1898.] S. C. Das— Travels on the Shores of Lake Yarndo-Croft. 269 
sion — Om mani padme hum. I spread my rug to the east of the cylinder, 
and accommodated myself in a space about four feet wide. The old 
man, whose sole occupation was to turn the prayer-wheel, had his bed at 
the opposite side. He continually muttered Om nani padme hum. The 
floor was good and remarkably clean; the walls were painted, con¬ 
taining basso-relievo figures from the Buddhist pantheon. There was 
no forage nor gram for our ponies. Phurchung cooked for me, and Gropon, 
after regaling himself with several bottles of chhang (malt-beer), went 
to sleep on the lawn-like margin of the lake, tethering the ponies to 
graze in the pasture. His friend had assured him that our ponies 
would not be removed by anybody during the night. The wind blew 
rather strongly during the first part of the night. I gave some rice and 
tea to the old man, who, considering me a sacred personage, prostrated 
himself several times to salute me, though I vainly tried to explain to 
him that being a layman I did not deserve such homage from anybody. 
When he came to receive my chhag-wang (benediction from the touch of 
the hand), I told him that I was no incarnate being, and could not place 
my palms on his grey head, but being equally subject to misery like 
himself, I could touch his forehead with mine as a token of sympathy 
with him as a brother man. I also pointed out to him the hands 
of Pema Juh-ne (Padma Sambhava) the saint, where he could apply his 
forehead for benediction. 
But this only impressed him with still more pious feelings, and he 
called some of his acquaintances, a few shepherds, to prostrate themselves 
before me, which they did. The old man told us of the condition of the 
monastery of Shari Gonsar, situated on the top of a hill behind the 
village, and also of the village where we ought to halt next day. I 
passed the night very comfortably. 
25th October.—I awoke early in the morning, about 4 o’clock, 
refreshed and in good spirits. The ponies saddled, we started for 
Khame-do, our next stage. The wind began to blow afresh with much 
fury, and the chill was simply tormenting. My body, though well 
protected by lambskins, could not escape the penetrating effects of the 
cold, and began to freeze. After crossing two large inlets of the 
Yarndo, we came to a nook of the great lake. While traversing the 
little promontary overhanging this nook, we met a woman of about 
40 cutting wild plants resembling brushwood. The cold was so severe 
that I could hardly bring out my hands from within the fur sleeves, 
yet the woman was doing her work as if it was a summer morning 
with her. The nook passed, we came to a solitary village with three or 
four huts belonging to two dok-pa families. Some yaks were grazing 
on the margin of the lake, which here presented a very desolate and 
