The Salars of the Tibetan Borderland
It is a wonderful country — that borderland — with its population of Mohammedans, Tibetans, and aborigines, all under Chinese rule. The little place at which we spent Sunday proved to be a walled city with Government officials. And there we found one family of missionary pioneers, lonely and unconnected with any organisation, full of devotion to the Lord and to the people, and making little of the sacrifices their life involved. Crowded into three small rooms in a native house, opening one into another, the mother was nursing her baby of a month old, doing most of the cooking, looking after the three elder children, receiving visitors, dispensing medicines, and leading the Chinese services as if preaching the Gospel were her one and only work, her husband taking his share in these duties but devoting himself chiefly to the Tibetans.
The little chapel was crowded on Sunday with an attentive audience, the only difficulty being to draw the meetings to a close, for the people stayed on and on to hear more of the preaching and singing. One fine-looking lama interested us especially. He was their Tibetan teacher, belonging to a branch of the Red Sect called Bonzes, easily recognised by their extraordinary hair, which is never interfered with, but grows as it pleases. It is worn in a heavy coil on the top of the head, protected from rain and dust by a sort of bathing -cap, drawn up and tied under the mass of hair. This lama looked as if he had a large hat on, the covered hair reaching out some distance beyond the head all round. He was good enough before we left to remove the covering and show us the hair itself — a truly amazing spectacle! It had never been cut or washed or combed in his life, and had matted itself into strands, which, through being constantly twisted, had the appearance of a cart rope or ship’s cable. It was as thick as a man’s arm, and hung almost to the ground although he was a tall person. It was, of course, his pride and distinction, though he was becomingly modest about it and soon restored it to its covering.
A kindly, intelligent man, he was a great help to these workers in their isolation, and seemed specially fond of the children, as indeed they were of him. How impossible it is for friends at home to picture the life of such a family amid the loneliness of such surroundings! The mother had not seen a foreign woman for a year and a half, and the children had no school or companions, nor any place to play save the back courtyard. Yet in those small, comfortless quarters they were just as brave and trustful as could be. They love the people, love the work, and love Him most of all for whose sake they are there. And the Lord is giving them encouragement.
From the crowded mission-house in which these missionaries were bravely holding on, praying for fellow- workers, it was a change indeed to pass, almost immediately, to the solitary splendour of the heights. Up and up we went, until we came to a wide green valley where a few Tibetans were feeding their sheep. Then, climbing still, we found ourselves suddenly on the lofty spur of a mountain range, thrust out into the midst of a wonderful world lying far below — an indescribable vision of heights and depths shrouded in mist, falling away on all sides from the summit we had gained, vast, mysterious, silent; not a living creature or human habitation in sight, nothing but mountain-tops like a surging sea, with valleys deep between and the gleam of a frozen river. It was a place for silence and worship.
A few hours later one wrote: “We have come down to earth again by winding paths that defy description. How we ever descended some of those steeps without flying, or rounded some of those curves, where the narrow track before us seemed like the curl of a corkscrew, I do not know. With a precipice on one side, hundreds of feet deep, and upright walls of red clay on the other, I had to keep my mind fixed on the exquisite colouring of the scene to escape a consciousness of nerves. One was thankful for a muleteer at the head of each animal — especially when the one behind seemed slipping down on top of the litter and the one in front disappeared all but its tail.”
And now we were in the broad valley of the Yellow River, already a majestic stream though so near its cradle in Tibet. As we looked out over its level lands, watered by the windings of the river, we could well understand the considerations that induced the Salars to settle here more than five hundred years ago. They are the Turks of China, having come from Samarkand — banished, it is said, on account of their turbulent disposition and freebooting propensities. They must have had courage and determination among other qualities, for they trekked all across the wilds of Central Asia, down the great road to Kanchow, and thence southward to Sining and this district in search of a home. Their guiding star was the charge of a great ahung who blessed their departure. He was a direct descendant of Mohammed, and presented them with a box of earth and a bottle of water before they left Samarkand.
“Keep them carefully,” he said, “and when you reach a valley where the earth is like this earth and the water like this water, there settle and multiply. It will be the place God has appointed for you.”
They had also a white camel which was regarded as a good omen. A hundred and thirty stages, or more, it travelled with them, until at last they reached and crossed the Yellow River in this romantic spot. Here they stayed for a mid-day halt, the broad stream flowing at their feet, the rugged cliffs at either side and the snow-covered mountains beyond. There was no city then where Siinhwa stands to-day. The valley was unoccupied and silent. Suddenly a cry was raised —
1 “The Salar immigration is commonly dated back to the reign of the first emperor of the Ming Dynasty, a.d. 1368-1399” ( The Crescent in North-West China, by G. Findlay Andrew, p. 18).
“The white camel! Where is it?”
It was gone. Hunt for it as they might, it was nowhere to be found from one end of the long caravan to the other. Seriously the leaders consulted as to this strange happening and what it might portend. Then they bethought them of the box of earth and the bottle of water. These were brought out and examined. Yes, the earth was identical with the earth of this valley; the water was the same as the water of its springs. Here then they must settle. This was to be their home. And as if to confirm the decision beyond a doubt — lo, the white camel appeared above them on the face of the cliff!
It may be seen to-day, we were told, outlined in a stone of lighter colour than the rest, though to us it was not very obvious. But the Salars are here beyond a doubt, spread out in eight “parishes” along the river, and still recognising divisions among themselves such as the Kokandi, the Samarkandi, and the Tashkandi. They are still fierce and turbulent as in the days of old, their love of fighting having been kept alive by constant skirmishing with the Tibetans, not to speak of the terrible part they played in Mohammedan rebellions against Chinese rule. It takes a Salar to govern a Salar is a common saying to-day, and even for him the task is difficult.
How it took one back to the cities of Asia Minor to be among these interesting people, with their regular features, great dark eyes, comparatively fair complexions, and strange jargon of a language, much more like Turkish than Chinese! Some of the women
1 The final “i” in Turkish means “belonging to.”
were really beautiful, and one was impressed with the intelligence of the children. One noticed, too, the number of their mosques and schools, which were in remarkably good repair even out in the country, but not until later did we come to realise how much love of learning there is among them.
In a Turkish newspaper published at Constantinople, Abdul Aziz of Kuldja gives many details about Mohammedan communities in China, gathered in his travels as a missionary of Islam. He speaks of the Salars as more advanced in education and industry than their Mohammedan neighbours, enlarging upon their noted seminaries, the ability of their teachers, and the fame of their scribes. Grammar, law, interpretation (Koran), and logic are taught in their schools, he tells us, from Arabic books imported from India. They administer their own laws, are skilful in agriculture, and manufacture cotton, silk, and leather goods for export. “These industrious and tireless Turks,” as he calls them, “have gained important offices in China. Many of them have visited the Holy Land, Hejaz,2 and the glorious place of Mohammed.”
One distinguished scholar from the Salar country he had met at Kuldja, as the former was returning from the Hejaz. He had resided for some time in Egypt and Constantinople, and of course had visited Mecca. The dignity and intelligence of this Salar
1 The articles were subsequently published in booklet form, “by permission of H.E. the Minister of Public Education,” in a.h. 1312 ( i.e. a.d. 1894-95). The book was under the patronage of the Sultan Abdul-Hamid, to whose Court the writer seems to have been attached. See Islam in China, by Marshall Broomhall, M.A., pp. 257 to 269.
2 The province in Arabia in which Mecca is situated.
greatly impressed Aziz, who wrote of the honour he felt it to make his acquaintance.
“His apartments were full of the prominent men of the city, and he wisely answered the many questions with which they plied him. It was at once manifest from the simplicity and elegance of his diction that he had an intimate knowledge of Arabic, Persian, and ancient Turkish. He was fascinating all who listened to his speech and his Platonic thoughts.”
His earnest plea was for improved education in Moslem schools and seminaries. “Until recently I had thought with you,” he said, “that our schools and educational standards were perfect. But my pilgrimage has convinced me that we need greatly improved methods. In Constantinople and Egypt I visited famous libraries and saw many new books, and of these we have urgent need. I obtained Calendars of the universities of Constantinople and Egypt, and my reason for doing so was to apply the information therein for the betterment of our schools. As soon as I reach my home, I hope to invite all the learned Moslems around to come, that I may call their attention to these Calendars, and with their help may seek to remodel our schools and seminaries. If we are able to do this, we shall lead all the Moslems of China into the right way.”
Further he advocated three lines of advance which he hoped to induce the Salars of Kansu to adopt: after improving the schools, they should invite teachers from Constantinople and India; they should obtain a printing-press from India, so as to print for themselves the books they needed; and they should publish a newspaper in the vernacular, so as to encourage people to take up education.
“If these things are done,” he repeated with confidence, “the Moslems of China will be raised to a more worthy position; and I have reason to hope that the Chinese Government would, if necessary, encourage or assist such undertakings.” 1
A generation had passed between the return of this distinguished Salar to his Kansu home and our visit to that part of the province. Was he still living; had he succeeded in introducing the reforms on which his heart was set? He had not come into contact apparently, in all his travels, with any one who could put before him the knowledge which is “life eternal.” And still, to-day, in that beautiful Salar country, there is no witness to the love of God in Christ. This was the thought that straitened our hearts as we crossed the Yellow River opposite the city of Siinhwa and turned our faces toward the mountains into which the Tibetans have been driven back.
Strangely beautiful are the valleys that run south¬ ward into those mountains, and magnificent beyond description where they climb the passes thirteen thousand feet high, one of which we had to cross. The road was rarely travelled by foreigners, even
1 The traveller’s name was Menla-abdul-Rahim, and he was a graduate of the honourable Penshenbi Akhoud’s seminary in the Salar country. Of this noted teacher, Abdul Aziz, the Turkish missionary, writes: “It is a joy to observe that the students instructed by Penshenbi Akhoud have spread to every part of China and become the leaders of their co-religionists. This prudent man is seventy years of age.”
missionaries. Mr. Ridley had never been over it nor had the muleteers, so it was in happy unconsciousness of what lay before us that we set out in the early dawn of that March morning from our Salar inn.
“We have left the Yellow River,” one wrote later in the day, “and are following one of its tributary streams. All day long we have been climbing gradually, until we are near the snow-line, passing irrigated fields, beautiful mosques, an occasional temple, scattered farmsteads, and one little town, passing also very striking Tibetan tombs, probably of abbots, for they were near small lamaseries — and behind it all this entrancing vision of white mountains lost in the clouds, with valleys shrouded in mist opening between them, where steep paths lead to Tibetan homes.
For all along the road the people have been mostly Tibetans. What picturesque groups we have met! Men with fur-bordered, peaked hats, women with hanging tresses, red-robed lamas with rosaries of heavy beads, and old people, their lips moving as they murmured their never-changing, never-ending prayer. One young couple was most attractive — the tall, active-looking man with a scarf of purple silk twisted round his head; the girl, turning shyly away from us# in a new sheep-skin gown girdled below the waist, her long hair in scores of plaits covered with a strip of red, hanging like a veil from the forehead. She looked happy and wholesome, a strong, sweet little personality.
Another girl of the same type came and stood by my litter as we were leaving the inn after our mid-day meal. Her hundred and eight tiny plaits were braided again into one long tress at each side. Her smile was as sweet and bright as it was kindly. They are very attractive to me, these Tibetan women. One feels what a contribution of love and service they might bring to the One who laid down His life for their redemption How we long to win them to Christ!
We were in the snow by that time, the last inn left behind, expecting soon to reach the place in which we were to spend the night. But as we went on, cold and tired, no friendly hamlet came in sight. Indeed we had reached a height at which one could no longer expect to find even a shepherd’s hut. Nothing but mountain-tops around us — the white peaks that had looked so beautiful all day, seen from the valley below! Now that we were up among them — travelling on we knew not whither, while the day drew to a close — they somehow assumed a different aspect, forbidding and chilly.
“Is it far to the inn?” we asked a descending traveller.
“Not far, not far — a good road,” he answered, putting politeness before truth as we found to our cost.
The “good road” narrowed and narrowed to a path almost lost in the snow. Then came ice-fields on which the mules could not keep their footing, and a steep ascent among rocks and stones where we had to climb as best we might. But the pass was before us. There from the cairn we should see some place of shelter for the night.
One by one we gained the summit and stood a silent group. Had it not been so cold and late the outlook would have been magnificent. As it was, our hearts almost failed us. Nothing, nothing, as far as eye could see, but a white world of snow and mist, with chasms of black darkness where precipices descended out of sight and the great valley lost itself among mountain peaks beyond. Go down into it we must; but where there was any exit it was impossible to tell.
That descent was indescribable, and so also were our feelings when we discovered in the valley, after toiling over miles of rock and snow, that the path, instead of going down, somewhere, anywhere, began to climb again — up and up out of sight. The real pass lay before us: the one behind had been only a step to it.
“Lo, I am with you all the days” — how sweet the confidence as we faced that climb in the gathering shadows, counting on seeing some refuge, however distant, when we reached the top!
Sudden and precipitous was the descent on the other side, and far deeper lay the valley beneath us than the one we had just crossed; but even down by the frozen river, if we could ever reach it, there was not a house of any kind to cheer our sight. On and on stretched the dreary scene — nothing but rock and ice and snow and mist and darkness. But there was a conscious Presence that breathed peace.
Slipping and falling on snow-fields as steep as the roof of a house and as close to sheer descents, not of tens but of hundreds of feet, we came down, some¬ how. The mules came down too, carrying the empty litters, though how they managed those zigzag turns was a mystery. It was so dark by that time that we could hardly find the path. We had almost forgotten, in the peril of the moment, the plight we were in for the night. But with what relief we discovered, hidden away under the last drop of the mountain -side, an inn — an inn with fodder for the animals and fire to dry the clothing of the party!
Next day we were on the magnificent plain of Hochow.