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I had been for two nights and one day without food, and, what with the exertion of the fight and my various exciting experiences during that time, my appetite was very keen. The great politeness and consideration with which not only the Rupun, but even the soldiers, now treated me made me suspect that my end was near. I was grieved not to be able to obtain news of Chanden Sing and Mansing.
With much trouble I rescued Mansing from the clutches of my other men, who wanted to punish the poor leper severely. In order that this might not happen again, I ordered Mansing to carry a heavy load of photographic plates and instruments, which I thought would not prove quite so appetizing. While we were camping a flock of some six hundred sheep appeared, and with them some Tibetans.
Naturally we were not allowed to go far from the serai, but we could stroll about in the village. I took this opportunity to have a swim in the Mansarowar Lake. Chanden Sing and Mansing again paid fresh salaams to the gods, and also plunged into the sacred waters. The local Lamas, who had been friendly during my former visit, were now extremely sulky and rude.
"I have bathed in its waters, and of its waters I have drunk. I have salaamed the great Kelas, the sight of which alone can absolve all sins of humanity. I shall now go to heaven." "I shall be satisfied if we get as far as Lhassa," grumbled the sceptical Mansing, out of ear-reach of the Tibetans.
Mansing, whose religion did not allow him to eat food touched by people of a different caste, was eventually permitted to lick the meal out of the wooden bowl. I myself was none too proud to take the food in any way it might be offered, and when my humble "Orcheh, orcheh tchuen mangbo terokchi!"
I examined his feet, and found further evidence that the man was a leper. "What is your name?" I inquired of him. "Mansing," he said, dryly, becoming immediately again absorbed in one of his dreamy trances. In looking over my followers I was amused to see what a strange mixture they were.
When I crawled inside the tent again Chanden Sing and Mansing, wrapped head and all in their blankets, were still snoring! Naturally I passed a sleepless night after that, fearing the unwelcome visitors might return. We speculated as to how the Tibetans had found us, and we could not help surmising that our friends of the previous afternoon must have put them on our track.
Neither Chanden Sing nor Mansing had sufficient strength to pull and make it join. I made them hold the yak by the horns to keep him steady while I pulled my hardest. I succeeded with a great effort, and was about to get up when a terrific blow from the yak's horn struck me in the skull an inch behind my right ear and sent me rolling head over heels. I was stunned for several moments.
I heard poor Mansing groan pitifully, then there was a dead silence. I called him, but received no answer, so I concluded that he had been killed. I was left in this terrible suspense for over a quarter of an hour, when at last they removed the cloth from over my head, and I saw my coolie lying before me, bound to the log and almost unconscious, but, thank God, still alive.
Poor Mansing and Chanden Sing, not having the same interest that I had in my work to keep up their spirits, were now in a dreadful condition. Cold, tired, and starved, the poor wretches had hardly strength left to stand on their feet, the soles of which were badly cut and sore. It really made my heart bleed to see these two brave men suffer as they did for my sake.
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