole families including young children, to the Kulu valley where the possibility of labouring work offered the chance of survival for the family (Gyalpo of Zanskar, A/9).

8

A bhatti=2 seers (see fn. 2), or just under 2 kilograms.

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This was confirmed by Ngawang Phuntsog, a much younger man, who might have been born around 1935 or 1940. In his youth his family were very poor, cultivating 30–40 kanals of land belonging to Karsha gompa, and paying by way of rent as much in grain as the land took in seed sown, or else the equivalent in butter. According to his account, whole families went in winter to the Kulu valley to earn money by labour. He estimates that from Karsha about ten to fifteen families would have gone thus, leaving after the harvest and closing up their houses. They would make an arrangement with their neighbours to look after whatever livestock they had. Probably, he says, fewer went from Karsha than from Sani and other villages of the central plain. The reason that whole families went was to escape from the extreme cold. It may be presumed that the reference is to families with relatively few adult members who therefore lacked the manpower necessary for gathering a stock of fuel for the winter. His father went three or four times, leaving his family at home however. The daily wage, says Ngawang Phuntsog, referring presumably to his father’s experiences, was six annas. His father must have had the instincts of an entrepreneur, because the improvement in the family’s fortunes started with his bringing back from Kulu a donkey-load of oil. One donkey could carry, slung one on either side, two 16-kilogram tins of oil, each of which the old man had purchased for Rs 10 in Manali. He continued this way for some years, bringing both cooking-oil and kerosene (the price in Manali was apparently the same), and selling it by the pau, bartering it usually for butter, equal quantities weight for weight. The accumulated butter he then carried to Leh, where it sold at a premium (Ngawang Phuntsog, A/5–6, 7–10.) Conclusion I have suggested elsewhere that the efforts of Ladakh’s peasant-traders in shifting a whole range of commodities from where they were plentiful and therefore cheap to where they were scarce and therefore expensive, and thus adding value to them, represented a major contribution towards Ladakh’s traditional economic and psychological self-reliance (Rizvi 1999a:261; Rizvi 1999b:34). The contribution of the migrant labourers was perhaps no less crucial to the Ladakhi economy; and was equally a means of connecting Ladakh with the social and economic system of a larger region.

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Acknowledgements I am grateful to the informants listed under the heading ‘Oral sources’ for their co-operation, and the wealth of information they were willing to share with me. REFERENCES

(1) Oral sources. Interviews conducted by the author as part of her research project, ‘Life and Society in Ladakh in the First Half of the 20th Century’. The Roman numerals refer to the serial numbers of the interviews, the tapes and transcripts of which are available with the author. In the intext references, the capital letters refer to the cassette sides, and the Arabic numerals to the page numbers of the transcripts. Where the Arabic numeral is preceded by S, this indicates that there is no full transcript, only a summary. Kacho Habibullah Khan, XXVIII Mohammad Yakub, XLI. Jamila Begum, XLIII. Ibrahim, XLVI. Gyalpo of Zanskar, XLVIII. Sonam Angchuk, XLIX. Abdullah Bhat, LI. Tsering Standzin, LII. Lobsang Tsering, LIV. Sonam Phuntsog, LVII. Tashi Spalzang, LIX. Haji Razak, LXXVII. Ngawang Phuntsog, XCI.

(2) Published sources. Adams, A.L. 1867. Wanderings of a Naturalist in India, the Western Himalayas and Cashmere. Edinburgh. Kanwar, Pamela. 1990. Imperial Simla. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Lawrence, Walter 1895. The Valley of Kashmir. London. Noble, Christina. 1991. At Home in the Himalayas. London: Fontana. Rizvi, Janet. 1999a. Trans-Himalayan Caravans, Merchant Princes and Peasant Traders in Ladakh. Delhi, Oxford University Press. Rizvi, Janet. 1999b. “A Self-Reliant Economy: The Role of Trade in PreIndependence Ladakh.”.Ladakh Studies 12:31–35. Torrens, H.D. 1863. Travels in Ladak, Tartary and Kashmir. London: Saunders Otley.

SOCIAL NETWORKS AND TRANSNATIONAL TRADE IN EARLY 20th CENTURY LADAKH JACQUELINE H. FEWKES & ABDUL NASIR KHAN The historical trade between South and Central Asia via Ladakh was an economic endeavour, and at the same time a system of multiple social networks linking people from diverse cultural and religious backgrounds to facilitate trade transactions, and to create new possibilities for economic gain. These patterns changed over time. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, new patterns emerged as traders began to deal in modern goods from British India which—despite political turmoil—had a high resale value in Central Asia. However, by the mid-20th century, Ladakh’s geopolitical terrain changed drastically with the tightening and then closure of its international borders with China, Tibet and Pakistan. This process eventually cut off the region’s transnational trade, fracturing the social networks associated with it. This paper draws on archival sources in Leh, and on interviews with members of trading families, to examine these socio-economic and kinship-based trade networks. It analyses their changing sociocultural meaning, and discusses the implications for current ethnographic debates on the nature of globalisation in the course of the 20th century. Many earlier academic studies have provided valuable information on trade in Ladakh, notably Janet Rizvi’s Trans-Himalayan Caravans (1999) and her paper in this volume. Other texts that have contributed to an understanding of late 19th and early 20th century trade in Ladakh include historical travelogues and narrative accounts. Rasool Galwan’s Servant of Sahibs (1924) provides a Ladakhi perspective on trade expeditions, while accounts from a number of European writers of the period offer their own viewpoints (e.g. De Bourbel 1897).1 Our paper 1

There are also a number of works on trade in surrounding regions which include information about trade in Ladakh within the context of locally based trading histories. These include Kashmir (A. M. Dar 1999), Pakistan (S. R. Dar 2000), Tibet (Chakrabarty 1990 and Radhu 1997), and Himachal Pradesh (Minhas 1998). Additionally, we found it important to review published trade histories which do not

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complements these earlier studies by focusing on specific social and economic networks documented by historical traders, and linking social change to the wider study of globalisation.

Figure 28. Telegram from the Khan archive

The Khan archives The key to our research has been a body of documents which resided for over 50 years in their place of origin: Khan Manzil, the residence of Mohammed Deen Khan and his family in Leh town. They are the personal and business papers of two caravan route traders in Leh, Deen Khan’s ancestors Bahauddin Khan and Shamsuddin Khan, and had languished in a basement until the family recognized that they contained valuable information. The papers, which we have named the Khan Archives, date from between 1904 and 1948, and consist of approximately 1,000 loose pages, including personal memos, personal and business letters, registered letter envelopes, money order receipts, export permits, telegrams, account books, and telegram receipts directly mention Ladakh’s role, but help understand the Central Asian trading system as a whole (e.g. Elisseeff 2000) or by analogy show how neighbouring regions experienced seemingly similar trade patterns in areas such as Nepal (e.g. Fisher 1987).

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(Fig.28). The documents concern trade goods such as carpets, cloth, dyes (Fig.29), medicines, drugs, weaponry, household items (Fig.30), jewellery, and clothing. The commodities represented in the documents moved between places such as Yarkand, Khotan, and Kashgar in China; Karachi, Lahore, Multan, and Rawalpindi in present-day Pakistan; Kabul and Kandahar in Afghanistan; Samarkand in Uzbekistan; and Amritsar, Hoshiarpur, Srinagar, Calcutta and Bombay in India. Their provenance provides evidence of trading connections which extend even further to regions such as Europe, the Americas and Japan. There were a number of different languages in the 400 pages we worked with: only one was in Bod-yig; two a mixture of Bod-yig and Urdu; two in Persian; five in Uighur; 11 in a mixture of English and Urdu; 109 in English; and 196 in Urdu. We still have not identified all of the languages in the remaining 74 pages, although they all contain some Urdu. The first research concern was a practical question: who could read these papers? Even the Urdu was difficult because it was written in an antiquated style, with a specialized vocabulary. Even individuals who are highly trained in Urdu had trouble with these papers. Only a few people who were both skilled in the language and familiar with the trading vocabulary were able to decipher them. Ammanulha Tak of Leh was one of the most skilled readers, and generously lent his invaluable skills to the project. Reading these papers, the primary source of communication used in trade during that time, we came to know about many families who had been involved in trade and the business networks outside Ladakh. For example, here is the text from a shorter piece: CHALLAN NO. 19 TALIB AKHON SAHIB Today with Tashi Sonam son of Tashi Anchuck, resident of Mulbek, twelve horses loaded with wool, property Himalaya Wool Company have been sent. The weight of each bundle including the bag is one maun ten seer. The charge up to Kargil 9/- rupees is fixed. Advance at this place according to calculation each horse four rupees; total 48/rupees have been paid. Balance charges the sum of 60/- rupees pay after receiving the goods without any damage. 19 November 1943 Written by, attested, Tashi Sonam

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From this paper, and others like it, we can get a great deal of information about trade in Ladakh. The movement of trade goods can be traced and economic trends over time—such as varying transport prices—can be charted. Each trade participant’s name added more information as we sought to understand their role in the trade system, either by consulting the people themselves, if they survived, or their remaining family and/or business partners.

Figure 29. Dye boxes. Photograph by Abdul Nasir Khan. By courtesy of the Munshi Aziz Bhat Museum, Kargil.

Family histories and kinship networks Many of the traders belonged to large international families which spanned regional and national boundaries in South and Central Asia, as well as forming interconnections between Buddhist and Muslim religious groups. After finding names from the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s in the archives, we followed up their addresses to interview descendants of the traders, and we were able to chart genealogies of trade families. We did this in order to understand the relationships between the people involved in the system and the places where they lived. This family history approach made kinship relations clearer, and resulted in a more detailed understanding of the kinship-based social networks embedded in Ladakh’s trade history. Rizvi has rightly commented that Ladakhi caravan men formed a “more amorphous community” than their counterparts in British Indian trading communities, which had “particular caste-based communities—Vaishyas, Jains, Agarwals, Mahajans, Khattris, Gosains...” (Rizvi 1999:16). However, there are still a number of structural similarities which can be observed by focusing on the role of the family and identity of kin groups within Ladakhi trading networks. In the

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Khan archives, the three groups most clearly represented as having kin-based social networks were the traders, transporters (kiraiyakash), and—to lesser but still significant extent—colonial officials.

Figure 30. Household utensils. Photograph by Abdul Nasir Khan. From the Munshi Aziz Bhat Museum, Kargil.

Trading families

In Leh and Kargil, the kin-group bonds of the major Ladakh-based trading networks spanned regional and national boundaries, as well as religious communities. For example, according to his descendants, Bahauddin Khan had originally come to Ladakh with his father, Kharuddin Khan, from Khotan in Central Asia, in the late 19th century when he was approximately 15 years old. Later, when he was around 25 years of age, Bahauddin Khan’s family stationed him in Ladakh to establish business there; at the same time one of his brothers, Omaruddin Khan, was stationed in Lahore. According to interview information, Kharudddin Khan’s older brother (Bahauddin Khan’s uncle), became the governor of Khotan during this period. The Khan family network therefore extended from Khotan, through Ladakh, to Lahore. Most of the trading families involved in the document transactions had cousins, sons, or uncles who had married into local families and settled across areas now in India, China, and Pakistan. In the Khan Archives we can see traders discussing the marriages of their associates’ children while passing on other news of business interest. In

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one such document a trader writes to another to discuss a marriage plan for the daughter of a third family: he comments that the girl will marry into the most suitable family in Ladakh. The writer asks for confirmation that it is “best to become relatives with that family.” In this case we can see that even unrelated families in the same trading networks were involved in arranging marriages. Marriage was not simply a social and legal contract between two individuals, but a social contract of concern to multiple families. When viewed over time, this kinship strategy would seem to be focused on a goal of assuring that one would have sons who were native to the trading areas and spoke the language of the region. Traders who married women in different trading areas were deliberately marrying into families with trading connections in the region, solidifying social relations with the fathers, uncles, and brothers of their spouses. International families like the Khans, Khwajas, and Shahs had family members across regions such as Ladakh, Kashmir, and Tibet, and in towns such as Yarkand, Khotan, and Lahore. Kinship networks were thus not simply about gaining entrance to specific areas or communities, but focused on establishing and fostering strong regional connections. The trader Bahauddin Khan followed such a path for his own marriage, marrying a woman from his extended kin network in Yarkand before establishing their household in Ladakh. While many interviewees cited examples of trading ancestors who had married across religious, geographic and ethnic communities, some did not. However, regional traders always seemed to marry within a select group of families with political and economic status. Thus Bahauddin Khan’s son, Shamsuddin Khan, later married a Christian woman from a good family who also lived in Leh. Traders’ kinship connections were the basis of a web of social networks which both extended the geographic range of their social networks, and contributed to their socio-economic strength. The kiraiyakash The kiraiyakash acted as transporters of goods or sources for hiring livestock for transport purposes.2 The Khan Archive documents indicate that most kiraiyakash came from small villages, often around Kargil and Dras. Their role is most clearly expressed in the challans: transport receipts which outline the responsibilities of individual kiraiyakash in formal legal terms. The challans show that working as a 2

See also Rizvi (1999:241-260), and her paper in this volume.

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kiraiyakash involved a degree of risk-taking, as they signed—or put their thumbprints on—documents making them legally responsible for repaying the value of any lost or damaged goods. The work was temporary and seasonal, and therefore provided only sporadic earnings, but this income was an important supplement to otherwise meagre household agricultural production. The kiraiyakash formed a distinct community, and the men engaged in this type of work had repeated interactions with the same traders, building up networks of their own within the wider system. Fathers would bring their sons into these networks, and some informants recalled that the families of kiraiyakash had an advantage in that grandfathers and fathers would encourage their children to learn the Uighur language in order to communicate with Yarkandi traders, and increase their chances of finding work. The trading documents in the Khan archives established the identity of kiraiyakash by listing both their names and the names of their fathers. By interviewing the sons of kiraiyakash such as Tashi Sonam, Lobsang Sonam, and Tashi Tsering in Mulbek, we learnt how several generations of the same family had been involved in trading systems. In each case, our informants indicated that kiraiyakash had used kin groups as an economic strategy to maximize household productivity through outside employment. Colonial officials

The Khan Archives also point to otherwise poorly documented social interactions between traders and British officials. One example is an exchange of letters between Bahauddin Khan and J.W.ThomsonGlover.3 In these letters the two discuss relationships between traders and officials in the context of a dispute over duties at a border post. In the letters, Thomson-Glover and Khan also refer to social events with each other’s family members. Thomson-Glover had met Bahauddin Khan’s son in Srinagar and was concerned about his health; Bahauddin Khan conveyed his greetings to Thomson-Glover’s wife with a message that he would find a good polo pony for her to ride the next time she came to Leh. The interactions between British officials and Central/South Asian traders may have had a social sub-text which has previously been little explored.

3

Colonel J.W. Thomson-Glover was British Consul in Kashgar from November 1933 to September 1936. He most probably wrote this 1938 document from the Kashmir Residency, as he used its stationery and referred to events in Srinagar.

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British officials had their own kinship networks. For example, Sir Francis Edward Younghusband, who acted as explorer, political agent and British Resident in Kashmir, had a father and a brother who served in the British Indian Army, and a maternal uncle who was a tea plantation owner. This uncle, Robert Barkley Shaw, was also a businessman who formed caravans to trade his tea in Yarkand, and travelled through Leh on a political expedition to become the first documented British visitor in Yarkand (Shaw 1871, French 1994, Seaver 1952, and Younghusband 1908).4 As with Ladakhi trading families, these kinship patterns are not coincidental. Until the 1920s, applicants for British colonial positions received preference if they had local family connections; from 1860 to 1921 entrance exams for British civil service posts in Asia included a section on parentage information (Coates 1988). Even after this section was omitted, it was widely understood that the children of officials would receive preference because of their presumed familiarity with the history, customs, and languages of the region. Kinship was an important criterion for controlling access to elite social networks. Maintaining economic systems: the need for social networks In the Khan archives we can identify four distinct categories of economic transaction: buying, transport, customs taxation, and selling of merchandise. Customs duties demand particular attention as they most clearly emphasize the relationship between trading profit and social networks. Under the terms of the 1870 trade treaty between Government of India and Jammu & Kashmir, goods travelling between Central Asia and British India were exempt from customs duty unless they were sold in Jammu & Kashmir itself (Rizvi 1999:65). Such goods were known as ‘stamped packages’ because they were sealed with the company stamp to prevent tampering with their contents: the archives contain numerous examples of stamp marks used by different companies. When traders brought sealed goods into Jammu & Kashmir, they had to pay customs duty. The contents and value of each shipment of goods were marked on customs forms showing how much had been paid. The preparation of these documents was supervised by Jammu & Kashmir Customs and Excise inspectors and by the resident British customs official. Once the goods reached the 4 See Neil Howard’s paper in this volume for a discussion of Shaw’s role in the demarcation of the J&K/Lahul boundary in 1871-1872. Ed.

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customs check-post at their point of departure from Jammu & Kashmir, the customs forms were produced to show how much had been paid so that the full amount could be refunded to the traders. A number of letters in the Khan Archives clearly illustrate the need for extensive social networks to help the traders of Ladakh proceed smoothly through this system. In one document, traders discuss the death of a customs officer in their network. The replacement of this officer with a new individual caused at least a two-month delay in regaining part of the trade profits, a serious problem for any trading firm which needed to maintain an even flow of funds. The complex customs arrangements provided employment not only for countless British and Kashmiri customs officials but also for specialized traders within the Ladakhi community who supplemented their trading income by working with customs invoices, insurance forms, and refunds. The buying and selling of customs invoices provides an example of classic social networking within Ladakhi trading communities: an understanding of shared communal interests provided the basis for trust relations which ameliorated economic risk-taking strategies. This approach would be ideal for traders connected to trading houses with generations of participants at major South and Central Asian trading entrepôts. Other documents indicate that tax receipts were not individually submitted for reimbursement: communities of traders would facilitate tax reimbursements for each other, and traders who were socially connected would combine their tax receipts to minimize the amount of time spent reimbursing individual claims. This approach was only possible for relatively large trading houses that had both the extended social networks necessary to process the receipts efficiently, and the standing capital to absorb immediate costs in return for longer term gains. The example of customs tax refunds is only one aspect of the need for social networks in the trade system. In the Khan archives there are many telegrams and letters which are simply requests for news from different areas. Sometimes these are enquiries about the prices of goods in a certain area so that the market prices were roughly standardized in towns in the same trading network. Traders would also write to each other about the political events affecting their extended international networks and ask for news of political and social events in other areas. The traders’ livelihoods required them to be connected to many other individuals who would inform them of the political, social, and economic events in both South and Central Asia.

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Repeatedly, in documents and interviews, we found that Ladakh did not produce many of its own goods for trade in the early 20th century. A few domestically grown apricots were sold, but those from Baltistan were considered better and were sought after specifically. Ladakhis provided feed for horses, but travellers from places such as Yarkand often even carried their own food. Hoshiarpuri traders told us that their grandfathers did not consider Ladakh to be a destination market in its own right; few Ladakhis in the late 19th and early 20th centuries had enough money to make the trip worthwhile for trade. Rather, in their view, the region was simply a conduit, a way to get to Kashgar, where the important goods such as silk, and drugs, and carpets could be bought, and goods from British India had high value. Ladakh contributed labour to the system—as well as porters, ponies, yaks, camels, and horses—but was rarely either a destination in itself, a production centre, or a desired market. However, Ladakh was the location of the roads, and geographic location was part of their ‘product’. Our interviews with traders’ descendants showed how these perceptions of Ladakh changed in the mid-20th century. Armed with 60 year-old addresses, we looked for firms in Amritsar. Many of the firms were no longer there, especially because of the disruption in the city during the partition between India and Pakistan in 1947. But on one street, we found a familiar sign at exactly the same address, and the sons of the original traders inside. This firm is trading in Ladakh today, providing cloth and dry goods to Leh and Kargil merchants. The owner explained that in his father and grandfather’s day it was not considered worth spending time in Ladakh on the way to Kashgar. However, when India closed its borders in the late 1940s, his firm shifted its focus to supplying Ladakh with goods. The arrival of the army brought cash and new consumers to the region, and development by the Indian government brought roads on which trucks were able to replace animal and human carriers. The national agenda of India changed Ladakh from being simply a trading conduit to becoming a market destination within a broader global political context. A historically ‘global’ Ladakh? In the course of our fieldwork, the information in the archives and supporting interviews raised questions about the extent to which Ladakh’s trading networks could be understood as a feature of ‘global-

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ization’. We based our understanding of globalization on the work of Jonathan Friedman (1994:196) who defines it as an attribution of meaning, the “consciousness of the global, that is, consciousness by individuals of the global situation, specifically that the world is an arena in which we all participate”. In this view of globalization, discussions of trade transactions are therefore concerned not only with market exchanges but also with the social networks and attribution of cultural meaning attached to trade goods. For anthropologists, large urban centres such as Delhi, New York and London are obvious sites for the study of globalization (e.g. Hannerz 1993 and Sassen 1996). Our research provided an opportunity to extend the discussion beyond the cities, and to provide comparisons of differing social meaning over time. Elite families of traders in Ladakh had access to goods that others did not have the financial or networking resources to acquire themselves. For example, one document in the archives concerns an order from a Ladakhi trader for American-made Gillette blades from a British dry goods purveyor in the 1920s. The small quantity of these items implies that the trader was ordering the blades on his own behalf. If so, his purchase indicates the elite status of the trading community, pointing to the economic and social resources associated with the consumption of such luxury goods.5 The Khan Archives show Ladakhi traders purchasing a variety of elite goods, including a potato masher, a European brooch, Ajax hot water bottles, Kiwi brand boot polish, Gillette brand razors, and cigarettes produced by the BritishAmerican Tobacco Company in London. All of these goods would have had great social significance in early 20th century Ladakh. The social relations implied by access to them are particularly important; traders did not simply buy the commodities for themselves and their families, but also procured elite goods for others in social exchanges which enhanced their own status. In the documents we see occasional requests from individuals to borrow high-status items; in one such request for the use of a rifle the author uses a typically hyper-formal language for the salutation, starting the letter “To Respected Sir Khan sahib protector of servants”, and finishing with the closing phrase “Your Servant”.

5 The argument that these goods were for personal consumption is further supported by the archival context: there are only a few orders for household items in the Khan Archives, and these are not accompanied by the import/export permits or transport documentation necessary for the resale of market goods.

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Our further enquiries led us to focus on social and economic networks associated with three specific trade commodities circulating in Ladakh’s trading networks: cotton piece goods, synthetic dyes, and charas (a cannabis product). Each of these goods had a significant commercial role in the Ladakh-based trade networks as well as world markets with a much broader international cultural significance in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. For example, the Ladakhi traders who transported and marketed cotton piece goods were purveying goods which shaped many larger socio-political networks. Their economic endeavours were part of a pattern of trade which led to global contestations of British technological superiority in the 20th century, contributed to movements of resistance against British colonialism, and helped to make Japan an export power in world markets. Furthermore, while elite Ladakhi consumers and trading groups participated in these global economic systems, they formulated local perceptions of the importance of varying trade goods through selective market introduction. Thus, regional trade participants were not simply drawn into outside and uncontested global meanings of material culture, but helped to shape for themselves and their region the cultural significance of global commodities within a distinctly local social system. The interviews with descendants of traders were a central methodological tool in our study of globalization because they provided a way to follow strands of cultural narrative through time. Rather than simply trying to reconstruct the past, we are able to focus on the ethnographic present and see how the cultural significance of past global transactions is being re-interpreted in present-day Ladakhi communities. A pattern of change in the attribution of social meaning to trade transactions began to emerge as we collected stories about the early 20th century from traders’ descendants, and compared those narratives to text in the early 20th century documents. Present-day informants rarely remembered goods such as synthetic dyes and household items as global commodities in Ladakh’s trade. This omission was in direct contrast to the quantity of document transactions which featured such items. At the same time, all informants underlined the global significance of other goods such as silk, textiles and precious metals, showing that these items have continuing cultural meaning. The de-emphasis of some trade goods as global commodities, and emphasis of others, indicates a shift in attributions of meaning to these commodities which is tied to changing economic and political

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circumstances. These variations demonstrate how the local social significance of consumer goods interacts with wider systems of interpretation. In the early 20th century, people around the world, including Ladakh, considered synthetic dyes to be significant modern technologies. However, contemporary conceptualizations of technological achievement focus more on commodities such as computers and cell phones than on synthetic dyes. By contrast, silk and precious metals continue to play a role in global imaginings as luxury items which symbolize wealth. These alternating shifts and consistencies in symbolic meaning offer insight into ways in which the consciousness of arenas associated with globalization varies over time. Aknowledgements We would like to thank Mr. Mohammad Deen Khan and the rest of the Khan family for access to the documents of the Khan Archives. REFERENCES Abu-Lughod, Janet L. 1989. Before European Hegemony: The World System AD 1250-1350. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Chakrabarty, Phanindranath. 1990. Trans-Himalayan Trade: a Retrospect, 1774-1914. In Quest of Tibet’s Identity. Delhi: Classics India Publications. Coates, P. D. 1988. China Consuls: British Consular Officers, 1843-1943. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Cohn, Bernard S. 1980. “Approaches to Historical Comparison. History and Anthropology: the State of Play.” In Comparative Studies in Society and History 22(2):198-221. Dar, A. M. 1999. Trade and Commerce during Dogra Rule in Kashmir (A.D. 1846-1947). Faridabad: Om Publications. Dar, Saifur Rahman. 2000. “Caravanserais along the Grand Trunk Road in Pakistan: a Central Asian Legacy”. In The Silk Roads: Highways of Culture and Commerce:158184. Edited by V. Elisseeff. New York: Berghahn Books. De Bourbel, R. 1897. Routes in Jammu & Kashmir Arranged Topographically with Descriptions of Routes, Distances by Stages, and Information as to Supplies and Transport. Calcutta: Thacker Spink. Elisseeff, Vadime. 2000. “Approaches Old and New to the Silk Roads.” In The Silk Roads: Highways of Culture and Commerce:1-26. Edited by V. Elisseeff. New York: Berghahn Books. Featherstone, Mike. 1993. “Global and Local Cultures”. Mapping the Futures: Local Cultures, Global Change:169-187 Edited by J. Bird. London: Routledge. Fisher, James. 1987. Trans-Himalayan Traders. Economy, Society and Culture in Northwest Nepal. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Friedman, Jonathan. 1994. Cultural Identity & Global Process. London: Thousand Oaks. Galwan, Ghulam Rasool. 1923. Servant of Sahibs. Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons Ltd.

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Hannerz, Ulf. 1993. “The Cultural Role of World Cities”. In Humanizing the City? Pp.67-84. Edited by A.P. Cohen and K. Fukui. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Markovits, Claude. 2000. “Major Indian Capitalists”. In Asian Merchants and Businessmen in the Indian Ocean and the China Sea:310-328 Edited by D. Lombard and J. Aubin. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Minhas, Poonam. 1998. Traditional Trade and Trading Centres in Himachal Pradesh. New Delhi: Indus Publishing Company. Rizvi, Janet. 1983. Ladakh, Crossroads of High Asia. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Rizvi, Janet. 1999. Trans-Himalayan Caravans. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Radhu, Abdul Wahid. 1997. “Tibetan Caravans: The Illustrated Narrative.” In Islam in Tibet:59-308. Edited by G. Henry. Louisville, KY: Fons Vitae. Roniger, Luis. 1995. “Public Life and Globalization as Cultural Vision.” The Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology 32, 3:259-86. Sassen, Saskia. 1996. “Whose City Is it? Globalization and the Formation of New Claims.” Public Culture 8:205-223. Shaw, Robert. 1871. Visits to High Tartary, Yarkand, and Kashgar (Formerly Chinese Tartary), and Return Journey Over the Karakorum Pass. London: John Murray.

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF GESHE YE-SHES-DON-GRUP NAWANG TSERING SHAKSPO Geshe (dge-bshes) Ye-shes-don-grup (1897-1980) was one of the leading teachers of Tibetan Buddhism in his generation. Born in Ladakh, he spent more than 20 years studying in Tashi Lhunpo monastery and other centres of learning in Tibet. After returning to his homeland, he played an important part—both as a writer and as a spiritual guide— helping his fellow Buddhists face up to the challenges presented by contemporary social and political change. He spent the last five years of his life as the mkhan-po (abbot) of the reconstituted Tashi Lhunpo monastery in Karnataka, southern India. This paper presents an overview of Ye-shes-don-grup’s life and contribution to Ladakh. The main sources are his two unpublished autobiographies. The first is a 200-page document which was written in 1935 for the Dutch scholar, Johan van Manen, and covers the first 37 years of the Geshe’s life. The manuscript is now in the National Museum of Ethnology at Leiden (Netherlands).1 The second autobiography was written in poetic style: it is in the possession of Jigmet Dorje, who is Ye-shes-don-grup’s nephew. Early life in Ladakh Ye-shes-don-grup was born in Stok village in 1897, the second son of Tshe-dbang-phun-tshogs and Tse-ring-nor-’dzoms. His birth was associated with many auspicious signs. According to his autobiography, Ye-shes-don-grup remained in his mother’s womb for a year before he was born. However, his mother had a painless delivery. The family cow gave a birth to a calf at the same time, ensuring a ready supply of nourishment for the young baby, and sparks flew from the family stove—another auspicious sign. In his youth, he had a fine physique, a quality that he retained into old age.

1 The manuscript’s reference at the museum is: Manuscript RMV 2739-194b with the title “Karchen Yeshes Don-Grup’s rNam-tar in English.”

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The family into which Ye-shes-don-grup was born was called ‘O-machig’, meaning ‘Same Milk’. It acquired this name when a mother of the family breastfed a prince at Stok palace. According to the family’s genealogical records, its members had included some important people. One member of the O-ma-chig family was bKra-shis, who had obtained the blessing of the fifth ’Brug-pa Yongs-’dzin Ye-shes-gruppa Rinpoche for prosperity and happiness to the family. The visit of this Tibetan Rinpoche to Ladakh coincided with the construction of the present palace of Stok by King Tse-pal-don-grup-rnam-rgyal, (1790-1834), the last independent ruler of Ladakh. In his youth, Ye-shes-don-grup was a devout Buddhist and would often visit the family temple. He would play with the musical instruments: the damaru, (drum) and drilbu, (bell) and he would chant mantras in a clear voice. At the age of eight he told his parents of his wish to join the monastic community at Stok Gonpa, and they gave their consent. At Stok Gonpa, he soon acquired proficiency in reading and writing Tibetan from the tutor Trung-ram-pa bLo-bzang-phun-tshogs, who was his grandfather. Ye-shes-don-grup was later taken to Spituk Gonpa for the blessing of the head lama, Kushok Bakula Rinpoche (bLo-bzang-ye-shes-bstan-pa’i-rgyal-mtshan, 1860-1917) The head lama performed the ritual to mark his initiation into the religious life by cutting a piece of hair from his head, and giving him the name Yeshes-don-grup. He then continued his studies, memorising and chanting prayers at Stok Gonpa under the care of his tutor. Since he had a razor-sharp mind, he could memorise his lessons and the prayer texts offered by his teacher without difficulty. He was soon counted among the best novices of the Gonpa. Education in Tibet At that time it was customary for the more scholarly monks to travel to Tibet for higher education. Accordingly in 1911, at the age of 14, with the support and blessing of his tutor, parents and well-wishers, Yeshes-don-grup set out for Tibet. His journey to Tibet coincided with the biennial Lo-phyag (Lopchak),2 Ladakh’s salutation and trade mission to Lhasa. His parents placed him under the care of Khoja Rashid (the leader of the Lopchak) to ensure his safe passage. According to his autobiography, the trade party took the traditional trade route via the villages of Gya-Meru to Rupshu. From Rupshu the 2

See the Introduction for the background of the lo-phyag mission. Ed.

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party made a diversion to Nyoma. Then Ye-shes-don-grup mentions his arrival at Gargunsa, the traders’ meeting point in Western Tibet, before reaching Mensar, the village nearest to Mount Kailash and Lake Manasarovar, which was the sixth important halting point. Under the terms of the 1684 treaty between Ladakhi King bDe-ldanrnam-rgyal (r.1642-1694) and the Tibetans, the Ladakhi kings retained the village of Mensar so that its revenue would meet the expenses of religious offerings in monasteries and temples around Lake Manasarovar. Ye-shes-don-grup mentions the name of several important halting points, including that of Zangzang, the nomadic village from which a member of one of the aristocratic families of Leh had brought his bride while he was on a Lopchak mission. Next, the party reached the important village of Lhartse. This was the 19th halting point of the trade party. It arrived here on the 25th day of the tenth month of iron pig year 1911. The 25th of the tenth month is known in Ladakh as dGa’-ldan-lna-mchod. This is the day on which Tsong-kha-pa, the founder of dGe-lugs-pa sect was born. Here preparations to welcome Losar (lo-gsar), the New Year, were under way. Unlike most Tibetans, the Ladakhis and certain villages in Western Tibet celebrate Losar on the first day of the 11th month. The custom of celebrating it two months earlier than the Tibetan New Year is said to date from the time when the Ladakhi King Jams-dbyangs-rnam-rgyal (r.1595-1616) advanced the celebrations for the New Year by two months so that he could launch a military campaign against the Chief of Skardu without being interrupted by the festival.3 At Lhartse, the festivities lasted for three days during which the Ladakhi participants—including Ye-shesdon-grup himself—performed Ladakhi dances with songs while the Tibetans performed the shabs-bro dance. According to the autobiography, the party took five months to complete the journey between Leh and Shigatse, instead of the usual three months. The party entered Shigatse via the village of Phuntsogling. It was welcomed by a representative of the dPe-thub Khamstshan ward of Tashi Lhunpo Monastery, where Ladakhi monks, particularly the monks of Spituk (dPe-thub) were given accommodation. Soon after his arrival at the monastery, Ye-shes-don-grup was given accommodation in Skyil-khang Datshang and Kachen (dKa-chen) bLo-bzang-rdo-rje became his religious and disciplinary teacher. Now

3

For a discussion on the timing of the New Year festival see S.Gergan (1978). Ed.

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the young Ye-shes-don-grup immersed himself in the study and memorisation of mantras and prayers. At the monastery the young novices gathered daily in the inner room behind the main assembly hall to chant mantras and prayers, and Ye-shes-don-grup too would attend these prayer sessions. One day, during the prayer session, some young monks made an unruly noise. The discipline master accused Ye-shes-don-grup of being responsible, and beat him badly. He suffered physically as a result of this beating for a long period, during which he had to take medicine, and the injury to his back remained for the rest of his life. This incident occurred when he was 19 years old. After this episode, on the 19th day of the first Tibetan month, Yeshes-don-grup passed a minor examination over which Chos-kyi-nima (1883-1937), the Sixth Panchen Lama, presided. He was then ordained as a dGe-tshul. Within two years of his ordination as dGe-tshul, he passed a major examination which paved the way for him to begin the study of mthsan-nyid, the science of reasoning and the intellectual component of Buddhism. During the next three years he concentrated on studying various branches of philosophy. He would participate in the dialectical debating sessions, and would memorise and chant prayers in the courtyard of the monastery. For his excellent studies he received good comments from the teachers and senior officials of the monastery. He then entered the next class and, during the following two years, concentrated on the study of PramÀÖavÀrttika (rNam-’grel, logic). In recognition of his performances in the study of rNam-’grel, the Panchen Lama honoured him by presenting him with a waistcoat of red and yellow brocade embroidered with a dragon, a charmed silk knot for his protection, and a scarf made of silk. Similarly, from the private store of the Panchen Lama he received a tea brick annually. He was also honoured by the lamas of Skilkhang, the monastery hostel, who presented him with clothes and scarves. Each year on the 25th day of the seventh month, the Panchen Lama would preside over a longevity ceremony in the courtyard of the assembly hall. His Holiness would place the ‘jar of life’ on the head of each individual monk. His Holiness placed the jar of life on the head of Ye-shes-don-grup, and gave him the ‘longevity ball’ made of barley flour. At that time the Panchen Lama particularly advised him to keep studying diligently. When Ye-shes-don-grup entered the next class of meditation and visualisation of the yi-dam, he had a thang-ka of the white MañjuárÈ made in order to concentrate his mind. He would then meditate in

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front of the thang-ka to expand his knowledge. Once in a dream he was cleaning the courtyard of the monastery but, before he had finished half of his task, he woke up. This made him realise that he had progressed no more than half-way in gathering knowledge and overcoming ignorance. He spent the next six years studying the bka’-pot-lna: the five major subjects namely tshad-ma (logic), par-phyin (Prajnaparamita), dBu-ma (Madhyamika), ’dul-ba (Vinaya), rnam-par-mdzod (Abhidharma kosha) and their realisation and practices. He then started taking an active part in the religious activities of various wards of the monastery. A young teacher in Tibet In 1925, at the age of 27, Ye-shes-don-grup obtained the Kachen (dKa-chen) degree of Tashi Lhunpo monastery in the presence of 3,800 monks of whom some 200 were eminent scholars. The Kachen degree of Tashi Lunpo has the equivalent weight and prestige to the Geshe (dGe-bshes) degree of Sera, Drepung and Galdan monasteries near Lhasa. Together with eight other Geshes, he then moved to Karpoche temple at Shigatse for a meditation course. At the age of 28, he was appointed the caretaker of the Panchen Lama’s private collection of books. This was an important assignment, and gave him the opportunity to learn from the valuable texts preserved in the monastery. His Holiness honoured him with a silver medal. Besides this medal, Panchen Chos-kyi-nyi-ma provided him with considerable financial aid to help him meet the expenditure which a Geshe must incur during the feasting ceremony following the conferment of the Geshe degree. Altogether, Ye-shes-don-grup spent 20 years at Tashi Lhunpo studying under the guidance and supervision of more than 20 Rinpoches and Geshes, including the well-known scholar Khu-nu bLa-ma bStan-’dzin-rgyal-mtsan who later transmitted several secret teachings to the 14th Dalai Lama in India.4 After completing his courses at Tashi Lhunpo, Ye-shes-don-grup went on a pilgrimage to Lhasa, where he was ordained dGe-slong by the 13th Dalai Lama, Thub-bstan-rgya-mtsho (1874-1933). In Lhasa he visited the temple of Cho Rinpoche and other important shrines. Next, he visited the three great monasteries of Sera, Drepung and Galdan, where he made contact with some important Geshes.

4

On the Khunnu Lama’s life see Dodin (1996). Ed.

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After this short pilgrimage to Lhasa, Ye-shes-don-grup returned to Tashi Lhunpo. In 1931 at the age of 34 he became a teacher of Buddhist philosophy at the dPal-’khor educational centre at Gyantse. Here he supervised the dialectics classes held in the courtyard of the monastery, and also gave lessons to the young novices. Once, accompanied by colleagues from Gyantse, he went to the holy Lake Lcham-sring-gya-mtsho. Upon arrival at the lake, incense was lit and food offered to the fishes. After this visit the monks narrated their findings and each of them explained his observations. Ye-shes-don-grup’s finding was that he saw the surroundings of the lake, including the humans, reflected upright rather than upside down in the water. Next, along with 50 other Geshes, he attended orthography classes conducted by one ’Be-lung Geshe Rinpoche. Here too Ye-shes-don-grup showed his excellence by giving the correct reply to a question which his other colleagues could not answer. This demonstrated his ability as one of the best grammarians of the monastery. A number of monks would come to have lessons on grammar from him. In return he himself learnt astrology from a lama who was in charge of the Mane Temple. Around this time, dKa-chen bLo-bzang-yon-tan, the tutor of bLochen Rinpoche passed away. Ye-shes-don-grup and another dKa chen, were selected as candidates to be the next tutor to the Rinpoche. In the event he was not chosen as the official tutor but, even so, bLo-chen Rinpoche respected him as his teacher. bLo-chen Rinpoche was regarded as the reincarnation of Rin-chen-bzang-po (958-1055), the famous Western Tibetan Buddhist teacher and translator. While he was at Tashi Lhunpo, Ye-shes-don-grup’s own main teacher passed away. This meant he had to carry his teacher’s body on his back to the special place in the mountains where the flesh of the deceased was fed to the birds. At that time he realised deeply the impermanence of everything. Return to Ladakh At the age of 37, Ye-shes-don-grup expressed his wishes to the senior lamas to return to his fatherland. At that time his tutor, dKa-chen Byams-pa-nor-ldan, was holding the post of Abbot at the monastery of Phuntsogling. The tutor said that he had expected him to remain at the Tashi Lhunpo for a longer time. However, he believed that his return to the fatherland would help to strengthen religion there. Before his departure, he was given a charmed silk knot for protection and other religious objects of protection. Following the old route by

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which he had travelled to Tibet, Ye-shes-don-grup set out on the return journey. When he and his party reached Mount Kailash, he decided to circumambulate the mountain. He and a companion therefore parted from their fellow travellers and waded across a stream. The current of the water was strong, but they managed to cross it. After they had walked some distance, they met a couple who were grazing their sheep. Upon hearing that they had waded across the stream by foot, the couple were surprised and said that they were very bold and lucky people. They had never heard of anyone who had successfully waded across that stream. With that, they parted from the shepherds and went to circumambulate the holy mountain. They saw holy places such as Grol-ma Pass and other holy spots. Later, they rejoined their fellow travellers. They narrated the story about the crossing of the stream to their companions. Ye-shes-don-grup had a safe return journey to Ladakh. There he met his relatives and fellow countrymen. However, he soon tired of his fatherland and his thoughts turned to the days he had spent at Tashi Lhunpo. While in Leh, he made contact with the literary circle of the town. However, he did not refer to any Buddhist scholar except an incarnate lama, Sera Rinpoche. However, Ye-shes-don-grup does speak about Joseph Gergan (Yo-seb-dge-rgan, 1878-1946), the Christian scholar who later wrote a history of Ladakh (Gergan 1976).5 Through Gergan, Ye-shes-don-grup came into contact with Bishop Friedrich E. Peter (d. 1945) of the Moravian Mission in Leh, who was popularly known as ‘Peter Sahib’. Being a man of letters, Peter often enjoyed exchanging views with Ye-shes-don-grup. In July 1930 the Italian scholar and Tibetologist Giuseppe Tucci (1894-1984) reached Leh on a scholarly expedition. Tucci wished to meet Ladakhi scholars and Peter introduced him to Ye-shes-don-grup. Since Ye-shes-don-grup had travelled from Ladakh overland to Central Tibet, Tucci asked him to write a history of Ladakh and prepare a road map for him to Tibet. The next day Ye-shes-don-grup presented his writings on the subjects to Tucci who was impressed by his scholarship, and persuaded him to visit Italy, promising to take care of all his needs. Since Ye-shes-don-grup was unfamiliar with English, he wondered how it would be possible for him to complete the necessary travel documents. Bishop Peter told him that in Calcutta

5

For background on Gergan see Bray (1994). Ed.

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he could meet a Dutch Scholar by the name of Johan van Manen (1877-1943), who knew Tibetan and would be able to help him.6 Ye-shes-don-grup spent most of the time involving himself in literary works and wrote an acrostic poem (in which each line begins with one of the Tibetan letters in alphabetical order). In Calcutta with Johan van Manen Ye-shes-don-grup set out from Ladakh together with his brother. He arrived in Tsho-pad-ma, also known as Rewalsar, a town in the Mandi district of present-day Himachal Pradesh. They offered prayers at the holy lake in Rewalsar, and then proceeded on a pilgrimage to Bodh Gaya, where they visited the holy tree under which Lord Buddha had obtained enlightenment. They saw the grand Maha Bodhi temple and visited the holy rivers Niranzana and Vaishali. Here Ye-shes-don-grup composed a poem to dedicate his accumulated merits to Buddha. After the pilgrimage to Bodh Gaya, Ye-shes-don-grup visited Calcutta in search of van Manen, who could help him complete the necessary travel documents. They found Van Manen at the Asiatic Society of Bengal, where he was General Secretary. He was impressed by Ye-shes-don-grup’s scholarship and, when he decided not to go to Italy after all, employed him as a research scholar. Altogether, Ye-shes-don-grup spent a year in Calcutta and during this period he was paid a monthly salary of Rs50. He worked on religious terminology, besides writing his autobiography in Tibetan at van Manen’s request.7 6 Van Manen was born in 1877 in Nijmegen (Netherlands).and was one of the leading Western scholars of Tibetan of his generation. As a young man he became interested in Theosophy, and from 1914 to 1916 worked as assistant librarian at the Theosophical Society’s headquarters in Adyar, southern India. From 1916 to 1918 he studied Tibetan in Ghoom, near Darjeeling, before settling in Calcutta in 1919. He served as the General Secretary of the Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal until his retirement in 1939. See Richardus (1989, 1992, 1998). 7 Ye-shes-don-grup was one of at least five people from the Himalayan region who prepared autobiographies for Van Manen. One of these was published in America soon after van Manen’s death (Twan Yang 1945). It tells the story of van Manen’s houseboy, who had been born in Kalimpong of mixed Chinese and Tibetan descent and—despite his youth—had already had an adventurous life as a servant successively of Hindu, Sikh, Parsi, Muslim, British and American employers before finding his way to van Manen. Four other autobiographies remained in manuscript. These were included in van Manen’s collection of books, block-prints, manuscripts and papers, which were acquired by the Dutch Government after his death, and placed in the National Museum of Ethnology and the Kern Institute in Leiden. Peter Richardus published a summary of Ye-shes-don-grup’s autobiography in 1992. Richardus (1998)

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Ye-shes-don-grup’s stay in Calcutta came to an end when bKa blon bLo-bzang-tse-dbang and Sra-nga-ra No-no Ton-yot, two important members of Ladakhi society, came to ask him to return to Ladakh for the sake of religion and culture. They offered him both their moral and financial support. At that time Ye-shes-don-grup’s brother, who was with him in Calcutta, went to Tibet on a pilgrimage and upon his return the two of them returned to Ladakh. On arrival in Leh, Yeshes-don-grup spent a couple of months in a cave as a hermit. A religious leader in Ladakh Now requests for Ye-shes-don-grup’s teaching and guidance started pouring in. The local government first appointed him a teacher in the Government Middle School, Leh. In the school he taught Bod-yig (written Tibetan) to the students. After he had worked for three years as a teacher, the Dharmarth—the religious department of the Maharaja Trust of Kashmir—nominated him to teach and strengthen Buddhism in the region. Accordingly, he visited villages throughout the region and helped many people to a better understanding of their religion. As a result of Ye-shes-don-grup’s influence, many people stopped eating meat, and started observing fasts on important days. For the benefit of the local population, he composed a text on the visualisation of Avalokiteávara, the bodhisattva of compassion, and on the accumulation of merit by chanting ma-ne mantras. In 1943, at the age 46, Ye-shes-don-grup visited Nubra on a mission to promote religion. His father accompanied him. Upon their arrival at the village of Khardong, his father became sick from drinking bad tea. They managed to reach Diskit village where his father was treated by a local medical practitioner. Unfortunately, however, his father did not recover and died there. After the monks of Diskit monastery had performed the last rites, Ye-shes-don-grup offered money to the monks. His mother had died while Ye-shes-dongrup was still pursuing his studies at Tashi Lhunpo. In 1946, after a gap of four years, Ye-shes-don-grup rejoined the education department, as a Bod-yig teacher. While working as a has also edited and published three other life-stories written for van Manen. These are of Phun-tshogs-lung-rtogs, a Tibetan monk who helped teach van Manen Tibetan; sKar-ma Sum-dhon Paul who had been born in Ghoom and became successively a translator for the British government, a teacher at a mission school, and a lecturer in Tibetan at Calcutta University; and Ts’an chih Chen, the son of a Chinese father and a Tibetan mother, who had been born in Lhasa in 1893. Ed.

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teacher, he composed a longevity text for Kushok Bakula (Ngagdbang-blo-bzang-thub-bsthan-mchog-nor, 1917-2003), the Abbot of Spituk Gonpa, the monastery to which Ye-shes-don-grup would belong until the last. In addition, he composed a text concerning food rituals for the monastic community and the Abbot of Spituk. One day, while he was meditating on the guardian deity Yamantaka, he received a message from Tashi Lhunpo asking him to return to the monastery as a religious teacher. However, he could not accept this offer because of his obligations in his homeland. At Stok palace Ye-shes-don-grup taught grammar to the princes of Ladakh. He also taught grammar and mtsan-nyid, the science of reasoning and logic, to the prince of Matho, who was later recognised as Sras sprul sku by the monastery of Rizong in Ladakh. Return journey to Tibet and visit to Sikkim Later, accompanying Sras Rinpoche, Ye-shes-don-grup visited Central Tibet. On the way he taught grammar to a son of the chief of Garpon village and to the monks of Tashisgang Gonpa. On this journey Ye-shes-don-grup visited Mount Kailash and Mansarovar lake for the second time and then travelled on to Trithapuri via Tashi Lhunpo. This return visit to Tashi Lhunpo to him felt like obtaining a jewel. He had the opportunity to exchange views with the senior monks of Tashi Lhunpo besides receiving teachings on Tantra from a Tantric master of Ho-tho-tho village. However, after spending several days at Tashi Lhunpo, he made the return journey to his homeland via Sikkim and Kalimpong. Upon his arrival at Kalimpong, he made a visit to Babu Tharchin, who published a newspaper in Tibetan entitled Me-long (also known in English as The Tibet Mirror).8 Babu Tharchin engaged Ye-shes-don-grup to work on this newspaper, and he spent a month in Kalimpong contributing articles and poems on various subjects. Upon finding a fellow countryman, he departed from Kalimpong en route to Ladakh. During their journey by train to Sounpur in Bihar he was tired, and a pickpocket stole Rs 600 from him while he slept. This was all the money he had in his pocket. However, Ye-shes-dongrup arrived safely back in Leh, and again worked with the education department as a teacher.

8 Babu Tharchin was a Christian from Poo, now in Himachal Pradesh, who had settled in Kalimpong. See Fader (2002, 2004). Ed.

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After some months and before the onset of winter in 1946, he went on a mission to Sikkim. Upon his arrival at Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim he visited the royal palace and met the queen of Sikkim and their Home Minister and then went on to Kalimpong where he met his friend Babu Tharchin and his disciple Ang-spen-ba. Here he also met the British Tibetologist Marco Pallis, the author of the well-known book Peaks and Lamas (1939). During his stay in Kalimpong, Ye-shes-don-grup had to work very hard. In the early morning, he would teach Lam-rim, the graded stages of Tsong-kha-pa and related texts to Ang-spen-ba and Marco Pallis; and in the day he would visit Babu Tharchin to help edit the Me-long newspaper. Besides editing the general news, he contributed articles concerning the history of Ladakh and other related topics, both in poetry and prose. Ye-shes-don-grup worked there for five months. When the time came to say goodbye to his friends, Babu Tharchin and his pupils gave him a warm send-off. He then travelled to Punjab. This was in 1947, the year of India’s partition and independence. Upon his arrival at Lahore he took a train for Sialkot. While travelling in the train, he saw that Hindus and Muslims were quarrelling, and killing each other. From the window of the train he could see dead bodies scattered. He was horrified by these scenes and prayed to the Buddha from the core of his heart for an end to these brutal acts by human beings. In Sialkot, he was walking through a narrow path in the city when someone dropped a brick on his head. He lost consciousness and, when he recovered his senses, he found himself covered in blood but also surrounded by army officers. The officers placed him in a van and sent it to a hospital. He was treated there for a week, and then the army sent him to Jammu. Thus, although he had sustained a severe injury, his life was saved by the grace of Lord Buddha. On his arrival in Leh, he resumed his former post and continued teaching Tibetan. However, monastic responsibilities had also fallen on him now. At the main assembly hall of Spituk Gonpa he had to act as the prayer master (dBum-mdzad), while at Stok Gonpa he became the prayer narrator (sLob-dpon). He also gave teachings to both monks and lay people alike. Ladakh in the 1950s On May 26th 1950 the relics of two of the main disciples of Lord Buddha, Sariputra and Maudgalyayana were brought to Ladakh. On this occasion Ye-shes-don-grup had to give a speech about the

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significance of the relics to the public. In honour of the celebration of Buddha’s birthday on the 15th of Vaishakhi month, he composed poems related to the occasion. Ye-shes-don-grup then became involved in a controversy over the proposed development of a new style of writing that was closer to colloquial Ladakhi than classical Tibetan (Bod-yig). This came from Tshe-brtan-phun-tshogs (1908-1973), who belonged to an aristocratic family from Sabu, and was one of the few Ladakhis educated in both modern and traditional ways of thinking.9 He proposed to simplify written Ladakhi, bringing it closer to the spoken language so that it would be more accessible to ordinary people. His most controversial idea was a modification of the Tibetan script when writing vernacular Ladakhi: this included the removal of one of the two letters ‘a’ (the achen) and its replacement with the a-chung, which is easier to write. This proposal presented a challenge to Buddhist scholars who were concerned about the integrity of the Tibetan script and the preservation of the written language that enshrined Tibetan Buddhism and its philosophy. The Ladakh Buddhist Association (LBA) organised a series of conferences of Buddhist scholars to counter his challenge. Among other allegations, they accused Tshe-brtan-phun-tshogs of deliberately trying to undermine the integrity of Bod-yig because he had embraced Christianity. Eventually, Tse-brtan-phun-tshog’s plan was presented at an official government hearing: Ye-shes-don-grup made a statement which helped defeat the proposal.10 In August 1952, Maharaja Karan Singh of Jammu visited Ladakh. The Maharaja visited Spituk Gonpa among others and, to mark the visit of this dignitary, the head Lama Kushok Bakula organised a philosophical debate between Ye-shes-don-grup and Geshe Brtsondus. Both being excellent in this subject, they put on a good debate and the Maharaja praised their performances highly. When Ye-shes-don-grup attained the age of 56 in 1954, he accompanied Kushok Bakula on a flight to Srinagar. From Srinagar he went to Jammu and then on to Mandi and Rewalsar. He spent two days at Tsho-pad-ma (Rewalsar). After that he visited Varanasi and Kalimpong. Here he again worked for his old colleagues, and his friend Babu Tharchin. Staying at the Me-long press for three months, he edited a Tibetan dictionary besides writing several historical articles and poems for the paper. Ye-shes-don-grup also gave lessons on 9

On the background to his life see Bray (1994). Ed. For this information I am indebted to late bKra-shis-phun-tshogs Zomdey.

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Tibetan grammar and logic to a number of people including the monks of a Gonpa. He had a very pleasant stay in Kalimpong, and on his return journey to Leh, went to Varanasi on pilgrimage. From there he went to Kashmir, and arrived in Leh via Kargil. Upon his arrival in Leh, Ye-shes-don-grup commissioned a local smith to make a Ganjira, a parasol-shaped banner to present to Spituk Gonpa. The Ganjira was installed and the ceremony took place on the 28th of the 11th month of the Tibetan calendar, the annual festival day of the monastery. As a loyal monk of Stok Gonpa he presented a pair of long carpets for the assembly hall there. From the beginning of the first month of the Tibetan year he was honoured to give teachings to Stag-tshang Rinpoche, the young Abbot of Hemis Gonpa, who came to Leh specifically for this purpose and spent a couple of months with him. In return, Stag-tshang Rinpoche invited Ye-shes-don-grup to Hemis on the occasion of the annual Hemis festival. Yes-shes-don-grup accepted this invitation and offered money to the monks and visited various shrines of the Gonpa. From Hemis, he accompanied Stag-tshang Rinpoche to Chemdey monastery where he spent about a month as the guest and tutor of the Head Lama. As a good friend and also as a tutor, Ye-shes-don-grup spent two months with Stag-tshang Rinpoche at the hermitage of Gotsang above Hemis. In the following year he was appointed the chief monk (slob-dpon) of Spituk Gonpa and its three sister monasteries by Kushok Bakula, the Head Lama. This appointment meant that he was much involved in giving teachings to the monks there and also at the Jokhang Vihara in Leh. Second return journey to Tibet In 1956, he accompanied Kushok Bakula on a religious mission to Lhasa. This took them by air to Srinagar, and then to Jammu, Varanasi and Kalimpong. From there via Gangtok, he once again visited Tashi Lhunpo. Here he had an audience with His Holiness the Panchen Lama, the senior monks and old colleagues. He visited various temples at Tashi Lhunpo and offered tea and money to the monks. After spending several days there, he took a Chinese bus to Lhasa. Here he again visited the three important monasteries of Sera, Drepung and Galdan, before going on to Samye and Drigung monasteries. At the Potala palace he had the opportunity to receive teaching on ’Jigs-byed, the Yamantaka and Spyan-ras-gzigs (Avalokiteávara) from the Dalai Lama. At Drepung monastery, he presented money to the

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resident monks of Spituk hostel. Similarly, he offered token money of Rs100 to Sras Rinpoche of Rizong, who was at that time studying in Drepung. In return, Sras Rinpoche also gave him many presents. On this visit, he spent three months in Lhasa and from there he visited Tashi Lhunpo. Here he once again availed himself of the opportunity to receive longevity teachings from the Panchen Lama. He also obtained teaching on the protector deity Cham-sring from Yong’dzin-dnol-chui, the tutor of the Panchen Lama. While he was at Tashi Lhunpo, the Panchen Lama invited Ye-shes-don-grup to stay at the monastery. However, Kushok Bakula wanted him to return to Ladakh. Complying with Kushok Bakula’s instructions, he decided to make the return journey. He reached Sikkim and via Kalimpong arrived back in Srinagar. At Srinagar he met the young head Lama of Hemis Gonpa and his parents, who were on their way to Tibet. From Srinagar he took an aeroplane to Leh. Final years in Ladakh and southern India Within a month of his return from Lhasa in 1957, the people asked him to assume the post of President of the Ladakh Buddhist Association (LBA). He accepted, and the new headquarters of the association was built during his tenure. The other major religious work which he undertook during his presidency was the renovation of the red temple of Buddha Maitreya close to the nine-storey Leh palace. This is one of the temples built during the reign of King Grags-pa-’bum-lde in the 14th century. Yeshes-don-grup also gave teachings to the devotees on the 15th day of every month in the Jokhang Vihara. In 1959 the Chinese suppressed the Lhasa uprising, and the Dalai Lama along with several thousand Tibetans had to flee to India. The people of Ladakh deputed Ye-shes-don-grup (as President of the LBA) to visit the Dalai Lama together with Stakna Rinpoche and Don-grupbsod-nams, and invite him to visit Ladakh. At that time the Dalai Lama was staying temporarily in Mussoorie, and Ye-shes-don-grup and his party had an audience with him there. The Dalai Lama agreed to visit Ladakh, although he did not actually do so until much later. Ye-shes-don-grup also had an audience with the two tutors of the Dalai Lama and His Holiness’s mother. After a successful visit to Mussoorie, the party returned to New Delhi where they called on Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, the then Prime Minister of India to give their assessment of the situation in Tibet, and to inform him of their invitation to the Dalai Lama to visit Ladakh.

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On his return to Leh, Ye-shes-don-grup involved himself very much in religious and cultural activities. In the 1960s, the Buddhists of Ladakh still consumed much meat on the occasion of Losar, the New Year and would also offer sacrifices to the village gods. Ye-shes-don-grup launched a campaign against excessive consumption of meat, and sacrifices to the village gods. To achieve this objective he associated himself with two cultural organisations: the Lamdon Social Welfare Society which was founded in 1969; and Nyams-gso Society founded in 1975. These societies would organise drama shows and Ye-shesdon-grup provided scripts drawn from the Jataka Tales (stories from the Buddha’s previous lives). At the same time, he would compose songs matching the theme of the scripts. The money raised by staging dramas was used to renovate old temples which were in bad condition. He further promoted the celebration of Buddha’s birthday with full enthusiasm and devotion. In order to promote this campaign, he visited many important villages in Central Ladakh and Nubra and received a positive response from different parts of Ladakh. Since then, the Buddha Jayanti celebration has become an annual feature at the villages of Tingmosgam and Chemdey. He himself also worked hard to understand the teachings of the exponents of other sects besides his own, the dGe-lugs-pa. As such he visited Stakna to obtain teachings from the bKa’-rgyud-pa order from Stakna Rinpoche After Ye-shes-don-grup had held the seat of Chief Lama of Spituk Gonpa for five years, he thought it best to relinquish this position in order to have more time for social and cultural activities. However, Kushok Bakula and the monk community of Spituk would not allow him to stand down, so he continued with the responsibility and taught language and grammar to the monks. During this time he also gave teachings to the elite Buddhists at the LBA headquarters in Leh at the Jokhang temple, and taught Lam-rim, the graded stages of the path to liberation continuously for 20 days. Sras Rinpoche of Rizong was among the students there. On the final day, the Rinpoche read out a prayer he had composed for Ye-shes-don-grup’s long life. At that moment Ye-shes-don-grup felt so delighted that he said that there was no need for him to stay longer in this world. However, since it was the wish of the Rinpoche and his disciples, he was very pleased to hear the prayer composed in his honour. After this teaching, he gave a longevity initiation to a crowd of over three hundred in the Jokhang Vihara. On the occasion of the opening of the main assembly hall of Sabu Gonpa, he also gave a teaching on longevity to the monks of Spituk Gonpa and the villagers of Sabu.

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In 1967, Ye-shes-don-grup visited Gangtok on behalf of the LBA to invite rGyal-wa Karmapa to Ladakh. Along with Kere Tse-ring-dpal’jor, he visited Rumtek Gonpa near Gangtok, and the Karmapa agreed to visited Ladakh in 1968. Later, the Karmapa asked Ye-shesdon-grup to join his monastery at Rumtek to teach philosophy to the young lamas. However, due to his preoccupations in Ladakh, he could not accept this offer. In the winter of 1968 Ye-shes-don-grup and Zomdey bKra-shisphun-tshogs were deputed by the education department to compile school text books in Bod-yig up to the tenth class. For this he had to work very hard. Besides including topics on religion and the culture of the area, the department wanted them to include lessons on science. In a lesson on plants, a statement was required that plants are alive, which implied that they also have souls. Ye-shes-don-grup objected to this, saying that according to Buddhist philosophy plants are lifeless. This lesson became a matter of controversy and finally the case had to be referred to Kushok Bakula, who at that time was also a minister in the Kashmir government. Only after much persuasion did Ye-shesdon-grup agree to write in the book that plants have life.11 In 1970 Ye-shes-don-grup was due to retire from the post of schoolteacher, but the people did not let him do so, and the local government granted five years’ extension to his service. During the extension, besides teaching at the High School in Leh, the Geshe wrote Bod-yig school textbooks for the 9th and 10th classes. At the same time, he showed a keen interest in the activities of the newly established Jammu & Kashmir Academy of Art, Culture and Languages in Leh, and contributed articles and poems for publication in Shes-rabzom, the Academy’s journal; and Lo-’khor-gyi-deb, its yearbook. His articles were on subjects such as Buddhist logic, Ladakhi literature, and the origins of the place names Slel (Leh) and La-dvags (Ladakh). Later, in recognition of his good work, the Academy honoured him by presenting its prestigious award, the robe of honour. In Spituk Gonpa, the incarnate Kushok Bakula Rinpoche created the senior post of dPe-thub mkhan po especially for Ye-shes-don-grup. In 1975, he became the mkhan po of the newly re-established Tashi Lhunpo monastery in Mundgod (Karnataka) at the request of the monastic community there. He passed the last five years of his life in South India.

11

For this information I am indebted to the late bKra-shis-phun-tshogs Zomdey.

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To commemorate the Geshe’s100th birth anniversary, the Jammu & Kashmir Cultural Academy organised a seminar in which seven prominent Ladakhi scholars presented papers on his life and contributions. The seminar papers are published in a special edition of the Academy’s journal, Shes-rab-zom (1999). In the seminar, the scholars described the Geshe as a person who was a great treasure of knowledge concerning the five major and five minor branches of learning. I would like to conclude with the words of Peter Richardus (1992): “Ye-shes-don-grup must be regarded as an outstanding example of a scholarly monk who did his utmost to preserve a civilisation caught in the most serious crisis of its history”. Acknowledgements I am very grateful to Peter Richardus and to the National Museum of Ethnology in Leiden and to Jigmet Dorje for making available the manuscripts of Ye-shes-don-grup’s two autobiographies. REFERENCES

Bray, John. 1994. “Towards a Tibetan Christianity? The Lives of Joseph Gergan and Eliyah Tsetan Phuntsog.” In Tibetan Studies. Proceedings of the 6th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies. Fagernes 1992:68-81. Edited by Per Kvaerne. Oslo: Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture. Dodin, Thierry. 1996. “Negi Lama Tenzin Gyaltsen: a Preliminary Account of the Life of a Modern Buddhist Saint.” In Recent Research on Ladakh 6:83-98. Edited by Henry Osmaston & Nawang Tsering. Bristol: Bristol University Press/Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Gergan, Joseph. 1976. Bla dvags rgyal rabs chi med gter. Edited by S.S. Gergan. Srinagar. Gergan, S.S. 1978. “The Losar of Ladakh, Spiti, Lahul, Khunnu and Western Tibet.” Tibet Journal 3, (4):41-43. Fader, H. Louis. 2002, 2004. Called from Obscurity. The Life and Times of a True Son of Tibet, God’s Humble Servant from Poo Gergan Dorje Tharchin. Vols. 1&2. Kalimpong: Tibet Mirror Press. Nawang Tsering Shakspo. 1985. “Ladakhi Language and Literature.” In Ladakh Himalaya Oriental. Ethnologie Ecologie. Recherches Récentes sur le Ladakh. Edited by Patrick Kaplanian and Claude Dendaletche. Pau: Pau: Centre pyrénéen de biologie et anthropologie des montagnes. Pallis, Marco. 1939 Peaks and Lamas. London: Cassell. Richardus, Peter. 1989. The Dutch Orientalist Johan van Manen: His Life and Work. Kern Institute Miscellanea 3. Leiden: Kern Institute. Richardus, Peter. 1992. “The Life and Work of Ye shes Don grub (1897-1980).” In Tibetan Studies. Proceedings of the 5th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan

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Studies. Vol. 1, pp. 203-207. Edited by Shoren Ihara and Zuiho Yamaguchi. Narita: Naritasan Shinshoji. Richardus, Peter (Ed.) 1998. Three Tibetan Lives. Three Himalayan Autobiographies. With an Historical Foreword by Alex Mackay. London: Curzon. Shes-rab-zom 21, Nos. 3-4, 1999. Leh: Jammu & Kashmir Academy for Art, Culture and Languages. Twan Yang. 1945. Houseboy in India. New York: John Day.

LIVES AND WORKS OF TRADITIONAL BUDDHIST ARTISTS IN 20TH CENTURY LADAKH. A PRELIMINARY ACCOUNT ERBERTO LO BUE Buddhist art in Ladakh has undergone at least four phases: a) that of Kashmiri influence (11th to12th centuries); b) the development of an indigenous idiom resulting from the merging of the Kashmiri style with Tibetan artistic idioms related to western Tibet and to the monastery of Drigung (’Bri-gung) from the early 13th to the 15th centuries; c) the birth of a new tradition of painting as exemplified by the decoration of the tshogs-khang and mgon-khang in the monastery founded at Phiyang in the late 1550s (Petech 1977:29) as well as by the wall paintings in the upper temple devoted to Maitreya in the castle of Basgo (16th to 17th centuries); d) a growing influence of central and southern Tibetan artistic idioms as represented by the murals in the lHa-khang rnying-pa at Hemis monastery (cf. Snellgrove and Skorupski 1997:130) and by subsequent production in other monasteries (18th to 20th centuries). The artistic heritage of Ladakh has attracted the interest of several scholars, but little attention has so far been paid to the production of traditional Buddhist painting and sculpture in the past century. A starting point of a survey of 20th century Buddhist art in Ladakh may be represented by the life and works of Sras Rin-po-che (18641927), otherwise known as Ri-rdzong sras-sprul Rin-po-che Blo-bzangtshul-khrims-chos-’phel. A novice from Ridzong monastery, Blobzang-tshul-khrims-chos-’phel went first to central Tibet for ordination and then to Kham, where he learnt poetics, grammar and so forth, before returning to central Tibet to pursue his studies. Having renounced the monkhood, he became a tantric master and produced several art works (Jackson 1996:353-354). After his return to Ladakh, he painted several murals in bla-ma Rin-chen’s apartment and chapel at Ridzong. Apparently towards the end of the first decade of the 20th century, and with the help of pupils, he also decorated the Sras Rinpo-che lha-khang in Ridzong, illustrating the chief episodes of nÀkyamuni’s hagiography; and painted the 25 thang-kas hanging

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therein at the time of author’s visit in August 1978.1 The artist himself painted the four great guardian kings and the Indian cosmography on the wall of the vestibule leading to the chapel. Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin The sculptor and painter Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin (c.1877/1890c.1968/1970), from Khalatse,2 also was first a monk and then reverted to lay status (Pallis 1942:241). From an uncle of his, who taught drawing at the monastery of Tashilhunpo before returning to Ladakh, Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin inherited a handwritten copy of a collection of texts on drawing, painting, modelling images and related crafts, bearing the title Cha-tshad rtogs-byed.3 The artist was active in Lamayuru monastery, for which he modelled and painted two 122cm clay statues found in the sanctum: RematÈ, apparently fashioned in the late 1920s, and another dharmapÀla, perhaps modelled in the late 1930s. With the assistance of lesser painters, he may have decorated the walls of the same assembly hall in the late 1920s or early 1930s: Pallis (1942:240-241), who visited the monastery in 1936, tentatively attributed those paintings to him. Commenting upon them, Pallis states that drawing was the “great forte” of that artist. Unfortunately, the murals had been covered with ochre wash by the time of the author’s visit in 1978 and survive only in the pictures published by Pallis (1942: pls. opp. 317 and 421).4 During the same span of years, the artist may have attended also to the decoration of the walls and lantern of the temple devoted to Avalokiteovara, described by Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977:21) as 1 Lo Bue 1983:57 pls.40-41 and 59-60 pl.48; the caption in the latter illustration should perhaps read ‘1908’ rather than ‘1880s’. The author’s fieldwork in Ladakh was sponsored by the universities of London (1978) and Bologna (2001, 2002 and 2003). 2 According to Pallis (1942:349) and Peter (in the notes kept at the State Library in Munich as kindly reported to me by John Bray); however, according to the sculptor Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring (interview on 18th September 2001), he belonged to the Khalang-dar-rtse clan and was born at Lingshed. During his first meeting with the author, on 29th July 1978, Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring stated that Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin had died around 1968 at the age of ninety-three. However, on 17th July 1978 another former pupil of Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin, the sculptor bSod-nams-skal-bzang, had told the author that Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin had died about 1970 at the age of eighty. 3 These texts were copied by Peter, and are now in the State Library in Munich. The author thanks John Bray for this information. 4 The statement that this assembly hall “has been entirely decorated with new paintings, which are quite good” (Snellgrove and Skorupski 1977:20) is an oversight, as confirmed to the author of this paper by David Snellgrove in December 1978 and by Tadeusz Skorupski on the 17th January 1979.

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“recently but very well painted”, just below the main buildings in the same monastery. Those murals illustrate a collection of jÀtaka tales, apparently the mDzangs-blun,5 as well as other subjects, some related to the Bar-do. However, they have suffered greatly since Pallis (1942:pl. opp.249) photographed them.6 Later, around 1941, the artist also fashioned an 81cm statue of nÀkyamuni for the head lama’s apartment in Lamayuru; that image was protected by a glass cabinet by the time of the author’s visit in 1978.

Figure 31. Decoration of lantern by Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin. Phiyang monastery ‘new’ assembly hall, c.1930. Distemper. Photograph: Luciano Monticelli.

By 1931 Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin, with the assistance of his pupil dKonmchog-rgyal-mtshan, had completed the decoration of the ‘new’ assembly hall in the monastery of Phiyang (Fig.31); it took them several years to complete it. Pallis (1942:315-316) admired those paintings for their boldness in composition and precision in drawing, perhaps appreciating the figures of tantric deities painted in the lantern along with the images of Vajradhara and various masters of The author thanks David Snellgrove for drawing his attention to this; the mDzangs-blun was translated into Tibetan by the Chinese scholar Facheng, active in Dunhuang from c.830 until c.860 (Snellgrove 1987:445). 6 Pallis (1942:240-241) complains that temples in Lamayuru were in a poor state of repair and that no one bothered about it. 5

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the bKa’-brgyud tradition. The portraits of Tilopa, NÀropa, Mar-pa, Mi-la-ras-pa and ’Jig-rten-mgon-po—the founder of the ’Bri-gung-pa order—on the rear wall of the lantern seem to correspond to those mentioned by Snellgrove and Skorupski (1977:123) as “very good paintings.”7 Between the 1920s and the 1960s Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin was probably the most celebrated artist in Ladakh. dKon-mchog-rgyalmtshan regarded him as the best painter; people were eager to get thang-kas painted by him (cf. Pallis 1942:237, 316); and his work was in great demand all over western Tibet (Pallis 1942:241), where the artist was called to fashion and paint the statues at Tashigang after that monastery had been destroyed by fire.8 In fact, Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin may well be the Ladakhi artist mentioned by Tucci (1937:182) in connection with the construction of an assembly hall in that very monastery in the early 1930s. In the late 1930s Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin was summoned by Trakthok monastery at Sakti to fashion the triad of a c.107cm image of nÀkyamuni flanked by the c.94cm images of his ‘two best’ disciples, nãriputra and MaudgalyÀyana. In the early 1940s he fashioned a triad made up of a 56-cm AmitÀbha flanked by a 48cm Avalokiteovara and a 51cm VajrapãÖi for the Dung-dkar-g.yas-’khyil temple in the same monastery. To the late 1930s or early 1940s belongs another triad, found in the Padma-’od gling, the apartment of the head lama of Hemis monastery; it portrays a 35cm MañjuárÈ, a 60cm eleven-headed and thousand-armed Avalokiteovara, and a 40cm VajrapÀÖi. The artist also fashioned a life-size statue of Padmasambhava for the temple devoted to that master at the hermitage of rGod-tshang-pa, 2km above Hemis. In the 1940s or 1950s he modelled a 122cm portrait of the Tibetan bla-ma Shes-rab-rgyal-mtshan for the sanctum of the old assembly hall in Spituk monastery, for which he also fashioned a large statue of Vajrabhairava with the help of his pupil Ngag-dbang-tshering (see below) in the 1960s. The two authors wrongly place these paintings in the mgon-khang. The assembly hall where they are actually found rises in the upper part of the monastery and has been partially closed after an earthquake (perhaps that of 1974). Apart from a seat flanked by two metal stupas at the back of the assembly hall, there is no longer anything left in it allowing us to identify it with the ’Du-khang gsar-pa mentioned by Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977:123): the large clay portraits and Kashmiri metal images they mention in connection with it are now kept in the Bla-ma’i lha-khang and in the Guru Padma-rgyal-po’i khang respectively; also the library has been shifted. 8 Personal communication by Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring to the author ( 23rd September 2001). 7

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More works by Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin remain to be identified in Ladakh. Some also are preserved in Europe: a collection of 29 sheets with iconometric drawings of various deities according to the bKa’brgyud iconographic tradition was commissioned from the artist by the missionary Friedich A. Peter in 1934-1935.9 As a sculptor, Tshering-dbang-’dus transmitted his skills to Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring10 and bSod-nams-skal-bzang11; as a painter, he taught dKon-mchog-rgyalmtshan. dKon-mchog-rgyal-mtshan, a ’Bri-gung-pa bla-ma, was born to a family of farmers at Phiyang, where he taught drawing at the local monastery (Pallis 1942:316, 334-337). He died in the late 1960s and by the end of the century had been forgotten in his own monastery, where he had contributed to the decoration of the ’Du-khang gsar-pa and where thang-kas painted by him must be extant (cf. Pallis 1942:326-328). In the 1930s Pallis (1942:241 and 328) suggested that dKon-mchog-rgyal-mtshan was one of the two or three most talented painters in Ladakh besides Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin and fancied himself in Beato Angelico’s workshop while watching him at work. At the same time, he found his art to be “a typical example of pleasing but not highly inspired school-work” and added that “his work on walls, where a broader treatment was called for, was slightly ahead of his t’hankas; for in a smaller picture, meant to be viewed from close up, questions of finesse count for more” (Pallis 1942:337-338). While subscribing to Pallis’s views in the light of what may be gathered from his own plates (Pallis 1942:figs. opp. 334 and 404), it should be pointed out that what Pallis (1942:338) regarded as the painter’s “chief fault”—mixing “too much white with his paints”—was in fact a choice by the artist in line with the ’Bri-gung-pa painting tradition as a variant of the mKhyen-ris school since the 18th century (cf. Jackson 2002:162-163). dKon-mchog-rgyal-mtshan was aware of the stylistic features characterizing his own tradition and indeed asked 9 The author thanks John Bray for this information. The collection, bearing the title lHa-bzo-ba’i patta, is now kept at the State Library in Munich. It should be pointed out that by that time the two-volume dGe-lugs edition of a famous collection of sadhanas known as Rin-’byung or Rin-lhan and illustrated with almost five hundred figures of deities (cf. Chandra 1991:33-35, 39-40, 205-378) had been brought to Ladakh from Tibet or Mongolia (cf. Peter 1943:1). 10 This artist owns an iconometric drawing of nÀkyamuni signed by his master. 11 Born in 1943, this sculptor was trained by Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring from c.1955 to c.1962. He received one of the 10 all-India National Awards for Master Craftsmen in 1978 and taught classes of clay sculpture at the Central Institute of Buddhist Studies in Choklamsar.

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Pallis (1942:336) if he preferred him to put ‘ordinary’ clouds or clouds painted in the bKa’-brgyud style in the thang-kas that Pallis and his companions had commissioned (Pallis 1942:317). Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs One of the foremost representatives of the ‘Bri-gung-pa painting tradition in the 20th century is Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs (b. 1932), a monk from Nyurla, whose work has been studied by David Jackson (2002). Here the author will confine himself to supplementing the information afforded by Jackson with data gathered during his own interviews with the painter in 2001 and 2002. Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs travelled to central Tibet in c.1948 and a couple of years later moved to Drigung, where he was taught by a layman belonging to a family of Ladakhi origin (Jackson 2002:156) and following the ‘Bri-gung-pa style of painting. During his stay at Drigung, besides painting several thang-kas (Jackson 2002:157), Yeshes-’jam-dbyangs decorated sacrificial cakes, masks, window fittings, doors and other wooden architectural elements, including the shelves supporting the statues in the shrine of the abbot’s apartment. In 1956, basing himself upon a drawing by his teacher, he painted the four great guardian kings on the walls in the temple of Wuru Katsel,12 a dependency of Drigung. He was to specialize in the depiction of that particular iconographic cycle after his return to Ladakh in 1959. About 1966 he collaborated with Tshe-ring-dbang’dus to illustrate the twelve main events of nÀkyamuni’s hagiography in nine panels, to decorate the lantern of the Jo-khang at Leh. Ye-shes’jam-dbyangs painted the figures to be placed on the side walls, while Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus painted the episodes for the rear wall. One year later, Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs painted the cycle of the four great kings at the ’Bri-gung-pa monastery of Sharchokhul, in Changthang, for which he also fashioned and painted 34 masks for the ’cham dance. In 1974 the artist painted the beautiful sacrificial cakes housed in the sanctum of the main assembly hall at Lamayuru. One year later attended to the decoration of the new assembly hall (spyi-khang) in the monastery of Spituk with the help of Ngag-dbang-chos-’phel,13 painting some of the 12 dBu-ru-ka-tshal. The author saw this temple, dating back to the monarchic period, being restored in the summer of 1996. 13 A dGe-lugs-pa monk born at Lingshed, Ngag-dbang-chos-’phel went to Tibet and spent ten years at the monastery of Drepung, training there as a painter for four years before returning to Ladakh.

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most splendid tantric deities in Ladakh (Fig.32) as well as the architectural elements inside that temple.

Figure 32. KÀlacakra, by Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs. Spituk new assembly hall, 1975. Distemper. Photograph: Paolo Mele & Anna Tomatis.

In 1976 the artist attended to the decoration of the porch of the assembly hall in Lamayuru monastery, with the assistance of Ngagdbang-chos-’phel and five more painters. He painted the four great guardian kings,14 and helped Ngag-dbang-chos-’phel to paint the wheel of existence, as witnessed by a picture taken by Zara Fleming in 14 The detail of the wall painting published by Lo Bue (1983:61 pl. 50) was photographed by Nancy Rollier on the 4th August 1978, not in 1975, as stated by Jackson (2002:165). As an editor of the latter’s article, the author of this paper feels responsible for that slip.

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1976. It took the artists four months to complete their job, for which they received Rs20 a day besides board and lodging, as an alternative to Rs80 a day. The porch was entirely decorated by the time of the author’s visit in August 1978; the painter was then working in the ’Brigung-pa monastery at Bylakuppe, Karnataka, whence he returned the following year. At the time of the author’s visit to Bylakuppe in December 1981,15 five thang-kas painted by the artist hung above the entrance to the sanctum in the assembly hall of the monastery: they depicted a four-armed MahÀkala, Padma-sambhava, ’Jig-rten-mgonpo, Gu-ru Drag-po and another wrathful deity. A framed mandala of AmitÀbha painted by Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs and measuring about 31cm on each side was kept in the assembly hall itself. In 1989 the artist painted the cycle of the four great guardian kings in the main monastery of the ’Bri-gung-pa diaspora, near Dehra Dun, as well as in the porch of the main assembly hall in Phiyang monastery, for which he also fashioned and painted 20 masks. In 1993 he painted four thang-kas portraying the four great guardian kings for the monastery of Kyurbuchen. In October 2001 and August 2002 the author saw the artist working on the same cycle in the porch of the temple devoted to Maitreya below the residence built for the Dalai Lama at Bodkarbu: the decoration of the porch, including an image of Padmasambhava and the wheel of existence, was to be completed by 2004. To draw the images on the wall—and to retouch the drawings after he had already started painting—the artist used a sharpened charcoal: charcoal is still used by traditional painters, who find it easier to erase than pencil lead. The artist also designed and painted the decoration of the internal architecture as well as some large pieces of furniture for the Dalai Lama’s apartment above the temple. Around 2000 he also designed and painted the wooden decoration in the temple devoted to Avalokiteovara at the ‘Bri-gung-pa monastery of Tingmogang. Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring The greatest Ladakhi sculptor in the 20th century, and one of the greatest in the history of Ladakhi art, Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring was born in 1936 at Teya, not far from Tingmogang.16 From the age of about As part of fieldwork carried out thanks to a grant from the British Academy. The date 1945 reported in several places, e.g. by Revi Bhushan in Reference Asia (Vol. 6, New Delhi, p. 502), is incorrect. 15

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six he loved modelling clay figures as well as drawing. When he was about 16, his father decided to foster those inclinations and entrusted him to the most famous artist of the time, Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin, with whom Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring trained for six years and then worked for another three years until 1959. The first commission the artist received was from a family who wanted an image of AmitÀyus measuring about 90cm in height. Then he fashioned a set of images of the Buddhas of the three times—also measuring about 90cm—for another family. In 1959 he also modelled a portrait of Padmasambhava, whereupon his ailing father asked him to fashion a 120cm image of the same subject, which the artist modelled and painted, as traditional sculptors normally do. His father was very pleased with the result, rose from his bed to pray in front of the statue, and died happily. This particular image is kept in the private family chapel at Teya with others fashioned by the artist: a 120cm Vajrasattva; VaiáravaÖa, Padmadkar-po and Thang-stong-rgyal-po, all measuring about 60cm in height; and a 40cm Maitreya. After helping his former master to fashion the statue of Vajrabhairava for the old assembly in the monastery of Spituk, Ngagdbang-tshe-ring had the opportunity to model more images of the same tutelary deity: one, measuring 274cm in height, for the spyi-khang at the same monastery in the mid-1970s; another, measuring 158cm in height and completed in May 1978, for the assembly hall in the dGelugs hermitage of bKra-shis-dge-’phel, at Saboo; a third one, measureing about 210cm in height, was fashioned in 1980 for the old assembly hall in the hermitage of bsKur-phug dga’-tshal gling at Stok. Around 1963 the artist modelled fine 80 cm images of two protectors of the Buddhist faith—bSe-khrab-can and RematÈ—for the altar on the upper storey of the temple dedicated to Maitreya in Shey palace. In the late 1960s he fashioned a 60cm portrait of Padmasambhava for the royal chapel in Stok palace; its inscription states that the image was made when the artist was 33. The 80cm VajrapÀÖi and a 100cm image bSe-khrab-can in the same chapel may well have been modelled by the same artist. Among the statues fashioned by Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring in the 1970s, mention should be made of a 160cm image of Padma-rgyal-po—one of Padmasambhava’s eight manifestations—for the Guru Padmargyal-po’i-khang in the monastery of Phiyang and of several statues found at the monasteries of Stakmo and Nang. For the old assembly hall in the monastery of Stakmo, the artist modelled the portraits of rGyal-tshab and mKhas-grub, measuring about 40cm in height; and

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for the new assembly hall he fashioned the statues of the sthavira Bhadra and of Byang-sems Shes-rab-bzang-po, the disciple of Tsongkha-pa who founded this little monastery in the 15th century (Petech 1977:168). Both statues measure about 120cm in height. Around 1976-1977 he modelled a 60cm image of Padmasambhava for the sanctum of the monastery at Nang. Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring’s statues are generally difficult to photograph, protected as they are by glass panes, and the inscriptions on their pedestals, bearing both the artist’s name and the date of completion, are generally not visible. That is very frustrating in the case of particularly fine and important images, such as the eight manifestations of Padmasambhava which the artist fashioned for the Guru lha-khang in Chemre monastery in 1977. The statues, on average measuring about 150cm in height, are housed in the cabinets at the sides of the huge gilded copper image of Padmasambhava embossed in the 17th century by artists from Chiling. The largest and most famous statue by Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring is the Maitreya he fashioned in 1979 and 1980 in the monastery of Thikse. It rises for about 14m in height from the lower storey of the temple devoted to that bodhisattva, and its head—bearing a crown decorated with the five cosmic Buddhas—has become one of the symbols of Ladakh. Its fine details are painted in the traditional bright colours that Westerners may hardly appreciate, but which Ladakhis and most Easterners are certainly fond of. Around 1981 the sculptor fashioned a 100cm image of Vajradhara for the abbot’s library in the monastery of Stakna, and on 6th June 1982 he started working on another large image: a statue of Padmasambhava, measuring over 10m in height (Fig.33), for the Guru lha-khang in the monastery of Hemis. The image’s details—such as the figure of the atlas supporting Padmasambhava’s foot—again show the high standards of Ngagdbang-tshe-ring’s art. The image was modelled around a core of cemented bricks with clay, glue (from yak, mdzo, bull or cow hides), water, cotton cloth, wheat flour and Tibetan paper, which is traditionally obtained from shrubs. After being beautifully painted, it was consecrated on the 9th September 1984 by the 12th ’Brug-chen Rin-po-che. Probably in the early 1980s, the artist fashioned two life-size images for the old temple devoted to Avalokiteovara in the ’Brug-pa monastery of Tingmogang: one portrays that bodhisattva and the other nÀkyamuni. Towards the mid-1980s, the artist fashioned the triad of Mar-pa—measuring about 75cm in height—flanked by Mi-la-ras-pa

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and sGam-po-pa, both measuring about 55cm, for the temple devoted to Padmasambhava at rGod-tshang-pa’s hermitage above Hemis. The inscription on the lotus pedestal supporting the portrait of Mar-pa bears the date 1984. Presumably in the mid-1980s Ngag-dbang-tshering also fashioned the statue of VaiáravaÖa for the mgon-khang in the monastery of Likir. Around 1994-1995, he modelled the 175cm image of Padmasambhava for the assembly hall in the small monastery of Urgyan gling at Nyemo.

Figure 33. Padmasambhava by Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring. Hemis, Guru Temple, 1982-1983. Clay and other materials. Photograph: Laura Jokisaari.

By the end of the century, well over 100 statues by this artist could be found in about 50 monasteries in Ladakh and Himachal Pradesh, including the rNying-ma monastery at Manali, for which the artist fashioned an image of nÀkyamuni measuring about 6m in height,

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those of his ‘two best’ disciples, as well as statues of Padma-sambhava and HayagrÈva, both measuring about 275cm in height. Some images—like a nÀkyamuni measuring about 120cm in height and the triad of long life fashioned in 1991—AmitÀbha, measuring about 70cm in height, with UßÖÈßavijayÀ and White TÀrÀ, measuring about 60cm each—are kept in the Museum of the Central Institute of Buddhist Studies at Choklamsar. They are modelled not in clay, but with cotton cloth, wheat flower, Tibetan paper and glue, following a technique traditionally used to fashion masks. Like other sculptors, Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring was also commissioned by monasteries to model masks for ritual dances. In fact, when the author first met the sculptor in July 1978, he was busy fashioning two masks on a roof in the monastery of Trakthok, where his teacher had worked before him in the 1930s. At least 28 masks by Ngag-dbangtshe-ring are kept in Ladakhi monasteries. They were all manufactured in a light but hard material similar to papier mâché, with a technique that consists basically in preparing a clay model to which the artist applies several—typically five—layers of pieces of a kind of cheesecloth (cf. Fiore 2003:90-91) and covers each of them with glue (cf. Fiore 2003:90-91).The cloth adheres perfectly to the surface of the clay model and, after the glue has hardened, the image thus obtained may be detached from it and painted. The author was able to observe the various stages of this particular technique as shown by Ngagdbang-tshe-ring’s son and best pupil, ’Chi-med-rig-’dzin (b. 1972), who in 2001 and 2002 worked on an important commission of masks from the monastery of Hemis. Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring owns several iconometric drawings on paper, mostly drawn by himself. He further owns a manuscript bearing the title g.Ya-sel-nas ’byung-ba’i sku’i cha-tshad rtogs-byed-dang thig-lam rnamgrangs mngon-rtogs, which was given to him by his master. It presumably deals with the proportions of images as presented in the BaiÉËrya g.Ya’sel, the famous treatise completed by the regent Sangs-rgyas-rgyamtsho in 1688 and consisting of replies on controversial points raised in his earlier BaiÉËrya dkar-po, whose last chapter deals with religious art (Jackson 1996:44). For teaching purposes, the artist compiled an album with iconometric drawings drawn by himself; his pupils also have to resort to a text on sculpture he has adopted for his classes: Rig’dzin-dpal-’byor’s ’Bur-sku’i phyag-tshad #rgyal-ba’i sku-brnyan legs-par bltaba’i me-long. In the past, the master also used the New-Sun Self-Learning Book on the Art of Tibetan Painting by the Amdo painter ’Jam-dbyang (b. c.1914), which was first published in Delhi in 1982. Besides painting

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his images, Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring has also painted thang-kas and decorated walls. In 1983 the artist won the National Award to Master Craftsmen. Later, in 1993 and 1998, he received two awards from the Jammu & Kashmir Government, and in December 1997 he took part in the special exhibition for the celebration of the Golden Jubilee of Indian Independence in New Delhi. Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus was born to a family of farmers—the ’Ol-thangpa—at Nyemo, probably in 1944.17 He started painting at the age of about 16 under the tuition of bDe-ba-pa-sangs (b. c.1922),18 a wellknown Tibetan exile painter from Tashilhunpo who had settled in India and was then invited to Ladakh by the religious leader sku-gzhogs Bakula to paint a number of thang-kas at Spituk monastery. Tshe-ringdbang-’dus completed his training in three years and in the early 1960s started preparing a collection of fine iconometric drawings with captions written in Tibetan.19 Although he learnt iconometry from his Tibetan master, and was aware of the existing literature on the subject, he obtained the proportions of some figures also from old Tibetan painted scrolls. Around 1963 the painter received a first important commission from the monastery of Likir.20 Together with Blo-bzang-stobs-rgyas, a 17 On 6th July 1948 according to Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus’s school certificate and according to what the author was told in 1978, but on the 6th June 1944 according to what the artist and his son Tshe-dbang-dpal-’byor told the author in 2001. The official dates of birth of people born before Ladakh became part of the Indian Union do not always tally with reality. 18 A scroll representing Vajrabhairava and painted by this artist in Tibet is kept in the sanctum of the old assembly hall of bsKur-phug-dga’-tshal gling, at Stok. Out of his master’s works, Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus remembered a thang-ka representing nÀkyamuni with nÀriputra and MaudgalyÀyana, as well as a few scrolls kept in the monastery of Spituk and others that were lost in a fire at Srinagar, where they had been taken for fear of a further Chinese invasion of Ladakh. In 2001 bDe-ba-pa-sangs was reported to be living in Kulu. 19 By 2001 the album had gone astray, but the sheets had luckily been photographed during the author’s fieldwork in 1978. 20 During interviews with the author in 1978, Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus placed his work at Likir first in order of completion, followed by those at Saboo, Spituk, Leh, Samkhar, Trakthog and again Spituk, but the dates he provided sometimes conflicted with those in his own list. Following crosschecks carried out by the author during his fieldwork in 2001, 2002 and 2003, the dates attributed to Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus’s works here do not always correspond to those suggested in Lo Bue (1983:61-67).

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dge-slong born in the late 1920s or early 1930s at Hemis Shukpa and attached to the monastery in Likir, he painted the eastern wall of the ’Bag-khang with the triad of nÀkyamuni and his ‘two best’ disciples surrounded by the cycle of the sthaviras with their two assistants and the four great guardian kings. Then, in collaboration with the same painter, he attended to the decoration of the porch and assembly hall of bKra-shis-dbyangs-mgon’s temple—built in the 1940s near the same monastic compound, but abandoned by 2001—painting splendid images of the four great guardian kings surrounded by their attendants (Fig.34) in the porch, and perhaps also Vajrabhairava, Yama and other protectors of the doctrine as well as the cycle of the sthaviras inside the assembly hall.

Figure 34. Attendant of a Great Guardian King by Tshe-ring-dbyangs-’dus. Likir, bKra-shis-dbyang-mgon’s Temple. Between 1963 and 1965. Distemper. Photograph: Michel Sermet.

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The artist’s next important job was the depiction in about 1966 of the main events in nÀkyamuni’s hagiography for the lantern of the Jokhang in Leh, which has been mentioned above in connection with Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs. For about three months the painters worked on two long parallel rolls of cotton cloth, Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus painting five panels for the rear wall and Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs two for each side wall. By 2001 the paintings had been removed and stored away to allow for the raising of the lantern. Using the same kind of surface, Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus also painted the rules of monastic life on pieces of fine cotton cloth measuring about 152x122cm for the veranda above the main assembly hall at Samkhar, a dependency of Spituk and Bakula’s residence. Around 1968 he painted the wall giving access to the temple devoted to SitÀtapatrÀ, opening on the same veranda, with three triads: nÀkyamuni with his ‘two best’ disciples; Atiáa flanked by his pupil ’Brom-ston and by the scholar rNgog Legs-pa’i-shes-rab, who was a pupil of Rin-chen-bzang-po; and Tsong-kha-pa flanked by mKhas-grub and rGyal-tshab (yab-sras gsum, the ‘three, father and sons’). The painter was then commissioned with the decoration of the Orgyan pho-brang nges-don dga-ba’i-tshal, the assembly hall in the monastery of Trakthok, which—according to records shown to the author in situ—was renovated in the earth-monkey year 1968. Following traditional practice, the master drew the figures, and a pupil—in this case Tshe-ring-dngos-grub—painted them. On the walls of the porch, the artist painted the four great guardian kings, HayagrÈva and AmÜtakuÖÉalin. The figures painted on the entrance walls inside include tutelary and guardian deities such as EkajaãÈ, YamÀntaka, Heruka, GaÖapati, Pe-har, rDo-rje-legs, Khyab-’jug-che, Srog-bdag-chen-po Tse’u-dmar, besides a couple of dancing skeletons, the lord and lady of cemeteries. Padmasambhava is portrayed with his successors and manifestations—in particular rDo-rje-gro-lod and Guru-drag-po—along with Seng-ge- gdong-ma, nÀkyamuni, Maitreya and Tibetan scholars such as: Mi-pham; Klong-chen-rab-’byams; Rig’dzin-rgod-ldem, the foremost representative of the ‘northern treasures’ kÈla tradition; sTag-tshang-ras-pa, the great ’Bri-gung-pa master who played a crucial religious and political role in 17th-century Ladakh; and bla-ma ShambhunÀtha. In the late 1960s and early 1970s the painter attended to the decoration of the already mentioned hermitage of bKra-shis-dge-’phel in Saboo, again in collaboration with Blo-bzang-stobs-rgyas. On the eastern wall of the assembly hall, he drew the images of guardian and

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tutelary deities deities such as rDo-rje-shugs-ldan, MaØgaladÈrghÀyußÈ, VaiáravaÖa, the six-armed MahÀkÀla, Beg-tse, Vajrabhairava, Yama and YamÈ. In this case, pupils painted in the figures that had been drawn by the master. The painter may also have attended to the decoration of the eastern wall, including eight sthaviras, Padmasambhava, Tibetan religious masters such as lHun-grub Chos-kyirgyal-mtshan—qualified in the inscription as a mandala specialist (rab’byams dkyil-’khor ’khor-lo’i-mgon)—as well as the triad of MañjuárÈ, Avalokiteovara and VajrapÀÖi. During the same span of years, the artist painted the lantern above the main assembly hall in the monastery of Spituk, a task for which he used natural pigments, except for green and orange. Towards the mid-1970s the painter took part with other artists in the decoration of the already mentioned spyi-khang in the monastery of Spituk. That job apparently took three summers, starting about 1974—when Snellgrove & Skorupski (1977:109) observed that building was in progress—and ending around 1976. The painter attended to the decoration of the lantern, where he painted several images—including sku-gzhogs Bakula, portrayed in a photographic, realistic style first introduced into Tibet by dGe-’dun-chos-’phel in the 1950s—and apparently contributed to the decoration of the porch of the same assembly hall, where some thang-kas by the same artist are apparently kept. In 1975 Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus started teaching painting at the Handicraft Centre in Leh, and by the summer of 1978 he had 16 pupils, both Ladakhi and Tibetan. By that time he was commissioned to paint thang-kas not only by local people, but also by Tibetan patrons in various parts of India; two had been sent to Soviet Union for a competition. The scrolls painted by Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus are innumerable and scattered all over the Buddhist world. Mention should be made of one of his most famous ones: a large thang-ka (133.5x87.5cm) portraying KÀlacakra, which the artist painted for the initiation performed by the 14th Dalai Lama in Leh in 1977. Its eleven-verse dedicatory inscription, written in gold on a cinnabar background, ends with a colophon bearing the date of completion, 29th August 1976, as well as the painter’s name and birthplace written in gold on a cinnabar background. That scroll, housed in the temple devoted to KÀlacakra on the premises of the Dalai Lama’s residence outside Choklamsar, won the artist one of the ten national awards of the All India Handicrafts Board in 1977.

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Around 1975 the painter started attending to the decoration of the old assembly hall of bsKur-phug dga’-tshal gling, the dependency of Spituk at Stok, drawing and painting the southern wall with figures such as Avalokiteovara, ParØaáabarÈ, VajrapÀÖi, Maitreya, Mi-la-raspa, Vajradhara, MañjuárÈ, Padmasambhava, Saraha, Atiáa and the yab-sras gsum. The other walls were drawn by him and painted by his pupils, including Tshe-ring-dngos-grub. The guardian and tutelary deities painted on the entrance walls include Jambhala, Vajrabhairava, Yama and the six-armed MahÀkÀla; the northern wall is painted with images of the Dalai and Panchen Lamas, a realistic portrait of sku-gzhogs Bakula (qualified in the inscription as “Universal Protector from Harm”), figures of four cosmic Buddhas and of nÀkyamuni with his ‘two best’ pupils, along with the triad of long life. In 1977 he started decorating the porch, and in July the following year the author saw the artist drawing the images of the four great guardian kings and one of his pupils applying the colours with water and fish glue. The colours were obtained from mixing pigments, and these were both natural (for white, ochre, purple and red) and artificial (for yellow and orange). Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus expected to complete the decoration of the temple with Blo-bzang-stobs-rgyas’s help by the end of that summer. In the early 1980s a particularly important job was carried out by the master with the assistance of three or four pupils in the Guru lhakhang of the monastery of Chemre. The cycles painted in that temple include some of the finest tantric figures to be seen in Ladakh, such as VajrakÈla, ¯yußpati nyÀma MahÀkÀla, GuhyasamÀja, KÀlacakra, nambara, NÀÉÈ 4ÀkinÈ and HayagrÈva, besides Buddhas, bodhisattvas, goddesses, the cycle of the sixteen sthaviras, Padma-dkar-po and other historical figures. Furthermore, around 1981 the painter decorated the porch of the assembly hall in the ’Brug-pa hermitage bKra-shis-dga’’phel, an old dependency of Hemis at upper Saboo (not to be confused with the similarly-named dGe-lugs hermitage of bKra-shis-dge-’phel, below in the same village), painting the cycle of the four great guardian kings as well as the Indian cosmography with the assistance of some pupils. After that, he painted some thang-kas for the monastery of A-po Rin-po-che at Manali. Between 1982 and 1984, he drew the images in the already mentioned Guru lha-khang in the monastery of Hemis; the figures were painted with the assistance of a couple of pupils. In 1983 he left his post at the Handcraft Centre in Leh, and was then appointed to teach painting at the Central Institute of Buddhist Studies in Choklamasar.

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In 1984-1985, with the help of Blo-bzang-stob-rgyas, he attended to the decoration of the new assembly hall in the mgon-khang at Likir, where again he displayed his skill in the depiction of wrathful deities such as Vajrabhairava, RematÈ and bSe-khrab-can. The iconographic programme painted on the walls in that temple includes several portraits of masters such as the yab-sras gsum, Atiáa and Mi-la-ras-pa. From 1988 to 1990, for three periods of a couple of months each, his pupils worked under his direction at the decoration of the assembly hall in the monastery of Chumathang, a dependency of Stakna; he drew the figures and returned occasionally to the temple to supervise his students’ work and give the last touches. The assembly hall was decorated with images including Buddhas as well as Padmasambhava flanked by two large figures of Ye-shes-mtsho-rgyal and MandaravÀ; the cycle of the four great guardian kings in the porch was drawn by the master and painted by his pupils. During the following years Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus, whose family belongs to the ’Brug-pa religious tradition, attended to the decoration of the assembly hall of the temple devoted to Padmasambhava in the small monastery of U-rgyan gling, built on the site of an ancient ’Brugpa hermitage at Nyemo and housing also a set of thang-kas painted by the master. The mural on the entrance wall inside the assembly hall bears the C.E. date 1994 in Tibetan figures, written after his pupils had applied the colours on his drawings. The images painted on the entrance wall include HayagrÈva, GaruÉa, VajrakÈla, MahÀkÀla, CakrasaÒvara, VajrapÀÖi, VajrayoginÈ, SukaÖãhÈ and RematÈ. The left wall is painted with the portraits of the following: Klong-chen, surrounded by Shri Singha, ShambunÀtha, ’Jigs-med-gling-pa and sGrub-dbang Shakya-shri; Padmasambhava, surrounded by Vajrasattva, Samantabhadra, MandaravÀ and Ye-shes-mtsho-rgyal; and Padma-dkar-po, surrounded by dGa’-rab-rdo-rje, Vimalamitra, Yong-’dzin Ngag-dbang-bzang-po and mThu-chen Chos-kyi-mgonpo. Between Ye-shes-mtsho-rgyal and Yong-’dzin Ngag-dbang-bzangpo there is the artist’s signature in dbu-med script with the date of completion: 7th August 1995. The opposite wall is painted with the images of the following: Vajradhara, surrounded by Khams-pa rDor-rgyal, Gling-chen-ras-pa, Tilopa and NÀropa; nÀkyamuni, surrounded by KÀáyapa, Maitreya, gTsang-pa rGya-ras and dBon-chen-ras-pa; and Mar-pa, holding the text of an unlikely ‘Mar-pa’i mGur-’bum’ as reported by the title inscribed on the book, and surrounded by gZhon-nu Seng-ge, Nyima-seng-ge, Mi-la-ras-pa and Dwags-po lHa-rje, namely sGam-po-pa.

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During the renovation of the temple the artist also repainted the old statues housed in the assembly hall. In 1999 Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus was commissioned to paint the hundred events of nÀkyamuni’s hagiography on the walls of the assembly hall in the Sa-skya-pa monastery of Thar-lam, founded in 1993 north-east of the Bodhnath stupa in the Nepal Valley. The job was completed in 2002 by a team of a dozen Ladakhi painters selected and led by the master, working for a couple a months a year for a total of about seven months. Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus was particularly pleased with the result of his work, in which he made use of at least one axonometric projection. In January 2002 the artist started preparing a series of 33 thang-kas measuring 89x57cm and based on drawings copied from a famous set of xylographs illustrating the 108 tales of Kßemendra’s AvadÀnakalpalatÀ as carved since the 1740s at the press of the monastery of Narthang.21 Each scroll represents at least three tales, except for the central one, depicting nÀkyamuni with four figures: his parents; King Udayana, who received the first painted portrait of the Buddha from BimbisÀra and worshipped it; and AnÀthapiØÉada, who was allowed by the great bodhisattva to fashion the first statue portraying him.22 Ladakhi monks fleeing Tibet in 1959 brought the xylographs used by the artist to Spituk monastery from which this commission came. Narthang is in Tsang (south-western Tibet) where Tshe-ring-dbang’dus’s former teacher, bDe-ba-pa-sangs, lived and worked before fleeing to India. However, there is more than that to link the Ladakhi painter to the tradition of southern Tibetan painting. The artist regards himself as a representative of the Tsang school of the sMan-ris tradition, which was established by the 15th century southern Tibetan painter sMan-bla-don-grub, with whom Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus believes he has a karmic connection. In conformity with the sMan-ris painting tradition, Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus resorts to a palette with deeper colours than those used by Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs (cf. Jackson 2002:154,163) and in his classes he has adopted sMan-bla-don-grub’s treatise on iconometry, which he illustrated for a Tibetan and Hindi edition published by the centre where he teaches.23 21

From Narthang this set spread all over Tibet and painters copied the xylographs in their drawings without modifying them; cf. Tucci 1980:440-441 and 564 with Jackson 1996:375 and 379 n. 854. 22 Cf. Tucci 1980:441 and Dabyab 1977:20-22. 23 De-bzhin-gshegs-pa’i sku-gzugs-kyi tshad-kyi rab-tu-byed-pa yid-bzhin-nor-bu. SugatakÀya ParimÀpa PrakaraÖa CintÀmaÖi of sMan-thaØ-pa-sman-bla-don-grub (Tibetan version and Hindi

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The great importance which this painter attributes to iconometry and drawing is demonstrated by the fact that he has prepared a new album of iconometric drawings meant for learners. Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus is an expert draughtsman and has also drawn the decoration of architectural elements—such as capitals and brackets of pillars—for temples. Furthermore, the artist has some experience as a sculptor: the family chapel of his residence at Nyemo houses not only thang-kas, but also statues modelled and painted by him. For painting thang-kas Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus uses both natural and artificial pigments: from mineral sources he obtains cinnabar, maroon purple (smug-po), ochre brown, ‘walnut’ yellow (from a kind of ochre), gold and white (gesso). According to him, all natural pigments are available in the Ladakhi soil, except azurite and malachite; cinnabar— used for both red and smug-po—is found in the Kyu and Markha districts. The painter obtains a kind of green from the leaf of a mountain plant of the genus Symplocos, known as zhu-mkhan, which is the source of a yellow dye and is used as mordant;24 he mixes this dye with indigo (rams) to obtain zhu-rams, a green colour he uses for the shading of clouds according to traditional practice (cf. Jackson 1984:117 and 178). The artist obtains his colours also from other sources, such as geranium petals. However, for orange, blue and greens that cannot be found locally, he resorts to synthetic pigments, which Tibetan painters adopted in the 19th century (cf. for example Béguin 1977:57 and Jackson 1984:79-83), although Pallis (1942:241) did not realize that by the 20th century their use had become traditional in Ladakh too. Like all traditional Ladakhi painters, Tshering-dbang-’dus prepares his colours in distemper, mixing pigments with water and glue, and pounding the mixture in a mortar. The glue used for painting may be obtained from different materials: fish or else bones, hides or horns from cattle. The role played by Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus in the preservation of traditional Buddhist painting in Ladakh can be hardly overestimated. His iconographic competence is witnessed by the huge variety of images—mostly identified by inscriptions—in the wall paintings and thang-kas produced by him during the latter half of the 20th century in translation), translated by Penpa Dorjee Shastri and edited by Ram Shankar Tripathi, Central Institute of Buddhist Studies, Leh, 1986. It is unfortunate that the painter’s contribution to this publication was not acknowledged by the editor. 24 During one of his interviews with the author, Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus added that zhu-mkhan is mixed with sgya (apparently a dried fruit similar to an apple?) in order to extract a red colour.

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dGe-lugs, bKa’-brgyud, rNying-ma and Sa-skya-pa monasteries in Ladakh and Nepal. An important exhibition devoted to this painter was held in Leh in the summer of 2004. Tshe-ring-dngos-grub The most skilled of all Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus’s former pupils is undoubtedly Tshe-ring-dngos-grub (b. 1944), who is regarded by some connoisseurs—such as the dGe-lugs scholar Thub-bstan-dpal-ldan—as the finest painter in Ladakh. Tshe-ring-dngos-grub was born in the village of Martselang to a family of farmers, and lives at Kara on the outskirts of Leh; he is a professional astrologer (dbon-po) as well as painter. Around 1960 he was impressed by the work of a painter decorating the woodwork in his family chapel. Six years later he decided to learn painting from Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus, and spent three months in the latter’s house at Nyemo. Less than two years after that, he was invited to work at the monastery of Trakthok to paint Tshering-dbang-’dus’s drawings on the walls of the O-rgyan pho-brang. He learnt quickly and worked very hard, apparently completing his task in about 20 days. In 1977 he spent three months painting a scroll representing the eleven-headed Avalokiteovara for the town hall of the village of Chemre and in the summer of the same year he painted the figures of Vajrabhairava and other deities drawn by Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus on the walls of the old assembly hall of bsKur-phug dga’-tshal gling, at Stok. During the same period he painted a thang-ka for the Tibetan monastery of Chi-med Rin-po-che at Choklamsar. Around that year he also painted a set of 17 thang-kas for the monastery of Maye: the central one represented nÀkyamuni with his ‘two best’ pupils, and the others the cycle of the sixteen sthaviras. During the winter 1977-1978 he painted a fine thang-ka portraying Padmasambhava with Guru Drag-po and Seng-ge-gdong-ma (Lo Bue 1991:85 pl. 68). By then, the artist was regularly commissioned to paint thang-kas by Tibetan people, who particularly appreciate the fineness of his work. His thang-kas are scattered in Ladakhi monasteries such as Trakthok, where the author saw a scroll painted by him in May-June 1978 then kept in the Dungdkar-g.yas-’khyil temple; bKra-shis-dge-’phel in Saboo, where the author saw a thang-ka depicting MañjuárÈ painted in June-July 1978 hanging unframed in the assembly hall; or the temple inside the royal palace at Shel, apparently housing two scrolls representing Samantabhadra by the same artist.

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In 1979 Tshe-ring-dngos-grub painted eight thang-kas depicting the cycle of nÀkyamuni’s ‘two best’ disciples and ‘six ornaments’—namely the greatest Indian Buddhist masters—as well as scrolls with portraits of Atiáa, Tsong-kha-pa and Padma-dkar-po for the sitting-room in the Rin-po-che’s apartment in Stakna monastery. In 1981-1982 he decorated the assembly hall of the temple of bKra-shis-dga’-’phel, at upper Saboo, for which he drew and painted arhats, wrathful deities, the 35 confessional Buddhas, Tsong-kha-pa, Padma-dkar-po (Fig.35), the cycles of the sixteen sthaviras with their two assistants and of Padmasambhava’s eight manifestations on the walls, as well as the images of Vajradhara with masters belonging to the ’Brug-pa lineage on cloth pieces to decorate the lantern.

Figure 35. Padma-dkar-po and sthaviras by Tshe-ring-dngos-grub. Sabu, bKra-shis-dga’-’phel, 1981-1982. Distemper. Photograph: Laura Jokisaari.

The artist then devoted himself exclusively to painting thang-kas, some of which are preserved in the monastery of A-po Rin-po-che in Manali. In 1985-1986, he painted a scroll with thirteen figures of

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Padmasambhava teaching as many secret oral instructions aimed at the spontaneous fulfilment of wishes (bsam-lhun man-ngag bcu-gsum). This thang-ka was placed behind the silver statue in the old temple devoted to Avalokiteovara below the royal palace at Leh. In 2001 the artist was commissioned by a Ladakhi lama living in France to paint a small scroll portraying Padmasambhava. The following year, during a visit to the painter, the author was able to admire two scrolls portraying Padmasambhava—one completed and measuring 44.5x30cm, the other just drawn and measuring 82x54cm—as well as two thang-kas representing the peaceful and wrathful deities of the bar-do. Rather than drawing his figures by means of inconometric grids, this painter copies his figures from older thang-kas using stencil paper and pounce in accordance with a technique that has been known and used in Tibet for centuries. In the artist’s residence, in September 2001, the author saw a thang-ka prepared with a drawing of Padmasambhava’s man-ngag bcu-gsum cycle as well as two stencil papers for pounce, one bearing numbers corresponding to colours. Like Tshering-dbang-’dus, Tshe-ring-dngos-grub makes his own brushes joining animal hairs in a simple clay holder and tying them to their wooden handle with cotton thread. Tshe-ring-dngos-grub does not wish to have pupils or compete for awards. His choosing to work on his own, concentrating on a limited high-quality production, makes the case of this Ladakhi painter rather similar to that of the Newar sculptor ‘Babu’ KÀjÈ VajrÀcarya (cf. Lo Bue 2002:144). Conclusions This survey is preliminary for two reasons: it cannot be exhaustive because of limitations of space; and the datings suggested for some images might be improved if only they could be checked against records—such as inventories and account books in monastic archives—and, in the case of Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring’s statues, against their own inscriptions, often hidden by the wooden frames of sealed cabinets in temples. In spite of such shortcomings, it affords an overall picture of the history of traditional Buddhist art in 20th century Ladakh, showing that artistic competence and aesthetic standards, when compared with much of the 19th century production, have improved in the last three decades of the past century, thanks to the work of outstanding artists such as Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus, Ngagdbang-tshe-ring, Ye-shes-’jam-dbyangs and Tshe-ring-dngos-grub.

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All the artists surveyed here belong to the Buddhist culture that originated in India and spread to Tibet, also through Ladakh. Their work has been deeply rooted in the Indo-Tibetan tradition in terms of iconography, iconometry, techniques, materials and style. All of them have had direct or indirect links with Tibet: Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin was invited to work there; Blo-bzang-tshul-khrims-chos-’phel, Ye-shes’jam-dbyangs and Ngag-dbang-chos-’phel were trained there; and Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus received his training in Ladakh from a Tibetan master. In turn, they have transmitted their skills to other artists: two of them—Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus and Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring—have been responsible for training more than a generation of Ladakhi painters and sculptors. Thanks to them, traditional Buddhist art has been preserved in Ladakh through the 20th century. Although new techniques and materials may have been occasionally adopted by these artists, no Ladakhi would view their work as representing a break from tradition. In fact Ladakhi artists have played a crucial role in preserving the Buddhist tradition in Ladakh. The majority of the local population speaks Ladakhi, but a large portion of it cannot read Tibetan and very few can write it properly: English, Hindi and Urdu are the languages used for higher education. Even today, in spite of a higher literacy rate, Buddhism is accessible to the majority of lay Ladakhis less through Tibetan canonical texts or the complex liturgy of tantric rituals than through the religious imagery illustrating the wheel of existence, nÀkyamuni’s hagiography, the rules of monastic life and the wealth of the Buddhist pantheon as represented by local artists in the temples of Ladakh. During one of the most troublesome periods in the history of Tibetan civilization, Ladakhi painters and sculptors have upheld the great Indo-Tibetan artistic tradition and contributed to the preservation of Buddhist culture not only in Ladakh, but even beyond, their reputation having spread from western Tibet to the Nepal Valley and southern India. REFERENCES Béguin, Gilles (Ed.). 1977. Dieux et démons de l’Himâlaya. Paris: Éditions des musées nationaux. Chandra, Lokesh. 1991. Buddhist Iconography. New Delhi: International Academy of Indian Culture and Aditya Prakashan. Clarke, John. 1989. “Chiling. A Village of Ladakhi Craftsmen and their Products.” Arts of Asia XIX, 3:129-142.

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Dagyab, Loden Sherap. 1977. Tibetan Religious Art. I. Texts. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Emmerick, Ronald. 1963. “Some Tibetan Medical Tankas.” In Aspects of Classical Tibetan Medicine:56-78 and following pls. Ed. Marianne Winder. Special issue of Bulletin of Tibetology. Gangtok: Sikkim Research Institute of Tibetology. Fiore, Gabriella. 2003. L’arte buddhista in Ladakh. Una tradizione vivente. M.A. dissertation. University of Bologna. Francke, August. 1926. Antiquities of Indian Tibet. II. The Chronicles of Ladakh and Minor Chronicles. Texts and Translations, with Notes and Maps. Reprint ed. 1992: New Delhi/Madras: Asian Educational Services. Gyaltsan, Jamyang (Ed.). 1995. The History of Ladakh Monasteries: dGon-rabs kungsal nyisnang. Leh: All Ladakh Gonpa Society. Jackson, David. 1996. A History of Tibetan Painting: The Great Tibetan Painters and Their Traditions. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. ______. 2002. “Weaving Hidden Threads: Lama Yeshe Jamyang of Nyurla, Ladakh: the Last Painter of the Drikung Tradition”. The Tibet Journal 27, 1-2:153-176. Jackson, David, and Janice Jackson. 1984. Tibetan Thangka Painting. Methods & Materials. London: Serindia. Jamyang, Amdo. 1984. New-Sun Self-Learning Book on the Art of Tibetan Painting. Mussoorie: Tibetan Homes Foundation. Lo Bue, Erberto. 1983. “Traditional Tibetan Painting in Ladakh in the 20th Century.” International Folklore Review 3:52-72. ______.1991. Tibet. Dimora degli dei. Milano: La Rinascente. ______.2002. “Newar Sculptors and Tibetan Patrons in the 20th Century.” The Tibet Journal 27, 3-4:121-170. Luczanits, Christian. 1998. “On an Unusual Painting Style in Ladakh.” In The Inner Asian International Style. 12th-14th Centuries:151-169. Ed. Deborah Klimburg-Salter and Eva Allinger. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Pallis, Marco. 1942. Peaks and Lamas. London: Cassell. Petech, Luciano. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh. c.950-1842 A.D. Roma: Istituto Italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente. ______.1978. “The ’Bri-guØ-pa Sect in Western Tibet and Ladakh”. In Proceedings of the Csoma de K rös Memorial Symposium:313-325. Ed. Louis Ligeti. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó. Peter, Friedrich. 1943. “The ‘Rin-ÈbyuØ’”. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Bengal. 9:1-28. Rig-’dzin-dpal-’byor. 1991. ’Bur-sku’i phyag-tshad #rgyal-ba’i sku-brnyan legs-par blta-ba’i me-long. Dharamsala: Centre for Tibetan Arts and Crafts. Rigal, Jean-Pierre. 1983. “Chilling, un village du Ladakh.” In Recent Research in Ladakh:167-181. Ed. Detlef Kantowsky and Reinhard Sander. München: Weltforum Verlag. Rizvi, Janet. 2001. Trans-Himalayan Caravans. Merchant Princes and Peasant Traders in Ladakh. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. sMan-bla-don-grub. 1986. De-bzhin-gshegs-pa’i sku-gzugs-kyi tshad-kyi rab-tu byed-pa yidbzhin-nor-bu. Sugatak§ya Parim§pa PrakaraØa Cint§maØi of sMan-thaØ-pa-sman-bla-dongrub (Tibetan version and Hindi translation). Ed. Ram Shankar Tripathi. Leh: Central Institute of Buddhist Studies.

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Snellgrove, David. 1987. Indo-Tibetan Buddhism. Indian Buddhists and Their Tibetan Successors. Vol. II. Boston: Shambhala. Snellgrove, David, and Tadeusz Skorupski. 1977. The Cultural Heritage of Ladakh. Vol I. Central Ladakh. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. ______.1980. The Cultural Heritage of Ladakh, Vol. 2, Zangskar and the Cave Temples of Ladakh. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Tucci, Giuseppe. 1937. Santi e briganti nel Tibet ignoto (Diario della spedizione nel Tibet occidentale, 1935). Milano: Ulrico Hoepli. ______.1980 Tibetan Painted Scrolls, Kyoto: Rinsen Book Co. Waddell, Laurence. 1971. The Buddhism of Tibet or Lamaism. Cambridge: Heffer.

THE IMPERMANENCE OF POWER: VILLAGE POLITICS IN LADAKH, NEPAL AND TIBET FERNANDA PIRIE The cold winter evenings of darkest January in the remote Ladakhi village of Photoksar are largely devoted to the business of keeping warm. In my host family we spent long hours sitting cross-legged on dirty goat skins, hands outstretched towards the yaks’ dung stove or a pile of smouldering, face-blackening sheep’s droppings while draughts blew the heat, along with the smoke, straight up through a hole in the roof. Over the weeks we settled into a pattern: the mother in charge of the stove assisted by the son’s wife, the father sitting in the warmth on the other side of it, the grandfather and grandmother, usually joined by the eldest son, around the other fire, myself teaching English to a younger son under the light near the stove. But as soon as guests walked in we would all leap up and re-arrange ourselves to give the newcomers the seats by the stove and one of the men would join them to pour tea and barley beer (chang). The basis of a dral-go1 (gral go) was being formed. If ever we hosted a party, a common event in the winter, a full line would form around the walls, starting at the stove. The dral-go is the line of seats or dancers into which Ladakhis organise themselves on every social occasion. Each new guest knows where to sit, depending on his age, but first fights to sit just lower than appropriate as his peers try to force him higher. Much has been made in the literature on Ladakh of the social stratification that is apparent in the dral-go.2 The lamas (bla ma) take the highest seats followed by the skudrag (sku drag), upper classes, and the drongpa (grong pa), commoners, with the garba (mgar ba), mon (mon)

1 This is often pronounced ‘bral-go’ in Photoksar. There are wide variations in Ladakhi pronunciation and I transliterate Ladakhi terms used in Photoksar according to the local dialect of that region, with the Wylie transliteration in brackets after the first usage. 2 See, in particular, Kaplanian (1981).

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and beda (’be dha), the outcaste blacksmith and musician families, at the bottom. The skudrag were the dominant class during the era of the kings but although their power has almost entirely been abolished and there are attempts to remove the impure stigma attached to the outcastes, the social hierarchy is still widely observed today. It is particularly prominent in Leh where the upper classes are well represented.

Illustration. The onpo and the amchi at the head of the dral-go during a festival in Photoksar in 1999. Photograph by the author.

In most villages, however, the vast majority of people are drongpa. A village of 50 households might have one Lonpo (blon po), a member of the aristocracy, and a couple of mon and garba families.3 In Photoksar, with 200 inhabitants, there are no upper class and no outcaste 3

The aristocracy account for around 2% of the population, the outcastes around 8% and the drong-pa the remaining 90% according to Gutschow (1998: 62). Aziz (1974) found similar proportions in the Dingri region of central Tibet.

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families. Unless there are lamas or important guests present, three village men take the upper seats in the dral-go. Highest is the onpo (dbon po), the astrologer. Second is the amchi (am chi), the practitioner of Tibetan medicine, and next sits the goba (’go pa), the village headman. Below them people take their places in either the women’s or the men’s line solely according to the year of their birth. Differences in wealth, between older and younger sons, between richer and poorer households, between full and dependent households, khangba (khang pa) and khangu (khang bu) are ignored. The dral-go imposes an order on every social occasion but it is based on the universal principles of age and gender, thus indicating substantial equality between individuals and their households. The practical importance of this equivalence amongst the drongpa has tended to be overshadowed in the literature by the prominence of the social hierarchy. Some writers (Dollfus 1984; Phylactou 1989) have seen it reflected in the spatial hierarchy of the household. Others have examined its modification in the modern urban setting by new forms of status (Erdmann 1983, Gutschow 1998, Srinivas 1998). However, the social hierarchy and the former power of the aristocrats which it reflects only represent one small part of the social and political order of the Ladakhi village. Equally dominant are counter-hierarchical principles. In this paper, I examine the way these principles manifest themselves in contemporary Ladakh and their impact on power and social organisation. My primary material was gathered during fieldwork in Photoksar, a relatively remote village of 40 households in the Lingshed area, but I relate what I observed there to historical and comparative material from the wider Ladakhi and Tibetan regions. Village organisation The dral-go, by indicating equivalence between individuals, also represents an equality between households within the village. There are larger and smaller, richer and poorer houses in Photoksar, but such differences are not readily acknowledged and do not confer social status on their members. Each household is treated the same as far as village obligations and privileges is concerned. Between khangba and khangu there is a difference in status. The khangba retains the greater part of the resources. It is the place of surplus production,4 able to host the chos-sil (chos gsil), religious events, and to pay the major taxes. Only

4

As Mills (2000:20-21) points out.

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the khangba provide the goba and the membar (mem bha5), his assistant. But I was surprised at how ready older generations are to move to the smaller khangu, even though it lacks the resources to host prestigious social events, until I realised that the move implies no loss of individual social status. The dral-go maintains the social equality. Within the household there are differences between the men, who go to village meetings, and the women, who do not; between the older members, who have greater responsibilities, and the younger; between the oldest man who has a special role in relation to divisions of property, and his juniors. But day to day these differences are only expressed weakly amidst a host of different roles, duties and expectations. Some work is gendered but most household tasks are shared and even the grandfather will leave his seat in the dral-go to go round the stove to help with the cooking if the need arises. Household organisation is characterised by a fairly equal division of tasks according to gender, habit and agreement. Although only the men attend village meetings, women express their opinions freely on any subject in the household and men discuss the proceedings with them in some detail. Authority and superiority are expressed to a minimum degree. When it comes to village politics a similar tendency to avoid entrenched status and hierarchy is evident. Although they enjoy social status the onpo and amchi have no superiority in political matters and exercise no special influence during village meetings. The nominal head of the village is the goba. He is the representative of the village vis-à-vis outsiders. He organises meetings, ensures everyone is aware of the onpo’s directions concerning the timing of agricultural events, and is responsible for settling disputes. However, it is not a post which is considered to require special individual qualities. It operates as a village tax which rotates between all full households like the obligations to organise festivals. The posts of the four membars, his assistants, also rotate. Any man can and every household must take its turn. Moreover, the post involves time-consuming work, expense and is unequivocally seen as a burden rather than a privilege. Power is balanced by responsibility. Given the temporary nature of the goba’s position, one might expect de facto leaders to have emerged in the village. There is some respect for elder men but one grandfather complained to me that he

5 This word is probably derived from the English and the spelling is as found in village documents.

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no longer had influence because he was getting old. Of course, some men talk more than others at meetings, and some are more respected than others, but this type of influence is never expressly acknowledged. When describing the events of a meeting, for example, they always report that ‘we’ decided this or that. There is no obvious social capital, indeed some individuals positively resist the acquisition of power and influence. The amchi in Photoksar, for example, is educated, clever and highly regarded but, when his term of office as goba was over, he strongly resisted attempts I saw to continue to involve him in the resolution of disputes. It was someone else’s turn, he would protest. On another occasion his son tried to throw his weight around by being physically aggressive to the school teacher but his father disciplined him severely for this behaviour. Any instinct to gain individual power is effectively quashed. So how are village decisions made? All important or innovative decisions are taken at the village meeting, a forum attended by all the adult men, the yulpa (yul pa). It is the yulpa that are the political authority of the village, taking decisions about the village taxes, the festivals, overseeing the water rotation and making new rules. They also act as ultimate arbiter in disputes, when a case is serious or the goba has been unable to resolve it. They impose fines on those who have been involved in fighting and ensure that all arguments are resolved with a ceremonial restoration of good relations. At the meeting a vote can be taken, one from each household, if necessary, but in practice consensus is almost always reached. Any man can attend and speak, as an individual rather than as a representative of his household. An ideology of unity and agreement pervades the activities of the yulpa. People describe the meeting as involving ‘everyone’, though only the adult males attend. Those who attend always report what ‘we’ decided and the written agreements that record their decisions always refer to the fact of agreement. The political and judicial authority of the yulpa in the village, therefore, is legitimated by the ideology of unity and agreement. The social hierarchy Despite the emphasis on equality found in the village, if members of the upper classes ever visit they are incorporated into the dral-go in senior positions. On one occasion some friends trekked out to visit me in Photoksar and I was surprised to see the lowliest horseman given high status in my household as a member of a kasdar family, a title

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bestowed by the Dogras on their tax collectors.6 It is not so long ago that these classes wielded real power and enjoyed extensive land holdings. The Alchi Lonpo was responsible for the Photoksar area, which meant raising taxes for the king, and the villagers talk about their fear of his power. Photoksar, like other remote villages, was quite far removed from the source of this power but most villages in central Ladakh had their own kalon (bka blon) or lonpo families. Their power remained well into the 20th century, many of them acting as officers in the Dogras’ administration after the conquest of the 1830s and 1840s and before Indian independence. Nevertheless, almost every village I enquired about in central Ladakh had established a system of goba by rotation at some point during the last century.7 Under the Dogras, when centralised taxes were burdensome, villages tended to select one goba for a period of years, a man who could deal effectively with the kasdar and his demands. But since taxes were abolished after Indian independence, most villages changed to a rotation system. In more than one place, including Photoksar, they explained this in terms of the difficulty in finding a ‘good man’, someone who would not abuse the power of a permanent post. The former ruling families no longer have any official status in the internal politics of their villages. In Alchi, where the goba is now selected by rotation, the Lonpo told me that, ‘now the people can do what they want.’ They still come to him to settle their disputes and even invited him to be their goba but he refused because of the burden that post would have entailed, he said. What was offered was a different form of power from that previously enjoyed by his class. The goba has a power that is matched by responsibility and controlled by the yulpa. In the 170 years since the Dogra invasion a system has therefore emerged in which autonomy over village affairs is held firmly within the village and positions of power rotate along with the taxes. Visible here, then, are two principles. Firstly, there is an antihierarchical force in a myriad of social forms and practices which counters the development of social stratification and permanent political hierarchies. Secondly there is a rotation of power so that it cannot concentrate in any single individual or group. Counterhierarchy and the impermanence of power characterise Ladakhi village politics. 6

The Dogras conquered Ladakh between 1834 and 1842 and subsequently ruled the region as part of the princely state of Jammu & Kashmir. 7 These included Lingshed, Nyeraks, Yulchung, Wanla, Khanji, Kaltse, Nurla, Hemis Shukpachan, Likir, Saspol, Mangyu, Phyang, Snyemu, Matho, Sakhti, Shara.

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The Tibetan region Remarkably similar elements are to be found elsewhere in the vast Tibetan region,8 suggesting that the Ladakhi phenomena cannot be explained simply as a reaction to the regional experience of the region’s own political processes and government. In lower Mustang, as noted by Charles Ramble (1993), almost all villages recruit their headmen and allocate other duties and positions of responsibility either by household rotation, by common consent or by lot. In one particular village, Te, the headmen are appointed annually by means of an elaborate game. All the villagers gather together and form into three groups, each group nominates a member of another and the selection is confirmed when two nominations happen to coincide. A large element of randomness therefore determines who sits at the top of the political hierarchy for the following year and wields, in the case of that village, real power. Mustang was also a kingdom in the 15th century and was subsequently ruled by local dukes. However, as Ramble says elsewhere (forthcoming: Ch 11), ‘the gradual reduction of the power of the dukes revealed a capacity for horizontal communication and a capacity for coherent political action among the non-noble ‘subjects’ that hinted at a well-established tradition of democratic civil society’. Philippe Sagant (1990) discusses three communities in Amdo and Nepal. The Tromo of Chumbi, in Nepal, selected their chiefs every three years in a process that began with nominations but in which the final determination was made by lot.9 Among the Sharwa of Amdo, Sagant found that the leaders of their many dangerous expeditions were initially nominated according to prowess: as singers, story-tellers, mediators, winners of races and competitions, qualities which were seen as being gifts from the gods. But the final choice was made by lot. In Nyi-Shang, the Marangi choose their headmen from among the youngest adult men in the village, again by lot. Their political system, he found, incorporated ideas of rotation, of equality between clans and ages and their headmen did not wield effective power. These various societies thus have different systems for selecting their leaders, but what is common is that an established hierarchy and ascribed statuses play no part. Rather, there is an element of random8

I am referring to all those areas, including Amdo, Kham, Bhutan, Mustang and other parts of Nepal, generally known as ‘ethnographic Tibet’, where the people are Tibetan in language, religion and culture. 9 This account is derived from Walsh 1906.

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ness in the selection of those who are to wield power and in all cases the appointments are impermanent. This produces a diffusion of power among an ever-changing group of leaders. Even in the Dalai Lama’s centralised administration in Tibet with its hierarchies and competition for status and power, we find some strikingly similar elements.10 The system of reincarnation, for one, allows for continuity of the office without the concentration of power in any family, lineage or place, at least in theory. Geoffrey Samuel (1993:152) summarises his overview of the region by saying that there is a tendency within institutions to avoid giving power to one person, for example through the appointment of two men, one lay and one monastic, to many official (dzong-pon) positions. Ter Ellingson (1989: 217-8), examining a large number of gonpa (dgon pa) constitutions, found that they carefully defined and controlled the power and authority of monastic office holders, which resulted in “the deconcentration and distribution of authority”. Although the gonpa constitutions generally defined the qualifications necessary for selection to office, certain high ranking individuals—such as the abbot of the Bonpo monastery of Man-ri— were chosen by lot or, as in the case of the Junior Tutor of the Dalai Lama, by putting candidates’ names into dough balls (as noted by Ramble 1993). What some might see as selection by chance is often explained as the work of the gods. This is the case among the Sharwa, the Tromo and the appointment of the Bonpo abbot and Dalai Lama’s tutor.11 However, this is not invariably the case. For example, Riaboff (1997:116) reports that the Zangskaris explicitly deny that any political power is derived from the local spirits.12 In Mustang, as we have seen, an elaborate game chooses the village headmen, and elsewhere selection is straightforwardly by lot or rotation. The authority of the chosen leader is therefore legitimated in very different ways, but each system has a common outcome: the randomness, diffusion and impermanence of power. The gods show their favour but may—even must—change their minds the following year. The game has to be repeated annually. Individual qualities and human decisions cannot determine the location of power. An external force, even if it is only a list of household names, intervenes to change and redistribute power. 10

See, for example, Goldstein 1973. It is this aspect of these systems that is the focus of Sagant’s article. 12 I regard with some scepticism her statement that the worship of the spirits, itself, affirms their power. As in Photoksar, they may, been deeply implicated in physical fortunes without being connected in any way with temporal power. 11

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Ladakh in historical context The underlying principles of equality and the impermanence of power that I have found in village politics in Ladakh are therefore echoed by similar features elsewhere in the Tibetan region. However, throughout most of its history, the small governing class that dominated Ladakh operated on very different principles, as indeed did that of the bureaucratic and hierarchical Lhasa regime. In Ladakh all land was nominally owned by the king. With the assistance of the kalons and lonpos, he waged wars, raised taxes, controlled trade and enforced labour obligations for both transport and battle. Local princes were made into ministers and aristocrats were elevated from commoner families, creating an endogamous ruling class. A permanent impermeable hierarchy, the one that is still recognised today in the dral-go, was created. But how and why did this emerge, and is it possible to detect any of the principles now apparent in village organisation during this period? To consider these questions it is necessary to examine the experience of government from a local perspective. The Ladakhi kingdom was established in the tenth century by a Tibetan family that had formerly wielded power in central Tibet but moved West after its collapse, and managed to unify a number of principalities that existed in the region.13 In Photoksar my informants referred to an earlier time of fighting between villages, of aggressive raids when they had to gather in a walled area and defend themselves with sling shots. In this period, they said, one of the village households was the head and provided a chief with real power in the village who could order the others around. In these uncertain times a strong leader with power to give commands was obviously needed in order to organise the defence of the community. Little is known about the princedoms that preceded the monarchy, but their chiefs were probably selected on the same basis. A local leader, that is, was allowed to emerge in order to unite the area and defend it against aggression and encroachment. A similar phenomenon marked the political power of the Sanusi of Cyrenaica, as described by EvansPritchard (1949). Bedouin society was originally organised along tribal lines without any overall political power, the only centralised body being the Sanusi religious order. However, at the time of the Italian invasions of the early 20th century the people needed political leaders to organise the whole area and resist the aggression, and looked to the Sanusi to fill this role. 13

The historical information is largely derived from Petech (1977).

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The earliest Ladakhi kings, by contrast, were outsiders. The chronicles, as noted by Petech, record that Ladakh was bequeathed to one of them by his father but suggest that he also had to effect conquests in the region and only succeeded in establishing an empire by forcing the local rulers to pay tribute to him. These kings went on to build gonpas and defend the area against attacks from Kashmir, Central Asia and Tibet, but initially the kings’ power was imposed on the area from outside by virtue of their military superiority. In Photoksar the villagers speak of the kings’ power as marking the coming of peace in the region. They continued to provide labour for the kings’ wars, but this point marks the end of inter-village fighting, according to their historical narratives. At some point, the villagers removed the power of their local leader. The excuse was that his family had been responsible for bringing small-pox into the village, but it is also highly likely that they simply did not need a strong leader any more in peaceful times. Then came the power of the Lonpo, a local man appointed by the king, though his family was later granted lands closer to the Indus and moved its residence to Alchi.14 However, he still remained nominally in charge of the Photoksar-Lingshed area, and was responsible for collecting taxes for the king. The villagers remember the harshness of his rule and the retainers who wielded big sticks to enforce his orders. Having got rid of their internal leader, the Photoksarpa therefore found that a Lonpo was imposed on them as a ruler by the king. Like the coming of the king’s own rule to Ladakh, which was established by virtue of military superiority, and unlike the elevation of the Sanusi to power by the people themselves, the Lonpo was imposed on them from the outside. However, the kings’ regime did not remain solely dependent on the sanction of force for its authority. As many writers recognise, very few regimes can survive on this basis alone, and leaders need to be seen to exercise a legitimate form of authority.15 In Ladakh, the kings achieved legitimacy for their rule as the bringers of peace and as patrons of the gonpas. Tibetan myths concerning the early kings link them with divinity or divine qualities (see, for example, Haarh 1968) and, as Riaboff (1997: 110) and Schwieger (1997) have noted, both Ladakhi and Zangskari kings claimed descent from and attributes of 14 The current Lonpo told me that his family only stayed in Photoksar a short while after the appointment and the move to Alchi was 20 generations ago during the time of Gyalpo Dragspo who held power in the area in the early 15th century. 15 As Abner Cohen says (1974: Ch 5) the power behind authority is always a composite of the political, the economic, the ritual and the moral.

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early Tibetan kingship. However, by the time the Ladakhi kings came to the area, Buddhism had already been introduced and over the next centuries it developed separate structures of power and influence, ultimately looking to the monastic centres of Tibet for religious authority. The kings became monastic patrons, while also taking a central role in the New Year and Spring rituals, which were not under the control of the monasteries (Ribbach 1986: Ch 7). In central Tibet the Dalai Lama was, first and foremost, a religious leader, uniting ritual with secular authority.16 The Ladakhi kings, by contrast, were only indirectly ritual chiefs and guarantors of prosperity. Over the centuries the kings institutionalised their authority by acquiring social superiority and conferring similar status on a small, endogamous ruling class of kalons and lonpos. However, the social hierarchy did not penetrate the whole of society, remaining just deep enough to legitimate the authority of the small ruling class. Kings and rulers might have come to be accepted as the bringers of peace, monastic patrons and protectors of the religion, their taxes may have been seen as necessary to wage wars and defend the region and the upper classes might have been acknowledged as their representatives. Nevertheless, within the relative stability of the Ladakhi kingdom the dominion of more localised rulers was not accepted. It was another matter in what can be presumed to have been the more unstable territories beyond it. Here rulers like the kings of Zangla (whose domain extended to just four villages) established themselves as the primary lords of the earth, closely protected by the local spirits (Riaboff 1997). Within the Ladakhi kingdom, however, the people were not willing to offer permanent superiority or power to local leaders. Ritual specialists, like today’s onpos, enjoyed social status without political power. So, to what extent were the rulers during the kings’ era accepted as authorities by the villagers in Ladakh? Did they carry out any form of administrative government beyond waging wars, raising taxes and controlling trade? The Alchi Lonpo told me that his ancestors ‘gave the law’ (khrims gtangs) in Photoksar and settled their disputes. After his family moved its residence to Alchi, closer to the centre of power, people would still come to them for mediation from the whole region, he said. However, his main duties were as one of the king’s ministers and contact with the remote villages was limited. Later Ladakhi kings did carry out some social administration in the region. When 16

Similar examples have been noted in Bali (Geertz 1980) and Fiji (Hocart 1969).

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Cunningham visited Ladakh in the mid 19th century, he found a judicial system in the capital. The kings had law officers assisted by elders and there was some ceremony to the legal proceedings (Cunningham 1854). However, it does not seem as through there was a body of law that was imposed at local level, nor that the justice system was easily accessible from the remoter areas. In other words, social control was not highly centralised.17 We can surmise that in Photoksar the villagers continued to make their own decisions about internal matters concerning agriculture, the distribution of resources, festivals and to settle disputes much as they do now. Other villages may well have been more closely dominated by the power of the upper classes but the rule of the king’s administration was principally about wars, trade and taxes, and penetrated very lightly into local affairs. The relationship between the people and their rulers in Ladakh was therefore an uneasy one. The aristocracy enjoyed social superiority but imposed their power through the threat of force. The kings had come from outside but acquired legitimacy and social superiority as peace bringers and religious patrons. Society was stratified but an ideal of equality is still to be found. The Ladakhi chronicles record that Jamyang Namgyal, who ruled in the late 16th to early 17th centuries, ‘equalised rich and poor three times’. As Petech remarks (1977: Ch IV), this statement appears to have been copied from the Tibetan chronicles which attribute the same activity to King Mutri Tsanpo (798-804). It probably records some tax reform but almost certainly reflects a Ladakhi ideal of kingship. The good king uses his power to ensure equality among his subjects. Within the villages the people probably retained a large measure of control over their own affairs and did not allow local hierarchies to develop. Following the decline of aristocratic power, during a period of light central control, it was these organising principles that came to the fore within village politics. Change in contemporary Ladakh Since Indian independence, a different form of central control has been exercised in Ladakh. Interference in village affairs remains light 17 A very similar position is visible in Tibet where the Lhasa regime exercised widespread economic control and asserted judicial supremacy but allowed considerable autonomy to regional lords (Samuel 1993: 62-3; Goldstein 1971: 171-5). The Sakya government, too, encouraged local dispute resolution while asserting itself to have ultimate judicial authority (Cassinelli and Ekvall 1969: 92, 122, 166; Dawa Norbu 1974: Ch 4; Goldstein 1971).

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and officials and the police are rarely seen in the remote villages. The State laws that abolished polyandry and primogeniture in the 1940s, for example, had no practical effect for many years and are still not acknowledged in remote villages like Photoksar. The central law courts are seen in the villages as a rather unsatisfactory resource for dispute resolution but not as the ultimate source of justice in legal matters. Everywhere people talk of the need to resolve disputes nangosla (nang ngos la), inside the community. The power of the goba was said by some of my Leh informants to be declining. “Formerly he was ‘everything’. Now he is just a minor revenue official,” said one. This may be true officially but in practice power over village administration, the water rotation, the organisation of festivals and all religious events, many property disputes, family break-ups and all fights and quarrels, remain subject to the authority of the village meeting and the goba, as its representative. This is true, not just in Photoksar, but as a rule throughout villages in central Ladakh. I asked about dispute resolution when discussing the new panchayat system with the former Leh goba, for example. “It is not part of the official panchayat duties,” he said, “but the panchayats will have to settle disputes. They have to be sorted out within the village.” Maintaining order remains a matter for internal control. The State and local governments are now more concerned with development and the distribution of benefits within the region than taxing its inhabitants. Most villagers regard government departments and the host of non-governmental organisations (NGOs) that work in Leh as an important source of money and other benefits. However, in Photoksar at least, the development activities of NGOs are not always welcomed. Those who encourage villagers to carry out programmes of development themselves, or to change their behaviour in some way are firmly—though passively—resisted. The people refuse to recognise the authority of the development workers as specialists who can tell them how to live their lives, even when this is directed at obtaining benefits they expressly desire. A more explicit attempt to impose central control in the villages was made by the Ladakhi Buddhist Association at the height of its powers during the agitation for autonomy in the early 1990s. It set up it own administrative and judicial structures in the form of local committees and tried to ensure that ‘a person of authority, competence and initiative’ was elected as headman (van Beek 1996: 323). However, the attempt to exert control from the centre was unsuccessful and has now largely been abandoned.

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On the other hand, the availability of benefits from government departments and NGOs has caused some villages to change their goba system. Even before the introduction of the panchayat form of government in April 2001, many villages had realised the benefit of selecting a goba who knows how to deal with officials for an extended term of office. However, there remains a striking reluctance in many places to implement such a change. In Alchi and elsewhere they told me that even though this system would be good for the development of the village they could not find any man sufficiently trustworthy as well as capable and willing, to undertake this role. The Lonpo, for his part, had refused. In other villages it has been a difficult and protracted process. The goba’s job is still marked by responsibility, as well as power, and the villagers remain reluctant to let power concentrate in a single set of hands. In the villages where they have allowed leaders to emerge, the results have sometimes been unhappy. NGOs invariably channel money through elected village committees which give significant power to those who are elected as their officers. Unlike the goba’s power, these posts are not marked by burdensome responsibility. Inevitably, it is men who are already used to dealing with the centre—because they have education or government jobs or are from upper class families—who obtain these positions and some have used them to wield power and influence in their villages. Factionalism and power struggles have resulted in places.18 In Photoksar a rather different and subtle form of conflict arose during my fieldwork. Like many remote villages, Photoksar does not often enjoy the presence of the teachers and medical assistants who are paid to work there. I therefore encouraged a local man, who had just passed his Class 12 exams, to apply to become a teacher in his own village. Discussing this in a village meeting the people at first seemed enthusiastic about having ‘one of our own’ to be a teacher. But, a few weeks later, I heard that someone had made a complaint about him to the education authority on an incomprehensibly trivial basis. The villagers did not offer me any explanation but a Western development worker thought this type of behaviour, apparently a form of jealousy, was actually par for the course. She said that it is common for the first people who reach positions of status in the modern administration to face hostility in their home villages. Such appointments disturb the embedded order of village equality. If Photoksar is to have a teacher, a

18

I have discussed these issues at length with local NGOs.

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position which brings a certain status, then some people would rather accept an outsider than accord superior status to one of their own. We can, therefore, still see two organising forces within modern Ladakhi village politics: on the one hand, the people retain control over social and political organisation and are reluctant to recognise any centralised or external authority; on the other they do their best to resist the establishment of hierarchies and the concentration of power. These forces may sometimes conflict, as in Photoksar, and the new material interests that have emerged in the modern economy are testing them severely elsewhere. However, they are proving remarkably resilient over time, as might be expected of principles found so widely throughout the Tibetan region. Acknowledgements This paper is based on 18 months of fieldwork carried out between 1998 and 2001, which was largely funded by the Economic and Social Research Council of Great Britain. My thanks go to Marcus Banks and David Parkin for their supervision of my doctoral work and to Martijn van Beek, Martin Mills and John Bray for their comments on this paper. REFERENCES Aziz, Barbara. 1974. “Some Notions about Descent and Residence in Tibetan Society.” In Contributions to the Anthropology of Nepal. Edited by C. Von FürerHaimendorf. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. van Beek, Martijn. 1996. Identity Fetishism and the Art of Representation: the Long Struggle for Regional Autonomy in Ladakh. Cornell University: Ph.D. Dissertation. Cassinelli, C.W. and Robert Ekvall. 1969. A Tibetan Principality: the Political System of Sa sKya. New York: Cornell University Press. Cohen, Abner. 1974. Two Dimensional Man. London: Routledge. Cunningham, Alexander. 1854. Ladák, Physical, Statistical and Historical: with Notices of the Surrounding Countries. London: W.H. Allen & Co. Dawa Norbu 1974. Red Star over Tibet. London: Collins. Dollfus, Pascale. 1989. Lieu de neige et de genévriers. Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Ellingson, Ter. 1989. “Tibetan Monastic Constitutions.” In Reflections on Tibetan Culture. Edited by L. Epstein and R. Sherbourne. Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press. Erdmann, Ferry. 1983 “Social Stratification in Ladakh.” In Recent Research on Ladakh. Edited by D. Kantowski, and R. Sander. Munich: Weltforum Verlag. Evans-Pritchard, E.E. 1949. The Sanusi of Cyrenaica. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Geertz, Clifford 1980. Negara: the Theatre State in 19th Century Bali. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Goldstein, Melvyn. 1971. “Balance Between Centralization and Decentralization in Traditional Tibetan Political Systems.” Central Asiatic Journal 15(3):170-82. ______. 1973 “Circulation of Estates in Tibet: Reincarnation, Land and Politics.” Journal of Asian Studies 32(3):445. Gutschow, Kim. 1998. An Economy of Merit: Women and Buddhist Monasticism in Zangsgar, North West India. Harvard University: PhD Dissertation, Department of Anthropology. Haarh, Erik. 1969. The Yar Lun Dynasty. København: G.E.C. GAD’s Forlag. Hocart, A.M. 1969. [1927]. Kingship. London: Oxford University Press. Kaplanian, Patrick .1981. Les Ladakhi du Cachemire. Paris: Hachette. Mills, Martin. 1997. “The Religion of Locality. Local Area Gods and the Characterisation of Tibetan Buddhism.” In Recent Research on Ladakh 7:309-328. Edited by Thierry Dodin and Heinz Räther, Ulmer Kulturantropologische Schrifte Band 9. Ulm: Ulm Universität. Petech, Luciano. 1977. The Kingdom of Ladakh c.950-1842. Serie Orientale Roma LI Rome: Is.M.E.O. Phylactou, Maria. 1989. Household Organisation and Marriage in the Ladakh Indian Himalayas. London School of Economics: PhD Dissertation, Department of Anthropology. Ramble, Charles. 1993 “Rule by Play in Southern Mustang.” In Anthropology of Tibet and the Himalaya. Edited by Charles Ramble & Martin Brauen, Zürich: Ethnological Museum of the University of Zürich. ______. (forthcoming). The Navel of the Demoness: Tibetan Buddhism and Civil Religion in the High Himalayas. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Riaboff, Isabelle 1998. “Chos Rgyal et Lha Chen: Dimensions Religieuses de la Figure Royale au Zanskar.” Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religions 99: 105-28. Ribbach, S. H. (1986) Culture and Society in Ladakh. J. Bray (trans.). New Delhi: Ess Ess. Sagant, Philippe 1990. “Les tambours de Nyi-shang (Nepal).” In Tibet: civilisation et société: colloque. Paris: Éditions de la Fondation Singer-Polignac. Samuel, Geoffrey 1993. Civilized Shamans: Buddhism in Tibetan Societies. Washington and London: Smithsonian Institution Press. Schwieger, Peter. 1997. “Power and Territory in the Kingdom of Ladakh.” In Recent Research on Ladakh 7:427-434. Edited by Thierry Dodin and Heinz Räther, Ulmer Kulturantropologische Schrifte Band 9. Ulm: Ulm Universität. Srinivas, Smriti 1998. The Mouths of People, the Voice of God: Muslims and Buddhists in a Frontier Community of Ladakh. Delhi: Oxford University Press.

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS JOHN BRAY is Honorary Secretary of the International Association of Ladakh Studies (IALS). His publications include A Bibliography of Ladakh (Warminister, 1988; new edition forthcoming), and a series of research papers on the history of Ladakh and Tibetan border areas. PHILIP DENWOOD is Reader in Tibetan Studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies in the University of London. His main publications include The Tibetan Carpet (Warminster 1974); “Temple and Rock Inscriptions at Alchi” in The Cultural Heritage of Ladakh Vol.2 (Edited by David Snellgrove and Tadeusz Skorupski, Warminster 1980); and Tibetan (Amsterdam 1999). JACQUELINE FEWKES is an assistant professor of Anthropology at Harriet L. Wilkes Honors College of Florida Atlantic University. Her Ph.D. in Anthropology is from the University of Pennsylvania. She is currently working on an expanded version of a research project on trade in Ladakh from an ethno-historical perspective. AUGUST HERMANN FRANCKE (1870-1930) served as a Moravian missionary in Ladakh and Lahul from 1896 to 1908. In 1909-1910 he undertook historical research in Ladakh on behalf of the Archaeological Survey of India, and returned to Ladakh to conduct further research in 1914. In 1925 he became Professor of Tibetan at Berlin University. NICOLA GRIST (1957-2004) first visited Ladakh in the 1970s, and conducted anthropological research in both the Indus and the Suru valleys. Her Ph.D thesis was on Local Politics in the Suru Valley. CHRISTIAN HEYDE studied architecture in Berlin from 1986-93, and continues to live and work in the city. He is a descendant of Wilhelm and Maria Heyde. Since 1998, he has been studying the history of the Moravian mission in the Himalayas, and plans to write a book based on his researches.

396

CONTRIBUTORS

NEIL HOWARD is a private scholar specialising in the military history and architecture of the India and Nepalese Himalaya. ABDUL NASIR KHAN is an Intern at American Friends Service Committee (National Office USA). He is a graduate of Government Degree College Bemina College Srinagar of Kashmir University. He has worked on several research projects on Ladakh. ERBERTO LO BUE is associate professor in Indology and Tibetology at the Department of Linguistic and Oriental Studies of the University of Bologna, where he teaches history of Indian and Central Asian art. Since 1972 he has carried out fieldwork in the Himalayas, Tibet and India—four times in Ladakh—and most of his publications are devoted to the artistic and cultural history of those regions. CHRISTIAN LUCZANITS focuses his research on the Buddhist art of India and Tibet. He has conducted extensive field research and documentation in the western Himalayas for more than a decade. His main affiliation is with the Institute for South Asian, Tibetan and Buddhist Studies at the University of Vienna, Austria. PETER MARCZELL is a retired economic adviser, still active in Switzerland as an art and film critic and a scholar of cultural history. He has published more than 60 papers and articles related to Csoma KŐrösi. He is the author of A valósabb KIJrösi Csoma-képhez – adatok, terepvizsgálatok, találkozások [For a Truer Image of Csoma KIJrösi—Data, Explorations, Encounters], Budapest: Püski, 2003. JIGAR MOHAMMED is Professor of History at the University of Jammu. He is the author of Revenue Free Land Grants in Mughal India. Awadh Region in the 17th and 18th Centuries (Delhi, 2002). FERNANDA PIRIE obtained her PhD at Oxford University with a thesis on conflict resolution in Ladakh and is now carrying out comparative research on Tibet at the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology in Halle. POUL PEDERSEN is Associate Professor at the Department of Anthropology, University of Aarhus, Denmark. He has conducted field studies in India (Tamil Nadu and Ladakh), and is the author of articles on widow-burning; caste and colonial bureaucracy in India;

CONTRIBUTORS

397

Christian missionaries in India; religion, ecology and identity; Tibetan Buddhism; Multiple Personality Disorder; and the history of anthropology. JANET RIZVI, who holds a PhD. in history from Cambridge, is a freelance researcher specializing in the western Himalaya, particularly Ladakh where she lived for two years and with which she retains a close connection. She is the author of Ladakh, Crossroads of High Asia (New Delhi: OUP, 2nd edition 1996) and Trans-Himalayan Caravans, Merchant Princes and Peasant Traders in Ladakh (New Delhi: OUP, 1999). GABRIELE REIFENBERG spent her working life in university/ college administration. On retirement she took a TEFL course and then taught English to members of the Women’s Alliance of Ladakh and a variety of other students in the region. She has written the first English cookery book about Ladakhi food, Ladakhi Kitchen (Leh: Melong Publications, 1998). PETER SCHWIEGER is Professor of Tibetan at the University of Bonn. He has conducted research on the history, language and literature of Kham and Central Tibet as well as Ladakh. NAWANG TSERING SHAKSPO is the head of the Leh branch of the Jammu & Kashmir Academy for Art, Culture and Languages. TASHI STOBDAN was born in Stok, Ladakh in 1929, and received his Tibetan education from Geshe Ye-shes-don-grup. He is a former J&K government official. ROBERTO VITALI is a researcher based in Kathmandu and Dharamsala. His publications include Early Temples of Central Tibet (London, 1990), The Kingdoms of Gu.ge Pu.hrang (Dharamsala, 1996) and numerous articles on Tibetan history. K. WARIKOO is Director of the Central Asian Studies Programme at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, and Secretary General of the Himalayan Research and Cultural Foundation (India). He is the author of Central Asia and Kashmir: A Study in the Context of Anglo-Russian Rivalry. (New Delhi: 1989), and editor of the quarterly journal Himalayan and Central Asian Studies.

398

CONTRIBUTORS

BETTINA ZEISLER is currently based at the University of Tübingen. Her main field of interest is the linguistics of Old Tibetan, Classical Tibetan, and the Ladakhi spoken language (‘phalskat’). She has conducted fieldwork in Ladakh in 1994, 1996, and regularly every year since 2002.

INDEX Abul Fazl, 154, 155 Ain-i-Akbari, 154, 155 Akbar, 154, 155 Alchi, 9, 73-89, Altitude sickness, 152 Amdo dialect, 5, 31-40, 53-59, Anthropology, 293-298 Aurangzeb, 12, 147, 158, 160 Bakula, Kushok, 21, 344, 346, 350 Baltistan, 4,5, 8, 11, 13, 14, 21, 27, 31, 32, 33, 35, 147, 148, 150, 153, 155160, 175, 176, 179, 237, 239, 310, 315 Balti language, 31-40, 41-64, Baranî, 115, 117 Basgo, 9, 11, 12, 69-72, 87, 353 Bashahr, 218-239 bDe-ldan-rnam-rgyal, 10, 11, 12, 158, 167-174 Bernier, François, 147, 157-160 bKa’-brgyud-pa (Kagyüpa), 75, 76, 89, 90, 97, 102, 103, 104, 110 bKra-shis-rnam-rgyal, King, 164 Bonaparte, Marie, 299, 301-304, 307 ’Bri-gung-pa, 9, 10, 101, 104, 105, 106, 111, ’Bri-gung-pa art style, 73, 75, 76, 90, 353, 356, 357, 358, 360, 367 British Joint Commissioner, 222-230, 247 ’Brug-pa bKa’-brgyud-pa, 9 Burnes, Alexander, 184, 187, 199-200 Carey, William, 251-253, 258-259 Cayley, Dr, 18, 222, 229, 230, 246, 247 Central Institute of Buddhist Studies, 357, 364, 369, 372 Chaghatai Mongols (sTod Hor), 105108, 114, 116, 118, 119, 121 Changpas (Champas), 150, 151, 309, 310, 315 Changthang, 31, 32, 37, 38, 55, Chemre, 309, 310, 363, 369, 373 China,13, 23, 117, 118, 235-237 Ch’ing dynasty, 235, 236 Choglamsar, 364, 368, 373

Chos-kyi-nyi-ma (6th Panchen Lama), 338, 339 Church Missionary Society, 241, 253257, 261-264 Clark, Robert, 20, 263-264 Colonial officials, kinship neworks, 327328 Csoma de KIJrös, A., 8, 16-17, 183, 185187, 188-193, 203-216, 259 Cunningham, Alexander, 7, 16, 17, 217-234, 390 Customs duties, 328-329 D’Almeida, Diogo, 14 Dards, 5, 66, Darjeeling ‘Moravians’, 260-261 Deldan Namgyal see bDe-ldan-rnamrgyal Delhi Sultanate, 101, 103, 108. 112, 114, 117, 118 De-mur, 199, 100, 118, 119 Desideri, Ippolito, 15,135-136, 250, 267 dGa’ldan-tshe-dbang, 167 Dogra invasion of Ladakh, 16-17, 178, 237-240, 384 Dogra invasion of Tibet, 17, 237-240 dPe-thub, 140-142, 337, 350 Dral-go (gral-go) 379-381 Dras, 164, 310, 326 Drew, Frederic, 18, 223-233 Drigung see ’Bri-gung Drukpa Kagyüpa see ’Brug-pa bKa’brgyud-pa Dunhuang, 44, 46, 49. 55, East India Company, 183, 185, 208, 209, 246, 249, 252, 254, 255, 262 Education, 281-292 Education, monastic, 336-340 Forsyth, T.D., 246 Francke, A.H, 1, 16, 17, 20, 21, 27, 65, 67, 68, 70, 72, 78, 80, 91, 125, 126, 131, 134, 140, 177, 212, 213, 281-292 Freud, Sigmund, 20, 301-305 Galden Tsewang, 167 Gartok, 239, 240

400 Gerard, Alexander (junior), 185 Gerard, Dr James G. 16, 183-202, 205, 209 Gerard, Patrick, 184-185 Gergan, Joseph (Yoseb), 2, 7, 213, 281, 298, 341 Gilgit, 239, 246 Globalisation, 330-333 Goepper, Roger, 65, 73, 74, 76, 77, Gold fields, Western Tibetan, 133, 134, 138, 143, 152 Golok, 31, 33, 34, 37 Grags-’bum-lde, 140-143 Grags-pa-’bum-lde, 348 Guge (Gu-ge), 1, 6, 8, 9, 12, 15, 97, 125, 126, 132, 134, 138, 140, 141,142, 152 Gulab Singh, Maharaja, 1, 16, 17, 217, 218, 235, 237-241, Gützlaff, K.F., 264, 271 Gya 11, 165 Gyajung Nagpo, 181-182 Gya-pa cho, 181 Habibullah, Haji Mohammad, 241-244 Haidar Dughlat, Mirza, 8, 116, 117, 134-136, 147-153, 180 Harcourt, A.F.P., 227, 228, 229 Hedin, Sven, 209, 210, 212 He-na-ku (Heniskot) 11, 167-174 Heyde, A.W, 20, 249, 250, 259, 262, 264-266, 271-280 Heyde, Maria, 20, 271-280 Holdich, Sir Thomas, 31, 38 Hoshiarpur, 24, 330 Hunza, 235-237, 244-246 Hunza, tribute to China, 236-237 Inayat Khan, 147, 155-157 Iran, Islamic education in, 179, 180 Iraq, Islamic education in, 179, 180 Islam, history of, 9, 11,13, 14, 25, 26, 175-180 Jacquemont, Victor, 206, 211, 212 Jahangir, 155 ’Jam-dbyangs-rnam-rgyal (Jamyang Namgyal, King, 12, 337, 390 Jammu, 312, 313, 315, 337 Jammu & Kashmir Academy of Art, Culture and Languages, 26, 350, 351 Jäschke, H.A., 249, 250, 266-268, 273276 Jo-khang, Leh, 358 Jonaraja, 20, 110-115, 117, 125, 126, 131, 132, 135, 137

INDEX Kagyüpa see bKa’-brgyud-pa Kailash, Mount, 12, 23, 337, 341 344 Kanam, 187, 204, 206, 208, 209, 210 Kargil, 23, 175-179, 311, 312, 313, 315, 325, 326, 330 Karsha, 317, 318 Kartse, 175, 176, 177, 180 Kashgar, 5, 9, 148, 149, 159, 310, 323, 330 Kashmir, 101, 111-117, 235-238, 309315, 323, 326, 328 Khalatse, 6, 17, Kham, 5, 31-40, Khan family, 321-340, Khan, Hashmatullah, 2, 157, 176 Khotan, 5, 19, 150, 236, 241-244, 323, 325, 326 Khwaja family, 13, 326 Kinnaur, 183, 184, 187, 274 Kinship networks, 324-327 Kiraiyakash, 20, 310, 311 Kokand, 241, 243, 247 Kotgarh, 249, 261-266 Kulu, 125-130, 134, 217-220, 222, 230, 272, 310, 315-318 KußÀÖa empire, 66, Kyelang, 273-279 Kyrgyz, 235-237 Ladakh Buddhist Association (LBA), 24, 346, 348, 391 Ladakhi kingdom, Regional administrators 177, 178 Ladakhi kings, Dynastic history, 98-100 Style of documents, 164-169 Officials, 166-167 Sources of legitimacy, 10, 11, 387-390 Ladakhi language, 3, 20, 21, 25, 32-34, 41-64, 346 Ladakh-Tibet-Mughal war (1679-1684), 12, 160, La-dvags-rgyal-rabs, 7, 8, 10, 16, 99, 109111, 125, 126, 136-141, 143, 148, 176 Lahul, 217-234, 273-278, 297, 297 Lamayuru, 87-90, 354, 355, 358, 359 Lamdon Society, 349 Lang Darma (Lang-dar-ma), 6 36 Latter, Barré, 253-257 Leh, 135-137, 140, 273, 275, 278, 281292 Lhachuse, 80, 81 Likir, 363, 365, 366, 370 Lingti Plain, 217-234 Lo-phyag (Lopchak), 12,13, 18, 19, 337

INDEX Mahmud Hamdani, Sayyid, 177 Malinowski, Bronislaw, 21, 293, 295, 296, 300, 306 Mangyu, 73, 80, 82, 86, Mar-yul, 99, 100, 102, 103, 110, 118, 120, 121 132, 134, 136, 137, 138, 140, 141, 143 Matho, 181, 182 Metcalfe, C.T. 188, 193,195,196, 200, 257 Migrant labour, 311-318 Minsar, 12, 13, Mirza Haidar Dughlat see Haidar Dughlat, Mirza mKhar-bu, 164,167 mNga’-ris-skor-gsum, 6, 97-106, 117, 121 Mo-gol, 100, 118, 119, 120 Moorcroft, William, 15, 176, 177, 178, 205, 207, 210, 211, 246 Moravian Mission, 20-21, 249, 264-268, 271-280, 281-292, 341 Mughal emperors, 8, 11, 12, 13, 154160, 175, 176 Mulbekh, 68, 162 Mustang, 385-386 Narthang, 371 New Year (lo-gsar), 3, 17, 337 Ngag-dbang-tshe-ring, 25, 360-365 Non-governmental organisations (NGOs) 391. 392 Nubra, 148, 149, 177, 310 Nyams-gso Society, 340 Nyarma (Nyar-ma), 9, 70, 72, 132, 133, 137, 140, 143 Nyemo, 363, 365, 370, 372, 373 Nyi-ma-rnam-rgyal, King, 15, 162, 165, 169, 181 Oedipus complex, 294, 295, 302-306 Oral history interviews, 324, 330, 332, Padum/Padam, 316 Pagell, Eduard, 20, 249, 250, 259, 262, 264-266, 271-274 Painting, pigments, 368, 369, 372 Pakistan, wars with, 23 Pallis, Marco, 345, 354-358, 372 Panikhar, 179, 312 Pashkyum, 176 Pashmina wool, trade in, 175 Petech, Luciano, 2, 7, 90, 107, 109, 112, 126, 133, 137-140, Peter, Friedrich E., 341,

401

Peter, Friedrich A.. 354, 357 Peter, Prince of Greece and Denmrk, 21, 293-308 Phiyang, 353, 355, 357, 360, 361 Photoksar, 24, 379-394 Phugtal (Phuktal), 128, 130, 204, 209, 210 Polo, 178 Polyandry, 293-308, Prochnow, J.D., 20, 261-263, 272 Purang, 1,6, 8, 10, 11, 12, Pseudonyms, use of, 203-204 Psychoanalysis, 301-302 Punjab, 310-313, 315 Purig, 3, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 20, 26, 27, 161, 162, 164, 167, 175-180, 311-316 Purig (Purik) dialect, 56-59, Qarâchîl expedition, 115-118, Rajatarangini, 99, 110-114, 125, 126, Rampur, 238-240 Ranbir Singh, Maharaja, 18, 226 Rangdum monastery, 178 Ranjit Singh, Maharaja, 217, 235, 241, 244-247 Raskam, 236, 237 Rasool Galwan, 321 Religious art, 20th century, 22, 353-378 rGya see Gya Ridzong (Ri-rdzong), 353 Rin-chen, rgyal-bu, 8, 109-115 Rin-chen-bzang-po, 8, 9, 51, 52, 65, 73, 74, 75, 87, 129, 132, 367 Rock carvings, 6, 67, 68, Rudok (Ru-thog), 102, 103, 118, 133, 134, 136, 138, 240 Rupshu, 1, 2, 297 Russia in Central Asia, 241-247 Sabathu, 194, 186, 187, 188, 189, 193, 194, 199, 207, 211 Sabu (Sa-bu), 99, 110, 346, 349 Sahni, Pandit D. R., 125, 126, 131, 134 Said Khan, Sultan, 148, 149 Sangra, 176 Sani, 66, 317, 318 Sankhoo, 176 Sa-skya, 97, 98, 101-107, 112, 117, 119, 120, 121, Schmidt, I.J., 259 Schools, 281-292, Schröter, F.C.G., 253-257 Seng-ge-rnam-rgyal, King, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

402

INDEX

Shah family, 326 Shahjahan, 147, 155-158 Sh’akya-rgya-mtsho, 167 Sham, 309, 310 Shaw, Robert, 18, 223-233, 327 Shey (Shel), 99, 100, 119, 125, 131, 132, 133, 136, 137 Shigar, 154, 156, 159 Silk, trade in, 332 Simla, 311, 312, 313 Skardu, 149, 150, 156, 176, 310 sKyi-lde Nyi-ma-mgon, 6 Social stratification, 379-381, 383-384 Srong-brtsan-sgam-po(Songtsen Gampo), 5, 35, 41, 47-49 Spiti, 1, 6, 8, 11, 17 Spituk. See dPethub, Sras Rinpoche, 21, 344, 348, 353, 367, 369, 370 sTag-sna, 164 Stag-tshang Rinpoche,347 sTag-tshang-ras-pa, 10, 165 Stakna, 363, 370, 374 sTod Hor see Chaghatai Mongols Stok, 11, 17, 22, 181-182, 335, 335, 345, 346, 347, 361, 365, 369, 371 Sumda, 83-86, Suru, 67, 68, 311-315 Suru, Islam in, 175-180

Tsarap river, 217, 220, 221, 226-231 Tshe-brtan-phun-tshogs (Tsetan Phuntsog), 298, 346 Tshe-dbang-rig-’dzin, 22, 354-358 Tshe-dbang-rnam-rgyal, King 126, 163 Tshe-dpal-rnam-rgyal, King, 181 Tshe-ring-dbang-’dus, 22, 365-373 Tshe-ring-dngos-grub, 22, 373-375 Tshul-khrims-rdorje, 181 Tsongkha, 36 Tsong-kha-pa, 130, 138-140 Tughluq Sultans, 101, 103, 109, 114 Tucci, Giuseppe, 341 Turkestan, Eastern, 31, 222, 235-238 See also Kashgar, Khotan, Yarkand Uighur language, U-rgyan-pa, 99, 101, 102, 115, 116 Union Territory status, Ladakhi demand for, 1, 24 Utpala, King, 126-127,

Tabo, 71, 72, 78, Taklakot, 240 Tarikh-i-Rashidi, 134-136, 147-153 Tashi Lhunpo, 25, 337-340, 344, 347, 350, Tharchin, Babu, 344, 345 Theosophical Society, 342 Thi Namgyal, 176 Thi Sultan, 176 Thomson-Glover, J.W., 327 Thonmi Sambhoãa, 41, 43-45, 51, 52 Thub-bstan-rgya-mtsho (13th Dalai Lama), 339 Tibet/Dogra treaty (1842), 17. 240 Tibet/Kashmir treaty (1853), 240 Tibetan dictionaries, 258-259, 268 Tibetan/Bodhi/bod-yig, script, 41-53, Tingmosgam (Temisgam), Treaty of, 12, 218 Tiseru stupa, 69, 139, 142 Toosh, 159 Trade, long-distance, 2, 3, 19, 20, 235, 238-240309-310, 321-334, Trebeck, George, 176, 177, 178, 185, 186, 189, 192, 194

Yaks, Mughal accounts of, 151, 153, 154, 157, 158 Yakub Beg, 18, 235, 236, 243-247 Yarkand, 149, 150, 185, 310 326, 327, 328, 330 Yarlung dynasty, 4, 5, 7, 32, 24,35, 36 Ye-shes-‘jam-dbyangs, 22, 358-360 Ye-shes-don-grup, Geshe, 22, 25, 335352, 335-352 Younghusband, Sir Francis, 327 Yuan dynasty, 101, 102-107, 112, 117121

van Manen, Johan, 342-343 Vans Agnew, P.A., 17, 218-220, 223, 226, 231, Village politics, 379-394 Wanla, 78, 80, 82, 83, 89, 90, WaÒle Treaty (1753), 161 Wood carvings, 80-86

Zafar Khan, 155-157, Zain ul-Abidin, Sultan, 8, 125-146, Zangla, 204, 207, 210 Zangskar, 3, 6, 9, 20, 23, 128, 130, 136, 140, 162, 204, 206, 207, 272, 316318, 386 Zhangzhung, 35-38 Zorawar Singh, 16, 17, 235-240

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Martin, D. Life and Contested Legacy of a Tibetan Scripture Revealer, with a General Bibliography of Bon. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12123 4 2.1 Blezer, H. (ed.). Tibetan Studies I. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12775 5 2.2 Blezer, H. (ed.). Tibetan Studies II. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12776 3 2.3 Ardussi, J., & H. Blezer (eds.). Tibetan Studies III.2002. ISBN 90 04 12545 0 2.4 Epstein, L. (ed.). Visions of People, Place and Authority. 2002 ISBN 90 04 12423 3 2.5 Huber, T. (ed.). Society and Culture in the Post-Mao Era 2002. ISBN 90 04 12596 5 2.6 Beckwith, C.I. (ed.). 2002. ISBN 90 04 12424 1 2.7 Klimburg-Salter, D. & E. Allinger (eds.). 2002. ISBN 90 04 12600 7 2.8 Klieger, P.C. (ed.). Voices of Difference. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12555 8 2.9 Buffetrille, K. & H. Diemberger (eds.). 2002. ISBN 90 04 125973 2.10 Eimer, H. & D. Germano. (eds.). 2002. ISBN 90 04 12595 7 3. Pommaret, F. (ed.). Lhasa in the Seventeenth Century. The Capital of the Dalai Lamas. 2003. ISBN 90 04 12866 2 4. Andreyev, A. Soviet Russia and Tibet. The Debacle of Secret Diplomacy, 1918-1930s. 2003. ISBN 90 04 12952 9 5.2 Opgenort, J.R. A Grammar of Wambule. Grammar, Lexicon, Texts and Cultural Survey of a Kiranti Tribe of Eastern Nepal. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13831 5 5.3 Opgenort, J.R. A Grammar of Jero. With a Historical Comparative Study of the Kiranti Languages. 2005. ISBN 90 04 14505 2 6. Achard, J.-L. Bon Po Hidden Treasures. A Catalogue of gTer ston bDe chen gling pa’s Collected Revelations. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13835 8 7. Sujata, V. Tibetan Songs of Realization. Echoes from a SeventeenthCentury Scholar and Siddha in Amdo. 2005. ISBN 90 04 14095 6 8. Bellezza, J.V. Spirit-mediums, Sacred Mountains and Related Bon Textual Traditions in Upper Tibet. 2005. ISBN 90 04 14388 2 9. Bray, J. (ed.). Ladakhi Histories. Local and Regional Perspectives. 2005. ISBN 90 04 14551 6