THE nature of those portions of Tibet that I have visited, and of its inhabitants, is such that in spite of my strong wish to describe it I find it impossible. I will, however, on account of their strangeness, mention a few of the particulars which I have either seen myself or heard spoken of.
One of these is the gold-mines. In most of the Champa districts gold-mines are found. Among them are two strange mines; one is called by the Moghuls the Altunji [or Goldsmith] of Tibet, and it is worked by a branch of the above-mentioned tribe of Dulpa. On account of the extreme coldness of the atmosphere, they are not able to work more than forty days in the year. In the level ground are pits [or caves] large enough for a man to enter. There are numbers of these holes, and most of them terminate by running into one another. It is said that three hundred heads of families live permanently in those caves. They watch the Moghuls from afar, and when these come near, they all creep into their caves, where no one can find them. In the caves no oil burns except the oil made from sheep's milk [sar-jush] that has no fat in it.* Out of these caves they bring soil, which they wash, and (the responsibility be upon those who tell this story) it is said that in one sieve of soil from those 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, and for this reason I have written it down.
Again, Guga has two hundred forts and villages. It is three days' journey in length, and in it gold is everywhere to be found. Wherever 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 a pea [másh], and they say that sometimes [lumps] are found as large as a sheep's liver. At the time when I was settling the tribute upon Guga, the head men 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, found in it 1,500 Tibetan mithkáls of pure [mohri] gold (a Tibetan mithkál is worth one-and-a-half ordinary mithkáls), 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, bake it and stamp it; it is only fire that has any effect on it. This is all very wonderful, and is looked upon by assayers as very strange and curious. Nor is this peculiarity to be met with anywhere else in the world.* In the greater part of Tibet the merchandise of Khatai and India is to be found in about equal quantities.
Another peculiarity of Tibet is the dam-giri, which the Moghuls call Yas,* and which is common to the whole country, though less prevalent in the vicinity of forts and villages. The symptoms are a feeling of severe sickness [nákhushi], and in every case one's breath so seizes him that he becomes exhausted, just as if he had run up a steep hill with a heavy burden on his back. On account of the oppression [it causes] it is difficult to sleep. Should, however, sleep overtake one, the eyes are hardly closed before one is awoke with a start caused by oppression on the lungs and chest. And this is always the case with everybody. When overcome by this malady the patient becomes senseless, begins to talk nonsense, and sometimes the power of speech is lost, while the palms of the hands and soles of the feet become swollen. Often when this last symptom occurs, the patient dies between dawn and breakfast time; at other times he lingers on for several days. If, in the interval, his fate has not been sealed, and he reach a village or a fort, it is probable that he may survive, otherwise he is sure to die. This malady only attacks strangers; the people of Tibet know nothing of it, nor do their doctors know why it attacks strangers. Nobody has ever been able to cure it. The colder the air, the more severe is the form of the malady. [Couplet] … It is not peculiar to men, but attacks every animal that breathes, such as the horse, as will be presently instanced. One day, owing to the necessity of a foray, we had ridden faster than usual. On waking [next morning] I saw that there were very few horses in our camp, and [on inquiring] ascertained that more than 2000 had died in the night. Of my own stable there were twenty-four special [riding] horses, all of which were missing. Twenty-one of them had died during that night. Horses are very subject [saráyat] to dam-giri. I have never heard of this disease outside Tibet. No remedy is known for it.*