Judging by the sun, for I had brought no compass,
it struck me that we seemed to have been marching almost due north
ever since we left Toloo; and I fancied such a line of march must have
brought us by this time suspiciously near the Tibetan frontier. Now, I
had no desire to be "skinned alive," as Sir Ivor put it. I did not wish
to emulate St. Bartholomew and others of the early Christian martyrs;
so I was pleased to learn that we were really drawing near to Kulak, the
first of the Nepaulese Buddhist monasteries to which our well-informed
guide, himself a Buddhist, had promised to introduce us.
We were tramping up a beautiful high mountain valley, closed round on
every side by snowy peaks. A brawling river ran over a rocky bed in
cataracts down its midst. Crags rose abruptly a little in front of us.
Half-way up the slope to the left, on a ledge of rock, rose a long, low
building with curious, pyramid-like roofs, crowned at either end by
a sort of minaret, which resembled more than anything else a huge
earthenware oil-jar. This was the monastery or lamasery we had come so
far to see. Honestly, at first sight, I did not feel sure it was worth
the trouble.
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