A LETTER

Large banners. A great many multicolored banners of various shapes: some oblong, some triangular, some square-shaped. Most of them are red, with huge golden, black and white Chinese inscriptions. From behind the banners, one hears the beating of gigantic drums. Here marches the army of the terrible Yang-t’u-tu!

The ruler of Turkestan is preparing to defend the peo- | ple of Sinkiang from the Sining Amban. There are rumors that the old Sining Amban intends to take re- i venge for the murder of his brother, the old Ti-tai of Kashgar. By order of Yang-t’u-tu, the Ti-tai of Kashgar had been murdered in a most brutal manner by the Tao-tai of Khotan. And now the Dungans of Sinkiang are full of the thought of revenge. But, according to other rumors, Yang-t’u-tu has recruited ten thousand men in | order to repel the possible attacks of Feng. Be this as it 1 may, an army is gathering to march on Hami, or to be more exact, as much of the army as may reach Hami.

It is a strange army: ragged, limping, crooked-handed, mole-eyed, with all evidences of being opium smokers, and gamblers, and beggars. But it is no wonder, for these soldiers are recruited at the bazaars. They collect them everywhere they can. The gambling dens, and opium haunts supply a majority of the soldiers. Every one who cannot prove promptly that he owns property or cannot buy his freedom with the customary bribe—as if by a magic nod of Yang-t’u-tu, is transformed into a soldier. Of course, where “magic” is available, there is no use for the usual technical procedure. Why is it necessary to have long-continued target practise and military training, if without these, an extensive army can be made to appear from the ground? What does it matter, if even before reaching the town gates, this army begins—also as if by magic—to dwindle away? Walking beside the army one sees several boys, and each one of them carries two or three rifles. Of course these rifles are of different make and mechanism.

But where are the soldiers themselves? Of course they do not miss any opportunities and have already disappeared into the narrow alleys and into hidden corners of the clay court yards, having just had time to give their rifles to some casual, gaping passer-by. If a tenth part of the army reaches Hami, it is already an amazing thing. But for this circumstance even, the Yang-t’u-tu has his own considerations. Sometimes the army travels along on carts, and then one sees round the edge of the cart whole rows of sticks, on each of which hangs a soldier’s cap! . . . Why must a soldier have hands and feet? A soldier has a head and the main part of this head is his cap apparently. If the soldier disappears, or even if he has never as yet materialized, there is still a wonderful remedy: the war department hangs out caps, each of which is supposed to be a soldier! And for these, the industrious Yang-t’u-tu receives the corresponding maintenance.

Besides, Yang-t’u-tu is aware that the army of Sining Amban is recruited in a similar fashion. Thus, habits of life equalize the forces of the opponents.

As I have already mentioned, Yang-t’u-tu is an experienced ruler. He knows how to transfer in due time to foreign banks, all his accumulated millions of taels and he decides the fate of his subjects by the aid of a cock fight… With the gods, as you know, Yang-t’u-tu is very harsh. He flogs them, and drowns them and cuts off their hands and feet. And then he replaces the guilty god by a local devil, whom he has just raised to this new dignity. The stern ruler of Sinkiang has managed to remain head of the province for sixteen years; he knew how to escape poison, demotion and destruction from war with his neighbors. A crude brass statue of Yang-t’u-tu has been erected, even during his lifetime. Of course, it was presented by the “grateful” subjects of Sinkiang, who received a special note from the local ambans. The officials say of Yang-t’u-tu: “he is cunning, our Yang-t’u-tu.” Other officials say: “Our governor has a very small heart.” And the people add heartily: “Anyhow, he will not live very long.”

But strangely enough, in the street there appears a detachment of horsemen, quite unlike the ragged army that has just passed. They have not the huge goiters so characteristic of the inhabitants of Sinkiang. They are better dressed and one feels from their riding posture that they are horsemen from birth. They are Kalmuks, a detachment of the Toin-Lama, Khan of the Torguts.

The old Khan of the Torguts, owner of the Karashar lands, also fell under the domination of Yang-t’u-tu, the all-powerful, and in a moment of strange impulse, handed over the succession to the Chinese official who had been sent to him. The official hurried home to the capital of Sinkiang with these precious documents, but the Kalmuks discovered the strange behavior of their Khan. Every mountain pass is well known to the Kalmuk horsemen. And where a Chinese takes several days—the Karashar horsemen can overtake him in a day.

The caravan of the Chinese envoy disappeared, and so also did the envoy himself with all letters and documents. For great is Tien Shan, the heavenly mountains, and not only a caravan, but a whole army can be buried within its passes. Thus the Kalmuk horsemen have sought to maintain their independence.
On returning home, the Elders decided that a Khan, who voluntarily gives away his power, must have lost his reason. So they administered to their Khan a soothing drink which soothed him forever.

After this unsuccessful Khan, there remained his young son. Hence, instead of the Khan, the reins were assumed by his uncle, the Toin-Lama—the same Toin-Lama in whom was incarnated the spirit of the Tibetan minister, Sangen-Lama. As a physical identification of this incarnation, the Toin-Lama had a characteristically deformed knee, exactly like the deceased Tibetan minister. Even now the Torguts are considered semi-independent.

The Toin-Lama has trained a special detachment in all the maneuvers of the Siberian Cossacks. And yet the Lama turned out to be timorous, for when Yang-t’u-tu demanded that he should send him his complete detachment, this only security of the independence of the Tor-guts was sent at his demand. Yang-t’u-tu then also ordered that Toin-Lama himself should come over to live in the capital of Sinkiang and a special palace was built for the honorary prisoner. And again the demand of Yang-t’u-tu was carried out.

Yang-t’u-tu also once asked: “From where do all the displeasures of the ruler come?” His adherents replied: “From newspapers.” Yang-t’u-tu’s decision was ready as always: “Therefore prohibit all newspapers.”

Yang-t’u-tu asks: “What causes unnecessary outer communications to be brought into the country, and what may clear the huts of their refuse?” Again there comes the reply: “Motorcars agitate the people with their speed and it is difficult to keep an eye on the boats.” The remedy is self-evident: prohibit in all Sinkiang the use of motorcars and boats, excepting only the ruler himself.” In spite of this, the postmaster of Sinkiang, an Italian named Cavallieri, by some miracle retained his car. He also supplies Peking and Shanghai newspapers to the officials of Yang-t’u-tu. But of course this is done quite privately.

How long will American and German firms continue to trade in guts and skins in Sinkiang? They have to be very careful indeed to avoid all the hidden rocks planted by this capricious ruler, who presents a strange sight, with his typical narrow Chinese gray beard, and his thunder-like coughing that drowns out all contradictions. He is ready for another world.

Destined for strange countries are these bales of wool, sewn into white skins and rolled up near the resting camels:

“Who is coming?”
“A caravan of the Belian Khan.”
“Where are you going?”
“Directly to Tien-Tsin.”
“How long will you be on your way?”
“Probably six months.”

And the bells of the camels ring gaily, telling, in their inarticulate way, of far-off America.

What is this America? It is a far, far-away land, a land taken from a fairy tale, a land where anything is possible—where for sausages there are not enough guts from sheep of the Sarts, and where wool is wanted from all over the world; where people move and speak and write with the aid of machines; where people do not count the money on counting boards, but where machines themselves do all the counting.

Every Sart dreams of trading with America: silk, wool, sheep gut, dried fruit—all these which constitute his only riches, the Sart would like to offer to America, but again that same Yang-t’u-tu prevents him. The Sarts ask:

“Have you no pictures of America?” and struggling with each other, they snatch the pictures of New York from our hands. And it pains them that they cannot keep these pictures. It seems to them that in these gigantic skyscrapers there must live giants, which fly through the air like a flash on gigantic iron birds. The local population still recollects the old teaching that some time there will fly steel birds and that iron dragons will unite all countries. These men have also heard of the mysterious cities of saintly beings, who know everything. And again they ask:

“But can you give us a book about America?—a book that is written either in Turkish or in Arabian? Otherwise our mullah will not be able to read them. Let us keep the pictures of America!”

And not only is every photograph of the skyscrapers cherished, but even every colored label is kept and guarded as a sign from far-away America.

In the sands of Khotan, a long-bearded Moslem asks: “But tell me, could a Ford pass here, on the old Chinese road?” And in Kashgar people inquire: “Could not the area of old loess be lifted with a Ford?” And the Kal-muks question whether a Ford runs quicker than their horses. And the gray-bearded old-believer (starover) on the Altai dreams: “Oh, if we could but have a Ford here!”

Is it a man they refer to—is it a machine, is it a building, or is it an abstract concept? For Asia it is a moving power. Ford is the carrier of a new motion, of new possibilities, of a new life. His first name has long been lost. The depths of Asia have no information of the everyday life of this amazing person, but their conception of him has been blended with a conception of motive power, thus widening far beyond the scope of a definite idea. And so it has happened that in the minds of Asia, Ford can do everything.

And yet another American name has entered the minds of the peoples in the depths of Asia.

In a remote section of the Altai Mountains, in the most revered corner, where old sacred images are kept, our attention was drawn to the reproduction of a familiar face, cut from some magazine. Before we had time to draw nearer, and to recognize it as Hoover, the old-believer remarks: “This is he who feeds the people. Yes, there are such wonderful persons in the world, who feed not only their own people, but can even feed other nations.” The old man himself had not received any message from the A.R.A., but this living legend has found its way across rivers and mountains, telling of the generous Giant who kindheartedly distributes sufficient food for the starving people of all the world.

And even in far-off Mongolia where one might think this legend could not penetrate, a forsaken yurta, a Mongol, again tells you that somewhere there lives a great man, who can feed whole starving nations—and with great difficulty he pronounces a name which resembles something between Hoover and Kuvera, the revered Buddhist deity of good luck and wealth. Even into these vast deserts some interested traveler has carried the uplifting legend about the great man, who works for the “Common Good.”

The third outstanding cultural name—widely known in the spaces of Asia—is that of Senator Borah. A letter from him is considered as a good passport everywhere. Sometimes in Mongolia, or in the Altai, or in Chinese Turkestan you can hear a strange pronunciation of his name:

“Boria is a powerful man!”

In this way the people wisely value the great leaders of our times.

This is so precious to hear. So precious is it to know that human evolution by untold paths forces its way into the future.
And suddenly there arrived your letter from America, having successfully survived all the trials of the Chinese mail. Of course the letter had been opened and very clumsily closed again, but in it the Amban could see nothing terrible. The Amban did not consider it injurious that you, my friends, are beginning the construction of a new building. Of course it may have appeared rather strange to him that this building will be twenty-four stories high, whereas there is no necessity for the mighty yamen of the T’u-tu himself to be higher than one story. Of course he considers all your propositions about the school, lectures and books pretty dangerous, but he passed over them with a smile.

The people in America have a lot of money and they can occupy themselves with paintings. But the amban of to-day does not engage himself with such empty things and he does not even know a single name of any scientist or of any artist of contemporary China. And should you continue to question him more persistently, you would fall considerably in his opinion. Let him rather think that there are all sorts of queer persons in this world, busying themselves with most strange matters. “But these occupations are harmless as far as Yang-t’u-tu is concerned; why should we therefore destroy these queer fellows; let us return them their letters.” Thus thinks the Amban.

Maybe with the help of some Sart or Turkish merchant, or through a Chinese interpreter, the Amban will also read this letter. And maybe he will not like what I have said about the Kalmuks and about the cock fights arranged by Yang-t’u-tu. But seeing that every Amban considers it his duty to hate Yang-t’u-tu, he may smile as he reads the letter, and may say: “Well, let them know in America about our old man—he has a small heart.”

But now the Amban will be quite perplexed; we will speak a language entirely unknown to him.

My dear friends, at New Year, had you turned back or were you striving forward? A good year! Not a wish, but a command must be in this call! It must be good, for those who desire to work, who devote themselves to educational work.

December 17th, 1916, late at night the train left. It was unheated. Our relatives thought our departure was madness. Sviatoslav remembers exactly how we wrapped ourselves in all our blankets, at twenty-five degrees below zero. The dream of action! And the snow-covered rocks of Finland rose before us as the first messengers of the future Himalayan heights. E. I. was so impatient to go; she knew well the hardships of the way but nothing could stop her.

And you have now become so flexible, and all-armed to encounter obstacles and attacks, as though they were only inevitable stones and dust on the path. And before you are manifest the image of slander and distortion. You are becoming hardened and do not take to heart attacks in the press. You know that all this has its specific meaning. And the main reason—ignorance, that ignorance which permits entrance to darkness and calumny. In 1918 I had an amusing experience: I was apparently buried in Siberia; I was not even there at the time. Requiems were chanted and obituaries were written. Of course, during our remote journey, one may imagine how many false interpretations took place. I was shown a clipping of an interview with A. N. Benois. Even Benois was led astray and repeated the Parisian gossip and told of the anathema of the Pope. At the time when, according to the interview of Benois, I was in Lhassa, I was really passing Altai. Amusing!

The main thing concerns friends. I rejoice at your information about Zuloaga, Mestrovic, about Takeuchi, this unseen active friend! How does “Adamant” look in Japanese? Greetings to Stork for the idea of an international literary contest.

Friends, you are all so different, yet all striving. America, South America, India, China, Egypt, all unite and lose their casual frontiers. Your sudden paths to Asia, and my last sudden coming to America! All this in manifold episodes becomes indescribable but tensely unforgettable.

Remember the furious rains on Altai, when S., although valiantly acknowledging the necessity of the trip, all wet and plaintively silent, asked of space: “Will it end?” Or Nettie on the “sea of ice” in Chamounix. And the coming of Franc, among the dances of the American Indians in Santa Fe. And the falcon-like decision of L. in Mon-hegan. And O. valiantly deciding in Geneva. And S. M. with the coin of Elijah. Or Sv. marching on horseback through the mountain path of Sikhim with a book in his hands. Or the parting on the railroad station of Berlin and Tch. asking: “And thus it happened?” And Tat. and Georg. in Paris on the Rue de Messine, “could they wait?” Or W., who although he agreed to meet the unexpected, nevertheless, in India awaited the roar of the tiger. Or the tension of Sh. on the Lyons Railroad Station. And the Philosopher-warrior R. in Rome. And the anxiousness of Newb.: his apparatus spoiled at the crossing through Yarkent-Daria. And Av. who courageously walked the deck of the ship during the “mountainous” sea. And the caressing approach of B.

And you remember the evening of December 9th, 1924, and all that happened around the statue of St. Roque? So it evolved, incident upon incident; and so it blossomed. To all friends greetings! And you, build constantly! Build high towers!
Again we go away beyond mail communication, and wish to see all your work directed only into the future. Directed toward those masses among whom art penetrates with such difficulty. Toward universities, schools, the people’s and workers’ clubs, libraries, village communities, railroad stations, prisons, hospitals, orphan asylums. There the new consciousness is growing. There they await. And creation is growing together with labor. And all obstacles are only the birth of possibilities.
 

Speak to the people about creation in all work. Say that nothing should impede them, that each obstacle should be turned into a happy possibility. I used to say to pupils: “Imagine for a minute that you are Raphael and I am the Pope. I shall set up all kinds of conditions for your composition, and you will retain everything and by your free consciousness will create above all obstacles. If the consciousness lives freely in you, nothing will diminish it.” And let all pupils create in all branches—in art, in ballet and in singing. Until suddenly they will sing their own song and give their own dance. By all measures let them sharpen the creative gifts.

In 1924 the article “Star of the Mother of the World” ended: “Not reclining on clouds, nor playing upon harps, not hymns of inertia, but constant and illumined labor is predestined. Not a magician, not a teacher beneath the tree; not the folds of the toga, but the workman’s garment of the true toil of life will lead us to the resplendent gates, will lead in full readiness and inconquerability.”

Since then two years have elapsed. You are fighting on the entire, varied educational front. The work calls you forward. Not desire, but assurance must be transmitted to your work; you will never cease; in other words, never grow old!
But do not think, my friends, that having begun the letter about China, I count myself among the enemies of China. You know well my admiration of the old Chinese art and philosophy, as well as of the wonderful Con-fucian chants, which not so long ago we heard in New York. But if, on the back of a passer-by, you see a scorpion or a tarantula, it is your duty to tell him. To-day the Chinese sea is so stirred, that in the formless foaming of the storm you cannot see the pillars of foundation; and instead of deep clear water everything is muddy. But I continue to believe that sincere demonstrations of all the outgrown forms and superstitions will bring only good.

May the Amban, if he likes, read these wishes of mine. No doubt he will also understand soon, that when we speak of art, science, and of beauty and culture, we touch the very best and most living, motive powers of humanity. I hope that this letter, even if not very soon, will reach you sometime and that we again will feel as if united, and distances will again seem non-existent.

Greetings to all Friends!

Ulan Bator Khoto, January, 1927.

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URUSVATI

“Vade, filii ad Monies India; et ad cavernas suas, et accipe ex cis lapides honoratos qui liquefiunt in acqua, quando commiscentur ei”—”Go my son, to the Mountains of India and to their quarries and take thence our precious stones, which dissolve in water when they are mixed therewith.”

So speaks the most excellent Hali, the Arabian, mentioned by Paracelsus. Let us go to the Mountains of India!
“Sophiae cum Moria Certamen,” published in Summum Bonum discusses about the mountain and the treasures therein contained. And again old Paracelsus justly assures us: “nihil est opertus quod nont revelabitur.”

“Lumen de Lumine” outlines the special conditions of the path to the mysterious mountain: “To this mountain you shall go on a certain night, when it comes, most long and most dark and see that you prepare yourselves by prayer. Insist upon the way that leads to the Mountain but ask not of any man where lies the way. Only follow your Guide, who will offer himself to you and will meet you on the way. But you shall not know him. This Guide will bring you to the Mountain, when all things are silent. You need no sword nor any other bodily weapons.

When you have discovered the Mountain the first miracle that will appear is a most vehement wind that will shake the Mountain and shatter to pieces the rocks. You shall be met also by lions and dragons and other terrible beasts; but fear not any of these. Be resolute and take heed that you return not, for your Guide will not suffer any evil to befall you. As for the treasure, it is not yet discovered but it is very near. After the wind, will come an earthquake that will overthrow those things which the wind hath left untouched and rend them. But be sure that you do not fall. After the earthquake, there shall follow a fire that will consume the earthly debris and unearth the treasure. But as yet you cannot see the treasure… Then, toward daybreak there shall come a great calm; and you shall see the morning star rise and the dawn will appear and you shall perceive the great treasure. The chief thing and the most perfect is a certain exalted tincture…”

This “story” was told by Thomas Vaughan, who gave up his life in an explosion during his research for humanity.

The same “story” will be told to you by a guide in the Himalayas, when he tells you how to find the black aco-nyte, how during the night you must go fearlessly to the mountains to search this phosphorescent flower.

It does not mean anything that in the whole world lives the legend about a miraculous flower. But this so-called “fantasy” is fulfilled by the reality of the Himalayas. A seller of aconyte shall tell you precisely about it, not knowing that he repeats a legend of world-wonder, to which so many stories are dedicated by many nations. For to transform a “fairy tale” into reality, you must go to the Himalayas.

And from another part of the world, the voice of Atha-nasius Nikitin Tveritin, a Moscovite of the Fifteenth Century, reaches us. He adds another aspect to the statement of Paracelsus, after his journey to India, when he exclaims: “And I, out of the midst of many troubles, went to India.”

In the fairy-like, flower-like Yaroslavl, in the frescoes, in ornaments of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth centuries, was discovered the beauty of the flowers of the Orient. These exquisite frescoes of old temples sing of the precious gifts of India, of the power of stones and herbs.

“War has flooded the world with blood. Droughts and rains have violated the eternal order. Famine showed its face,” and again from the highest mountain, from the mountain of “five treasures,” in wind and in thunder, in sparks of lightning we hear the forgotten: “From many troubles, let us go to India.”

In Vedic wisdom many medical herbs are prescribed and much wise council is given. Certainly these are veiled in symbols. But the ancient wisdom again rises and those sensing the greatness of the coming evolution are ready to serve humanity in the most practical way, in the reconstruction of health.

People ask where are the remedies to be found? And again from far comes the answer: In the Himalayas.

Crossing above the visible, the sage of Rig-Vedas chants the Hymn of Creation: “Neither death was there, nor immortality; nor the sheen of night, nor light of day. That One breathed breathlessly, by inner power; beyond It truly nothing existed.”

In these lines of the Rig-Vedas, a Vedic Sage brushes aside all mythology and reaches the monism of an ultimate causative principle. This is a real “Hymn of Creation,” as it was called. So that we are not surprised when we hear a lecture by Dr. V. R. Kokatnur, the Hindu chemist, in which he gives evidence that Cavendish and Priestly were not the first to discover hydrogen and oxygen, but that the sages of ancient India knew these great gases:

“It is known,” he says, “that our almost perfect system of numerals was originated by the Hindus and introduced into Europe by the Arabs from whom it derives its name. The world also owes decimal notation to the Hindus, who taught it first to the Arabs. Algebra (Vijaganita) was already a developed science with the ancient Hindus. It was the Hindu mathematicians who developed trigonometry, Bhaskara’s great work ‘Lilavati’ reveals a profound understanding of what is now called ‘Higher Mathematics’ and Brahmagupta shows even greater originality and scholarship.”

The old country of Aryavarta only recently revealed to us the remnants of the most ancient culture of India. But we are not astonished because we know that even Pythagoras received the keys of wisdom from India. In this country in the environs of the Himalayas, eons ago a high intelligence had already descended to the bottoms of earth and ascending, touched the finest energies. From every side, from every summit, from every tree, are revealed, generously, various medicinal herbs. You recall the conjurations of the Atharva Vedas. “We wear Vishkandha’s (rheumatics) antidote, the Amulet of Jangida (garlic), the Amulet of a thousand powers. Jangida, save us all around from pain and from inflammation, from rheumatism and tormenting pain.”

During a single day’s passage in the Himalayan slopes and valleys, one is overwhelmed: “Nature awaits here, full of gifts. Come and be cured! Charrura, Parura, Or-rura are the three important curative fruits against cough, cold and fever. Charrura is like a yellow cherry; parura like a green chestnut and orrura like a yellowish green crab-apple. All these are sharp to the taste and full of tannin. Here is the red bark of Aku Ombo, to cure wounds. Salve against fever is Sergi Pruba, like a dry giant bean. Chuta the dry bitter root, will cure swelling and heal the throat. Bassack is a brown powder against colds. The red-stemmed Tze produces magenta; bitter Purma is for incenses. A broth from the roots of Bese-kuro is effective against woman’s ailments. The flowers of Dangero heal the stomach, much like the flowers of the red rhododendron, while the leaf of Dysro is a disinfectant against wounds. Memshing Pati is a sacred plant in Nepal where it is used for head ornaments at festivals. Endless are the useful plants, awaiting the best application and study.” Elexir Damiana, Datura, Abroma, Agusta; Extracts of Arjuna, Asoka, Aswagandha, Ayapan, Chattim, Gokhura, Gulancha, Kalmegh, Kamala, Kan-tikery, Khetpapra, Kurchi, Punarvana; Syrup of Brahmi and Vasaka, Tincture of Myrobolan . . .

These are not mysterious invocations. These are simply the names of medicines, recently prepared out of the healing substances of India. I recall talks with Bhat-tacharya. I recall those who strove to fulfil their research of healing treasures, guarded near the Himalayas. This is not a fairy tale, not a “heavenly Fire Blossom,” not the Fire Bird of a dream. This is earthly creative thought. This is earthly labor for the peaceful purification of humanity. The sick and the hungry cannot think of the glory of the finest energies.

Kalidasa says: “The mediocre dare not to begin a noble work from the moment they foresee obstacles.

“But for the daring ones no obstacles exist. All obstacles turn into brilliant possibilities for them. Aditi—the Primordial Light—will illumine their way.

“Devas and Rishis, the Fires and Flames, and the forty-nine Agnis of the ancient Aryas will offer their power to those aspiring, to those useful for humanity.”

Urusvati the abode of research, the abode of science, is to be built in the Himalayas, within the boundaries of ancient Aryavarta. Again the human spirit, purified by the continuous currents of the Himalayas, will search in untiring labor. The healing herbs, medicinal research, wonderful magnetic and electric currents, the unrepeatable conditions of altitudes, unrepeatable glowing of planetary bodies with astrochemical rays, the radio-activity and all those unspeakable treasures, which are preserved only in the Himalayas…

Urusvati is a name, meaning the Morning Star. Is it not the morning of a glorious day of new labor and attainment—ever-healing, ever-searching, ever-attaining? In those places, where the great wisdom of the Rig-Vedas was crystallized, where passed the Mahatmas Themselves, here in the caves and on the summits has been accumulated the power of human thought!

Again, do not take this for an idealistic outburst. Take it in full reality. As real, as splendid, are the glowing summits of the Himalayas! Verily, only here, only on the Himalayas, exist the unique, unparalleled conditions of calm, for ascertaining curative results. The conditions for scientific study, undisturbed by the rush of modern cities, only exist here, where even planetary rays seem to be purer and more penetrating.

When you see the mineral colorings of mountains, when you study huge geysers, full of various mineral salts, when you see all types of hot springs, you understand the teeming character of this part of the world, which still untouched, has witnessed so many cosmic cataclysms. This is the place. This is the unique site of a many sided scientific research. Here you sense a festival of knowledge and beauty.

The great Indian biologist, Sir Jagadis Bose says: “The Golden Age is not in our past, but it lies in the Future.” And he wisely advises that, with the danger of the present situation humanity is as on a sinking ship, and without discussion, should unite as for a common peril. It is his belief that we receive everything from somewhere and therefore we must give away freely with noblest intentions.”

This wise scientist also knows the value of the great meaning of Teacher, and he who knows this can joyously face the Future.

With joy I notice the spreading of high intellectual and artistic forces in India. Highly gifted individuals now stand at the head of universities, institutions and schools and the names of Tagore, Bose, Raman and other men of science and art act as a living bridge between present-day India and the deep roots of its past culture. Thus, following the best milestones, we reach the highest paths.

The great Vivekananda, when asked by a devoted follower, what he ordained her to do in India, answered: “Love India!”
The great Teachings of the Vedas, the Covenants of Buddha, Apollonius of Tyana, Paracelsus, Thomas Vaughn, Ramakrishna the numberless calls of the centuries and all nations, direct us to the Great Mountain of India, which guards the treasure.

Love India!
The Mountains of India guard the healing leaves and roots.
The Mountains of India have gathered powerful energies and have strained the best currents for the strengthening of body and spirit.
Love India!
“Lapis exilis dicitur origo mundi.”

Ladak and Kashmir, Kangra and Lahoul, Kulu and Spiti are especially remarkable in their historical, geological and scientific respects. Here tracing their paths with achievement, have passed the Mahatmas and Rishis, the kings and heroes; here are mentioned the names of Na-garjuna, Padma Sambhava and Santa Rakhshita.

Here bloodshed occurred. Here were raised the cities and temples whose ruins still adorn the mountain ranges of the Himalayas.

The Himalayas, in their full might, cross these uplands; behind them, rises the Kailasa and still farther, Karakorum and the mountain kingdom crowned in the north by the Kuen Lun. Here also are the roads to the sacred Manasarowar Lake: here are the most ancient paths of the sacred pilgrimage. In this region is also the Lake of the Nagas, and the lake Ravalsar, the abode of Padma Sambhava. Here also are the caves of the Arhats and the great abode of Siva, the Amarnath Caves: here are hot springs; here are the 360 local deities, the number of which testifies how essential are these very sites of the accumulation of human thought through many ages.

But Kashmir is isolated, and so is Ladak. Naked rocks are massed together in Lahoul and Spiti. The summer heat there is excessive, and cruel is the winter frost.

Not safe is the eruptive soil of beautiful Kangra, and in neighboring Mandi there are also many ruins of past earthquakes. After the great earthquake of 1905, a Japanese geologist specially invited to investigate the condition of the soil, found that the earthquake belt passes through Kangra.

But between severe Spiti and Lahoul on one side, and the unsafe Kangra and Mandi on the other, north of Simla, along the river-bed Beas, lies the ancient valley of Kulu. This is the same Beas or Hypathos which was the boundary of Alexander the Great’s aspirations. On this river the conqueror stopped. The same river Hypathos is also connected with the name of Apollonius of Tyana.

Through Amritsar the railway leads to the Pathankote terminal. An hour before one reaches this small place, there already appear on the northeastern horizon the snowy mountains. From Pathankote one can go by motor, along the widing road through Palampur Kangra, Mandi, where the rocks are decorated with sharp outlines of ancient ruins. A railway is now slowly being laid in this direction. At present it has reached Joggin-dar-Naggar. The survey has been carried up to Mandi. But the Silver Valley of Kulu does not yet want to exchange its free motor road for iron bars.

Through Kulu Valley passes the ancient road to Ladak and Tibet. And inhabitants of the valley, ages ago, valued the beneficent properties of this extraordinary place.

Chota and Bara Bhagal mountain ranges, parallel to the Himalayas, separate Kulu Valley from Kangra, serving beneficially in two most important respects. Apparently these mountain ranges protect Kulu from the earthquake belt, for in Kulu no earthquakes equal to those of neighboring Kangra are remembered. There have been shocks, but with no disastrous consequences. Likewise, the altitude, estimated by General Bruce as about twenty thousand feet, protects Kulu from excessive monsoons. Although in Dalhousie and Kangra, the monsoon approaches one hundred and twenty inches, in Kulu it reaches forty inches, providing all the advantages of a dry climate. And whereas in Kangra the heat reaches up to one hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit, in Kulu no more than eighty degrees Fahrenheit are reported. Of course this data varies according to altitude, as on the terraces above the foaming Beas, one can find areas from five to ten thousand feet high.

In the higher places there is naturally only one harvest but in the lower fields two harvests are the rule, and even lands slightly cultivated give unusual yield. Almost all kinds of European and American apples, pears, cherries, plums, nectarines, peaches and apricots, nuts and a large variety of berries and medicinal plants, provide the yield of this fertile valley. The Civil Engineer, Mr. Bernatzki, who came to this valley for a couple of days and has now remained for more than six years, says that he has tested two hundred and thirty-five kinds of plants in the* Kulu Valley, and all the tests were convincingly successful. North of Kulu, in the eternal snows, shine the ranges of the Himalayas reminiscent, in their whiteness, of the special conditions surrounding these extraordinary sites.

It has been pointed out that electric and magnetic phenomena are especially pronounced on these heights. The latter provide exceptional possibilities for the study of special currents, and one may imagine what new researches could be made here by our great physicist Mil-likan to further his recent glorious discoveries.

It is remarkable how all the collected information augments the significance of these places, where fertility of soil combines with the unusual phenomena of height and with an historical heroic past.

Let us hear what is said of Kulu by other travelers, such as the explorer of the Himalayas and the leader of the Mount Everest expedition, General Bruce and Captain Enriquez, who toured the whole of Kulu and its surroundings; and A. H. Franke, the well-known explorer of these places; and the doctors A. R. and K. M. Heber; and let us remember H. L. H. Shuttleworth who enthusiastically wrote about Kulu in the Geographical Magazine and whose brother spoke on the antiquities of this valley in the University of Boston, calling Kulu the “Silver Valley.”

General the Honorable C. G. Bruce writes the following, in his book “Kulu and Lahoul”:

“Our introduction to the true Kulu Valley the previous day had been very pleasant. The walk from Sultanpur to Katrain, though by no means equal in beauty to the higher marches of Kulu, is very characteristic, the broad and not too rapid Beas resembling a salmon river. The great groves of alder trees fringing the banks, the wide open slopes of the hillsides, also an unfamiliar hillfolk thronging the roads, with a fair sprinkling of Tibetan and Lahouli traders, were all full of interest to us.

“The Beas is spanned by a number of excellent bridges, so that we could have traveled along either bank. The view is as fine from one as the other.

“During some of our marches we passed two or three of the best known of the Kulu fruit-gardens, but were unable to see anything of them as yet, though we did later on. Given good means of transportation, the fruit industry of Kulu should thrive wonderfully. The few Europeans who have settled in the valley and have taken up fruit-farming produce excellent results. They raise the best of apples and pears, equal to any in the world, and this with probably the least amount of labor. When, however, one considers that all the fruit has to be sent about an hundred and fifty miles to the nearest railway it is evident what a handicap the trade suffers. For instance, several kinds of the fruit most prized in India, such as cherries, currants and peaches, suffer so much in transit that it is not worth while cultivating them for the market, only in small quantities for home consumption.

“Shortly before our arrival at Katrain, after passing Mr. Donald’s fruit-farm at Dobi, we crossed the Phyrang River and had a really beautiful view up that valley. As is natural in early May, all the upper grazing grounds and minor points were still under snow, and the contrast between the splendid dark masses of the typical Kulu forest and white tops on a day full of color was a very pleasant and striking sight.

“One would think that there must be a great sameness in well-cut, well-wooded valleys backed by snowy mountains. Kashmir is full of them, so are all analogous regions, but, for all that, each has its own distinct character, and this particular view I should never take for one in Kashmir. It was completely new, a type of its own. Opposite Katrain, on the left bank of the river, we could see Naggar Castle, the residence of the Assistant-Commissioner of Kulu, besides several other buildings, evidently beautifully placed, and commanding, we felt sure, an outlook which at our lower level was barred from our view. It is wonderful to imagine any seat of Government having such a magnificent sight always before it.

“The coloring of the Kulu Valley is almost impossible to express in words. Artists should make it their own as they have so often done with regard to Kashmir. But again I repeat the Kulu color is in a class alone, and this richness and brilliance gives a charm and character peculiar to itself.

“Having once tasted the flavor of Kulu, both in beauty and interest, I found it very hard to turn my back on it (pp. 16-17).

“The descent on the Kulu side was simply perfect… It was far enough on in September for the autumn tints to have touched the higher levels with gorgeous color, and the forest below in its dark tones only served better to throw up the rich green left by the rains. There were numbers of Tibetan encampments on the flats on the way down, always picturesque with their blue-topped tents. I have seldom enjoyed a march more than the five last miles into Rahla. Kulu was at its best… We had a fine view of the redoubtable peak ‘M’ . . . The valley to the south was perfect. The crops were just ripening and the mixture of the crimson of the amaranth fields gave the richest possible effect, a welcome note of color after the more neutral tones of Lahoul. I do not think I ever saw a mass of colors as on our walk down.

“The Kulu peasants all round may not be very good at working their country, but they certainly grow magnificent crops. The fields, too, are well watered. The soil, no doubt, is very fine and amply rewards the slightest attention, but what a living really hard-working Alpine peasants would make out of such a country! The people will not even travel if they can help it, and have no desire to better themselves in any way. They can get all they really require at a minimum of exertion. ... I am not blaming them in particular, if they have all they desire and are happy, as is apparently the fact. I am only regretting the more or less wasted possibilities of such a country…

“Whether by accident or from possessing a real sense of the beautiful, whoever built the average Kulu temple very seldom made a mistake in the selection of sites; they are nearly always well placed. After leaving the temple, a full two thousand feet of steep ascent leads at last to the main valley of the Hamta, and the path winds through beautiful forests and open glades, deep in grass and full of flowers, even as late as the time of our visit. The right bank of the valley is very precipitous and finely sculptured, and is the habitat of many tahr, a species of Himalayan wild goats… We passed over some splendid grazing grounds on our way down and beat a great deal of open birch jungle for pheasants… Besides rich undergrowth, there were many flowers, especially great groves of pink balsams eight feet high, with stems as thick as a man’s wrist. The surroundings were splendid and the color very fine. Much oak, too, of a dusky coppery hue, which showed up most effectively against the autumn tints, for the hillsides above the forest were all colors, the grasses and shrubs all turning and adding every description of red and yellow and russet. ... It is always a pleasant ride or walk by the side of the Beas, passing continuously through great glades of fine alders—finer ones I have never seen…

“At the time of the great emigration, when all the flocks of sheep are driven over the Rohtang and Hamta Passes up to the blue grazing-grounds of Lahoul, and the Lingti plains and of Spiti, there must be about two hundred thousand sheep driven through Kulu, irrespective of local sheep owned by Kulu peasants. I have heard a considerably higher estimate, but am probably not far wrong in the round number I have given…

“The approach to Naggar from Katrain is charming. Here the main stream of the Beas is crossed by an excellent suspension bridge and the valley is broad and park like, and the alder groves splendid. A shady lane leads up to Naggar castle. In former times it was the royal center of Kulu, but the capital was moved to Sultanpur. Naggar is beautifully situated, a good height above the river and valley, over which it has a wide view. It is also of greater importance than Sultanpur. Naggar is said to have been the seat of the Rajahs of Kulu for over sixty reigns, the present castle having been built out of the ruins of the ancient place.

“It is a very fine old pile, constructed of age-darkened timbers and stone, but guiltless of mortar. Three stories in height it stands in an imposing manner, behind it is the oak temple and around it a gay flower garden. At this time of the year the color both of the garden beds and the surrounding country was simply brilliant, and not only the flowers and fields, but every roof of the peasants’ houses glowed with the rich amber of Indian corn spread there to dry, and below the crimson of the amaranth swept the valley in broad touches, while the blue indigo of distant hillside and forest were lighted with the yellow of the turning trees and grass. Snowy peaks completed the picture.

“We were lucky enough to see both spring and autumn views, and although the snow on the hillsides in the earlier season gives a greater contrast and shows up the forest and valley, still we both agreed in preferring the autumn coloring. I have never seen anything so brilliant on so large a scale.”

Captain C. M. Enriquez says the following in his book “The Realm of the Gods”:

“Naggar is a large village. The gardens are filled with roses, fruit trees and vegetables. The pears and apples of Kulu are famous. There are strawberries, artichokes, cabbages, asparagus, rhubarb and salads all growing up well. In the valley there are deodars, alders and fruit trees; and on the mountains, coming right down to the vale are deodars (pinus excelsa) and blue pines (kial). Glorious snows completely encircle this favored spot. Many of the surrounding peaks are fourteen thousand feet high. Those up the valley, shutting out Lahoul, are considerably higher; and Ghepan’s Peak is nearly twenty thousand. The last winter’s snowfall had been the heaviest known for years, and even the Bubu Pass, which is only ten thousand feet, is not yet open for pony traffic. Naggar is five thousand, nine hundred feet above sea level.

“Such is Kulu, a land of great beauty, cool breezes and luscious fruit—an ideal holiday ground. Trout are breeding in its streams. There are chicore and munal innumerable on the hills. Four kinds of pheasants can be shot. There are dozens of black bear in the forests; and below the snows you can get tar, gurul and red bear. The red bear are not as plentiful as they were, but a good Kulu sportsman assured me that other kinds of game were now more plentiful than they used to be twenty years ago… For the artist Kulu offers unlimited scope, and the naturalist will be delighted with the butterflies and birds of paradise. Leading out from the main valley there are endless miles of wooded uplands to explore.

“There are few parts of Kashmir, which are more attractive than the upper portions of Kulu.”

In A. H. Francke’s “Antiquities of India and Tibet” we read the following:

“Let me now add a few notes on Mandi, collected from Tibetan historical works. There can exist no reasonable doubt as regards the identification of the Tibetan Zahor with Mandi; for on our visit to Ravalsar we met with numerous Tibetan pilgrims, who said that they were traveling to Zahor, thereby indicating the Mandi State, if not the town. In the biography of Padma Sambhava, and in other books referring to his time, Zahor is frequently mentioned as a place where this teacher (750 A.D.) resided. The famous Buddhist teacher Santa Rakhshita, who went to Tibet, was born in Zahor. Again in the days of Ral-pa-can (8oo A.D.) we find the statement that during the reigns of his ancestors many religious books had been brought to Tibet from Gya (India or China), Li, Zahor and Kashmir. Zahor was then apparently a seat of Buddhist learning and it is even stated that under the same king, Zahor was conquered by the Tibetans. But under his successor, the apostate King Langdarma, many religious books were brought to Zahor, among other places, to save them from destruction.

“Among the Tibetans there still prevails a tradition regarding the existence of hidden books in Mandi, and this tradition in all probability refers to the books above mentioned. Mr. Howell, Assistant Commissioner of Kulu, told me that the present Thakur of Kolong, Lahoul, had once been told by a high lama from Nepal, where the books are still hidden. Unfortunately the Thakur had entirely forgotten the name of the place. My enquiries on the spot were of no avail, as none of the lamas and Tibetan laymen could or would tell where the books were concealed. I can suggest only one way of finding out the truth (or otherwise) of the tradition. A reward in money might be offered to the Thakurs of Kolong in order to induce them to make another attempt to find the old books.”

And two doctors, A. R. and K. M. Heber in their book “In Himalayan Tibet,” refer to Kulu in the following way:

“Our further travels through Kulu and Mandi State are in better known regions, and need no description here, save that one cannot refrain from referring to the country there as one of the most beautiful handiworks of our Creator.”

In such enthusiastic words the experienced explorers describe the beautiful Kulu Valley.

Silver Valley! Silver ore is brought. Antimony is brought. Many chemical processes have taken place underneath the fertile soil.

The great Arjuna laid a subterranean passage from Naggar to Manikaran—from the Silver Valley to the Fiery Spring.
In Bajaura there is an old temple, the origin of which is attributed to Buddhist times. It is said that the Blessed Rigden-jyepo, pursuing his enemies from the side of Ladak, captured and destroyed them at Bajaura. Thus this great name is connected with the Kulu Valley.

The village of Manali has received its name from the first law-giver—Manu. On the rocks of Lahoul are two images, a man and a woman, about nine feet high. A legend concerning these images states that they are the ancient inhabitants of this place. The same legend, as is well known, also surrounds the gigantic images of Afghan Bamian. Thus many great traditions are connected with the ancient valley of Kulu. And the Pandavas themselves, after the great war of the Mahabharata, regarding Nag-gar as the best site, settled there. On the high hill above the Thata temple can be seen ruins of the castle of these great warriors.

The Kulu Valley has its hero-protector—Narasimha, a Rajput Raja. A beautiful legend surrounds the name of Narasimha. The Raja had to flee from Rajputana. As a humble coolie the learned ruler hid in the Kulu Valley. Under the mantle of a simple worker he hid his identity but his great erudition did not permit him to remain unnoticed. The light of his justice and knowledge shone over his neighbors. The people guessed that no ordinary man had come among them and they of their own free will accepted Narasimha as their Raja. The ruins of the castle of Narasimha still stand, in Naggar and an image of the hero is erected under an old deodar. According! to legends, Narasimha protects the Kulu Valley. And woe to him, who evokes the just anger of the hero Raja. As a majestic white-bearded seer he is said to visit his country by night and many people have seen him and have been blessed by the ruler.

Narasimha protects the rich harvests. He fills the valley with fragrant flowers, and at the will of the hero, the trees are covered with luscious fruits. Now he will protect Urusvati, our Himalayan Research Institute!

And above the image of Narasimha rises the white summit of the Guru Guri Dhar—the path of the Spiritual Teacher.

Naggar, 1929.

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SON OF THE KING

That which human hands would divide, life itself unites. At a time when East and West are conventionally counter-opposed, life itself molds the foundations of one wisdom. Christianity and Buddhism would seem to be divided by many walls and yet the folk-wisdom does not recognize these divisions. With a pure benevolence, nations speak of Issa, the Best of Men. Widely varying nations revere the wisdom of Moses and in Christian Churches the name of Buddha is pronounced. One is surprised to see on the walls of the old Catholic Campo Santo in Piza, the beautiful Fresco by Nardo di Cione representing the Son of the King, the future Buddha, for the first time witnessing the ends of human existence—the corpses encountered on his journey. This is a Roman Catholic Church.

In the Greek Orthodox Church, in the old descriptions of the “Lives of the Saints,” you have a detailed account of the life of Iosophat, the son of the King of India. You begin to understand that Iosaph, or Iosaphat, in distorted Arabian, is “Bodhisattva” wrongly pronounced.

You begin to study this lengthy narrative beyond the veil of Christian interpretation, and you perceive the fragments from the fundamental narrative of Buddha’s life.

Without yielding to any personal conceptions, let us take a few literal passages from the old “Chetyi-Minei”:

In the East there is a very large and broad country, called India, where dwell varied peoples. And the country outshines in riches and fertility all other countries and its boundaries reach up to Persia. This country was once enlightened by St. Thomas the apostle, but had not totally ceased to worship idols, because many were such inveterate heathens that they would not accept the teachings of salvation and continued to adhere to their alluring deviltries. In the course of time this heresy spread as do weeds, suffocating the good seeds, so that the number of heathens had become much greater than those of the faithful.

Then a King, whose name was Avenir, became ruler in this country and he was great and celebrated for his power and possessions. And a son was born to the King and he was called losaph. The child was extremely beautiful and this extraordinary beauty was a sign of the great beauty of his spirit. The King summoned a great number of Magis and astrologists and inquired of them what future awaited the child, when it came of age. To this they replied that he would be greater than all the preceding kings. But one of the diviners, the wisest of them all, and wise not through the stars but because of the divine knowledge within him, told the King:

“The child will not come of age in this kingdom, but in a kingdom far better and infinitely larger.”

The King built a wonderful palace with a vast number of spacious rooms wherein losaph was to be educated.

When the child grew up and attained reason, the King retained mentors and servants who were young and of beautiful appearance, to attend to all his needs. And he gave strict commands that no stranger was ever to be admitted to see the prince. The King also commanded that no one was ever to talk to the prince of the sorrows of life; nor of death, old age, nor of illness and other griefs, which might overcast his pleasures. But every one was to speak to him only of beautiful and joyful things, in order to occupy his mind with enjoyments and pleasures and not to permit him time to think of the future.
Thus the prince, without leaving his beautiful palace, attained his youth and came to understand Indian and Egyptian wisdom; he grew wise and understanding, and his life was adorned with worthy principles. Then he began to ponder why his father kept him in such solitude and he asked one of his tutors about it. The latter, perceiving that the youth was perfect in mind and of great kindliness, told him what the astrologers had prophesied at his birth.

The King often visited his son whom he loved dearly. And once Iosaph spoke to his father:

“Greatly do I desire to know, my father, of something which forever burdens my mind with grief and sorrow.”

The father, feeling a pain at his heart, replied: “Tell me, dear child, what is the sorrow that torments you and I shall immediately try to transform it into joy.”

So Iosaph asked: “What are the causes of my imprisonment here; why do you imprison me behind these walls and gates, depriving me of the outdoors and making me invisible to all?”

And the father replied: “I do not wish, my child, that you should see aught which may evoke sorrow in your heart and thus rob you of happiness; I wish that you would live here all your life in ceaseless pleasures, surrounded with joy and happiness.”
 

“Then know, father,” responded the youth, “that this confinement brings neither joy nor pleasure, but such distress and despair that my very food and drink seem embittered. I want to see all that there is behind these gates, and therefore, if you do not wish me to die of grief allow me to go wherever I wish and let my soul enjoy the sight of that, which up to now I have not seen.”

Hearing this, the King became downcast but realizing that should he continue to confine his son he would cause him still greater grief and sorrow, he said: “Let it be, my child, according to your desire.”

And he at once ordered the best horses and arranged everything in full glory as befits princes. And he no longer forbade his son to leave the palace but allowed him to go wherever he desired. But he gave orders to all his followers, that they should allow nothing sad nor unworthy to approach the prince, and that they should show him only the very best and beautiful—that which would gladden his eye and heart. And along the road, he ordered choirs to sing and music to be played and all other manner of entertainments to regale the prince. Often the prince left his palace, riding in full regal splendor and glory. But once, through the oversight of his servants, he saw two men: one leprous and the other blind.

Then he asked his companions: “Who are they and why are they like that?”

And his companions, seeing that it was impossible to hide human ailments from him any longer, said: “Those are human sufferings, which usually befall people because of the frailty of nature and because of the feeble make-up of our bodies.”
The youth asked: “Do such things happen to every one?”

And he was told: “Not to every one, but to those whose health has been destroyed through excess of worldly goods.”
Then the youth asked: “If this does not happen as a rule to all people, then do those, to whom such mishaps befall, know in advance or do these things occur suddenly and unexpectedly?”

His companions replied: “Who of us can know the future?”

The prince ceased his questions but his heart became sad at sight of these happenings and the expression of his face changed. A few days later, he encountered an old man, feeble, his face full of wrinkles, with bent and frail limbs, entirely gray, toothless and almost unable to speak. Noticing him, the youth was overcome with horror and, ordering him to approach, he asked: “Who is this and why is he like that?”

“He is already very old, and because his strength is leaving him and because his body has become weak, he is in the unfortunate condition which you see.”

Again the youth asked: “What will happen to him next, when he will live a great many more years?”
And they replied: “Nothing, but that death will take him.”
The youth continued asking: “Will such happen to every one, or does it happen but to some of us?”
They replied: “If death does not overtake us in our younger years, then it is impossible, after many years, not to attain that state.”

The youth asked: “At what age do people become like him, and if death awaits each one of us without exception, is there no possibility to escape it and to avoid this misery?”

And he was told: “At the age of eighty or one hundred, people weaken, become feeble and die, and it cannot be otherwise, for death is the natural due of man, and its approach is inevitable.”

Seeing and hearing all this, the youth, sighing from the depths of his heart, said:

“If this is so, then our life is bitter and full of woe, and who can be gay and devoid of sorrow, when he is ever awaiting death, which is not only inevitable, but also, as you say, unexpected.”

And he returned to his palace very, very sad, continually pondering over death and repeating to himself:

“If all are to die, I also must die, and I even do not know when… And after my death, who will remember me? And after long ages everything will pass into forgetfulness. ... Is there no other life after death and is there no other world?” . . .

And he became very troubled by all these thoughts. However, he said nothing to his father, but asked his mentor whether he did not know of some one, who could explain all this to him and ease his mind for in thought he could find no solution.
His teacher said:

“I have told you before, that the wise hermits, who lived here and who pondered over all these questions, have either been killed by your father or have been exiled in his moments of anger. Now I know of no one within our boundaries.”

The youth became deeply grieved at this, and his heart ached and life became a continuous torture; and thus all the sweetness and the beauty of this world became in his eyes but debris and dirt. And God, desiring that each one save himself and that reason should reach truth, with His usual love and His mercy to mankind, pointed the right way to the youth in the following manner:

At this time there lived a monk, wise, fully perfect in all virtues, by the name of Varlaam, a priest by rank. He lived in the desert of Senaridia. Inspired by Divine revelation, this wise man learned of the prince’s plight, and, departing from the desert and changing his garments for those of a merchant, took ship and departed to the Indian Kingdom. Arriving in the city, where the prince lived in his palace, he stayed there many days acquainting himself with details about the prince and his near ones. Thus, finding out that the mentor was nearest to the prince, he went to the mentor and said:

“Know thou, my sir, that I am a merchant and that I have come from far-off lands. I have a precious stone, which has no equal anywhere and never had, and which up till now I have shown to no one, but I now speak to you about it, because I see that you are a clever and able man. Therefore take me to the prince and I will give him that stone, which is of such high price that no one can calculate it, for it exceeds all good and expensive things. The stone gives sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, speech to the dumb, health to the ailing, and can cast out the devil from the obsessed, making rational the insane. He who possesses this stone can attain all the good he desires.”

The mentor replied: “You seem an old man, yet you speak empty words and you overflow with self-praise: I have seen many precious stones and pearls and I have possessed many myself, but, I have never heard of nor seen a stone that possessed such powers. But let me see it and if your words are true I will immediately take you to the prince and you will be honored and you will receive the remuneration you merit.”

Varlaam said: “You are correct in saying that you have neither seen nor heard of such stones, but, believe me, I have such a stone. I do not wish to praise myself, nor do I lie in my old age, but I speak the truth. But as regards your desire to see it, listen to what I have to tell you: my precious stone, besides the faculties and miracles mentioned, has also this property, that it can be seen only by those, who possess absolutely healthy eyes and a perfectly chaste body; if, however, some one unclean unexpectedly sees the stone, he at once loses his sight and reason. Knowing the art of healing I can tell that your eyes ache and I therefore fear to show you the stone, lest I be guilty of your blindness. But of the prince I have heard that he leads a pure life, that he has healthy and clear eyes, and I therefore would show him my treasure. So do not be indifferent and deprive your master of such an important possession.”

The mentor replied: “If that be so, then do not show me the stone for I have defiled myself by many an unclean deed, and, as you say, I have an unhealthy vision. But I believe you and I will not be indifferent but will inform my master at once.”

And the teacher went into the palace and related to the prince all in the order as it happened. And the prince having listened to this, felt a great joy in his heart and became uplifted in spirit. He ordered the merchant to visit him at once.

Varlaam entered the room of the prince and, bowing, greeted him with a wise and pleasant speech. The prince ordered him to be seated and as soon as the mentor had left, said to the old man:

“Show me the stone of which you spoke to my mentor and of which you said such great and wonderful things.”

But Varlaam spoke thus to the prince:

“Everything that has been told to you about me, prince, is true and right, for it would not befit me to speak an untruth to your Highness. But before I have come to know your thoughts, I cannot open to you my great secret, because the Lord has said to me: ‘A sower went forth to sow. And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the wayside, and the fowls came and devoured them; some fell upon stony places, where they had little earth; forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth; and some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up and choked them; but others fell into good ground and brought forth fruit a hundredfold.’ Thus if I will find in your heart good and fertile ground, I will not be hesitant but will sow the divine seed and will open to you the great mystery.

But if the ground be stony or full of thorns, then better not to waste the saving seeds and better not to permit them to be devoured by birds and beasts, for it is strictly forbidden to throw jewels before them. But I hope to find in you the best soil for accepting the worthy seed and for beholding the precious stone and becoming enlightened by the dawn of light and yielding fruit an hundredfold. For because of you I have gone to many pains and I have sailed a long way, in order to show you what you have never seen and to teach you, what you have never heard.”
Iosaph said to him in reply:

“I am possessed, O venerable sire, by an ardent desire to hear of new, worthy worlds, and within my heart there burns a fire, that impels me to gain knowledge of important and essential things. But until now I have not found such a man, who could explain that which is in my mind and designate to me the right path. But should I find such person never would I cast his words, to the birds nor beasts, nor would my heart be of stone or full of thorns, but each word I would cultivate within my heart. And should you yourself know of something, please do not hide it from me, but teach me. For when I heard that you were from a distant land, my soul rejoiced and I became full of hope to receive from you that which I desired to know: this was why I asked you to enter immediately and why I received you with joy, as if you were long known to me or my peer.”
 

So Varlaam explained the teaching in parables and allegories adorning his speech with many beautiful narratives and precepts. As wax, the heart of the prince softened and the more the old sage told him the more eager became the prince to listen to him. Finally the prince began to realize that the precious stone was the wonderful Light of the Spirit, which opens the eyes of the mind, and he believed without the slightest doubt everything which Varlaam taught him. And rising from his throne and going up to the old wise man, he embraced him and said:

“O, Thou most worthy of all men! This is, I believe, the precious stone, which you keep in secret and which you do not wish to show to every one, but only to the worthy, whose spiritual feelings are sound and healthy. For as soon as your words reached my ears, a sweet light entered my heart and the heavy cover of grief which so long burdened my soul dispersed into naught. So tell me, am I correct in my reason, and if you know anything further, please teach me!”

And Varlaam continued, telling him of the wise and of the evil death, of one resurrection, of an eternal life, of the beautiful consequences of good deeds and of the sufferings of sinners. And the words of Varlaam moved the prince deeply, so that his eyes filled with tears and he wept long. Varlaam also explained the emptiness and inconstancy of this world and told him about renunciation and about the solitary life of monks in the desert.

Like jewels in a shrine, Iosaph gathered all these words in his heart, and he began to love Varlaam so greatly that he wanted to be with him forever to listen to his teaching. He asked him of the solitary life, of their food and clothing, saying:

“Tell me, what do you and those with you, wear in the desert, and what is your food and where does it come from?”

Varlaam replied: “For food we gather the fruit of the trees and the roots that grow in the desert. If, however, a believer brings us bread, we accept it as God-sent; our clothing is of hair and of the skins of sheep and goats, worn and patched, and the same in summer and winter. The additional clothing that you see on me, has been borrowed from a worthy layman, so that none may know that I am a monk. Should I have come in my own clothing, they would not have permitted me to see you.”
 

Iosaph asked Varlaam to show him his own garments and when Varlaam took off the merchant’s garments, Iosaph saw a terrible sight: the body of the old man was quite dry and black from the rays of the sun, the skin hung on his bones. Around the loins and legs, down to the knee, was a ragged prickly hair-cloth and a mantle of the same hung on his shoulders. losaph was amazed at such hardship and at the great endurance of the aged man and he sighed and wept, asking the sage to take him with him into the lonely life.

Varlaam said: “Do not ask this now, for then the anger of your father may fall on us all. Better remain here, growing in the knowledge of the great truths. I will go back alone. Later on, when the Lord so wishes, you will come to me, for I believe that in this life, as well as in the future life, we will live together.”

Iosaph replied in tears: “If such is the higher will, I will remain. Take with you plenty of gold to bring to your brethren in the desert, for food and clothing.”

“The rich give to the poor,” retorted Varlaam, “and not the poor to the rich. How is it that you want to give us, the rich, when you yourself are poor? Even the least of our brethren is incomparably richer than yourself. I hope that you also will soon acquire these true riches; but when you will become rich in this way, then you will turn miserly and incommunicative.”

Iosaph did not understand him, and Varlaam explained his words to the effect, that he who renounces all earthly goods, acquires heavenly riches and the smallest heavenly gift is more valuable than all riches of this world. And he added:
“Gold is often the cause of sin, and therefore we do not keep it. But you wish, that I should bring to my brethren this snake, which they have already vanquished.”

And for a long time, Varlaam visited the prince daily and taught him the wonderful path to the light.

One day Varlaam told him of his intention to leave, losaph could hardly bear the separation from his teacher and wept bitterly. As a last token he asked Varlaam to give him his mantle. The wise old man gave Iosaph the mantle and Iosaph valued it more than his royal purple robes.

Once Iosaph, praying long with tears in his eyes, wearied, fell asleep on the ground. In his dream he suddenly saw himself taken by some strangers through most wonderful lands into a large field covered with beautiful and fragrant flowers. Here he saw a large variety of gorgeous trees, bearing unknown and strange fruits, pleasant to look at and inviting to the taste; the leaves of the trees were swaying softly in the light breeze and a sublime aroma filled the air. Under the trees there were altars of pure gold, laid with precious stones and pearls, shining most brilliantly. He further noticed many couches bedecked with covers of untold beauty and luster. In the center, a spring flowed, its clear and lovely waters caressing the eye.

The strangers led Iosaph through these fields into a city, glowing in a most brilliant light. All the walls were of pure gold and of precious stones, hitherto unseen and the pillars and gates were of pearl in one piece. But who can describe the full beauty and glory of that city?! A light in abundant rays shone from the heights, and filled all the streets of the city, and winged and brilliant warriors walked in the streets and sang sweet songs, such as the ear of man has never heard. And Iosaph heard a voice:

“This is the resting place of the virtuous! Here you see the happiness of those who in their lifetime have pleased the Lord!”

The unknown men then intended to bring Iosaph back, but he, captured by the beauty and the glory of the city, said:

“I beg of you, please do not take from me this indescribable joy and permit me to dwell in some corner of this beautiful city!”
 

“Now you cannot remain here,” he was told. “But for your many heroic deeds and aspirations, you shall in time enter this place, if only you will apply all your strength. For those who strive shall take possession of the kingdom of heaven.” . . .

On the fortieth day after the death of King Avenir, Iosaph called together, in memory of his father, all the statesmen, counselors and commanders of the armies and told them his great secret and that he intended to leave this earthly kingdom and everything of the world, and wished to go into the desert and lead the life of a monk. All became saddened and wept because they loved him for his benevolence, humility and charity. And every one begged Iosaph not to leave them. But at night he addressed a decree to the entire council and to all the commanders.

And leaving this decree in his bedroom, he departed secretly into the desert. In the morning the news of his flight spread and the people became deeply depressed and troubled. Many wept. Then all the inhabitants of the city decided to go and search for him and verily they found him near a dried stream, lifting his hands to heaven in prayer. The people surrounded him, fell on their knees before him and beseeched him with tears and sobs, to return to his palace. But he asked them not to cause him grief and to leave him free, for his decision was final. And he walked on into the wilderness. Then the people, weeping bitterly, had to turn home, but a few followed him at a distance until sunset, when the darkness set in and prevented them from following him further.

In the desert Iosaph led a life of hardship, for food was scarce, and even the grass was dry and the ground gave little fruit. But his spiritual achievements were great. And once again, in his sleep, he beheld a dream. The same strangers took him and led him again through the beautiful field, and he again saw the brilliant city. When they arrived at its gates, they were met by Divine Angels, who carried two wreaths of undescribable beauty, losaph asked: “Whose are these wreaths?” “Both are yours,” replied the angels, “one for the saving of many souls and the other for departing the earthly kingdom and beginning the spiritual life.” . . .

In such an original way the old book “Life of the Saints —Chetyi Minei” relates the life of the Buddha. Behind the ancient Slavonic ecclesiastic language, one perceives clearly the original narrative of the Life of the Blessed Buddha. And the vision of the prince, before his withdrawal into the desert, clearly corresponds to the enlightenment of the Buddha.

At the end of the narrative is added a prayer to the Indian prince which says: “And leaving his kingdom, he reached the desert… Pray for the saving of our souls.” There is added still another prayer, stating that Iosaph “now has, as his home, the shining hills of Jerusalem,” and asking that he may “pray for all those who have faith in Thee.” Thus the followers of Christ pray and approach the Blessed Buddha.

In November, in all churches, the name of the saintly Indian prince, losaph, is mentioned, and the gray-bearded Old Believer on the Altai Mountain sings the ancient sacred verse devoted to the blessed Indian prince. It is deeply touching, on the heights of the Altai, to hear the words of the prince addressing himself to the desert:

“Oh, receive me and accept me, Thou silent desert!”— “How can I receive Thee, Prince, I have no palaces nor royal chambers to shelter Thee?” “But I need no palaces and royal chambers!”

Thus on the Altai heights sings the gray-bearded Old Believer. And on the mountain near by a little shepherd, like ancient Lelor the blessed Krishna, weaving wreaths of marigold, ringingly proclaims another version dedicated to the same sacred memory:

Oh, my Beloved Master!
Why hast Thou left me so soon?
Thou hast left me orphaned!
Grieving through all my days.
Oh, thou desert, the beautiful!
Accept me in thy embrace.
Into thy chosen palace,
Peaceful and silent.
I flee, as if from a serpent,
From earthly fame and splendor,
From wealth and resplendent mansions.
My desert, beloved, accept me!
I shall reach thy meadows.
To rejoice at your wondrous flowers.
Here to dwell my approaching years.
Until the end of my days…

Altai, 1926.

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SUBTERRANEAN DWELLERS

Once on our travels we reached a half-ruined village. There was a glimmer of light in only two houses. In a small room, an old man sat cleaning a utensil. He became our host for the night. I asked him the reason for his isolation. He answered, “Every one has departed. They have found more suitable sites for their dwellings. They were strong and enterprising. Something new attracted them. But I knew that nothing new exists on earth. And I did not wish to change the place of my death.”

Thus the strongest ones depart. The decaying ones patiently await death. Is this not the story of all migrations, of all enterprises?

The subject of the great migrations is the most fascinating in the history of humanity. What spirit was it that thus moved whole nations and innumerable tribes? What cataclysm drove the hordes from their familiar steppes? What new happiness and privileges did they anticipate in the blue mist of the immense desert?

On rocks in Dardistan we saw ancient drawings. We also saw the same kind of drawings upon the rocks near the Brahmaputra, as well as on the rocks of Orkon in Mongolia, and in the tumuli of Minusinsk in Siberia. And finally we discerned the same creative psychology in the halristningars of Sweden and of Norway. And later we stopped in admiration before the mighty signs of the early Romanesque which we found, based on the same creative aspirations of the great migrators.

In every city, in every encampment of Asia, I tried to discover what memories were being cherished in the folk-memory. Through these guarded and preserved tales you can recognize the reality of the past. In every spark of folk-lore, there is a drop of the great Truth adorned or distorted. Not long ago we were too vain to appreciate these treasures of folk-lore. “What could these illiterate people know!” But afterwards we learned that even the great Rig-Vedas were written down only in the comparatively recent past, and perhaps for many centuries they were passed down by word of mouth. We thought that the flying carpet of fairy-tales belonged only to the children but we soon recognized that although each fantasy, in its own individual way, weaves a beautiful carpet ornamenting life, nevertheless this very carpet bears the footprints of great reality of the past.

Among the innumerable legends and fairy tales of various countries may be found the tales of lost tribes or subterranean dwellers. In wide and diverse directions, people are speaking of the identical facts. But in correlating them you can readily see that these are but chapters from the one story. At first it seems impossible that there should exist any scientific connection between these distorted whispers under the light of the desert bonfires. But afterwards you begin to grasp the peculiar coincidence in these manifold legends related by peoples who are even ignorant of each other’s names.

You recognize the same relationship in the folk-lores of Tibet, Mongolia, China, Turkestan, Kashmir, Persia, Altai, Siberia, the Ural, Caucasia, the Russian steppes, Lithuania, Poland, Hungary, Germany, France; from the highest mountains to the deepest oceans. You will hear wonderfully elaborated tales in the Tourfan district. They tell you how a holy tribe was persecuted by a tyrant and how the people, not willing to submit to the cruelty, closed themselves in subterranean mountains. They even ask you if you want to see the entrance of the cave through which the saintly persecuted folk fled.
In Kuchar you will hear of King Po-chan, ruler of the Tokhars, and how, when the enemy approached, he disappeared with all the treasures of his kingdom, leaving only sand, stones and ruins behind him.

In Kashmir they speak of the lost tribe of Israel; some learned Rabbi may explain you that Israel is the name of those who are searching, and that it constitutes, not a nation, but the character of a people. In connection with these beliefs they show you in Srinagar, the tomb of Blessed Issa—Jesus. You may hear an elaborate story of how the Saviour was crucified but did not die and his followers carried the body from the sepulcher and disappeared. Issa is said to have recovered and spent the remainder of his life in Kashmir preaching the same gospel. It is said that from this subterranean tomb, one senses various fragrances. In Kashgar they will show you the tomb of the Virgin Mary where the Holy Mother of Issa fled after the cruel persecution of her son. Everywhere you have different stories of travels and movements of great meaning. As you continue with your caravan, this provides the greatest pleasure and the greatest education. From Tourfan there also comes the pleasing tale of how young people are sent for long trips as though on pilgrimages to acquire the best knowledge of other lands.

Each entrance to a cave suggests that some one has already entered there. Every creek—especially the subterranean creeks—draw one’s fantasy to the underground passages. In many places of Central Asia, they speak of the Agharti, the subterranean people. In numerous beautiful legends they outline the same story of how the best people abandoned the treacherous earth and sought salvation in hidden countries where they acquired new forces and conquered powerful energies.
In the Altai Mountains, in the beautiful upland valley of Uimon, a hoary Old Believer (Starover) said to me: “I shall prove to you that the tale about the Chud, the subterranean people, is not a fantasy! I shall lead you to the entrance of the subterranean kingdom.”
On the way through the valley surrounded by snowy mountains, my host told us many tales about the Chud. It is remarkable that “Chud” in Russian has the same origin as the word wonder. So, perhaps, we may consider the Chud a wonderful tribe. My bearded guide told how “once upon a time, in this fertile valley lived and flourished the powerful tribe of Chud. They knew how to prospect for minerals and how to reap the best harvest. Most peaceful and most industrious, was this tribe. But then came a White Tzar with innumerable hordes of cruel warriors. The peaceful, industrious Chud could not resist the assaults of the conquerors, and not wishing to lose their liberty, they remained as serfs of the White Tzar. Then, for the first time, a white birch began to grow in this region. And, according to the old prophecies, the Chud knew that it was the time for their departure. And the Chud, unwilling to remain subject to the White Tzar, departed under the earth. Only sometimes can you hear the holy people singing; now their bells ring out in the subterranean temples. But there shall come the glorious time of human purification, and in those days, the great Chud shall again appear in full glory.”

Thus the Old Believer concluded. We approached some low stony hill. Proudly he showed me, “Here we are. Here is the entrance to the great subterranean kingdom! When the Chud entered the subterranean passage they closed the entrance with stones. Now we stand just beside this holy entrance.”

We stood before a huge tomb encircled by great stones, so typical of the period of the great migrations. Such tombs, with the beautiful remains of Gothic relics, we saw in South Russian steppes, in foothills of the Northern Caucasus. Studying this hill, I remembered how during our crossing of the Karakorum pass, my sais, the Ladaki, asked me, “Do you know why there is such a peculiar upland here? Do you know that in the subterranean caves here many treasures are hidden and that in them lives a wonderful tribe which abhors the sins of earth?”

And again when we approached Khotan the hoofs of our horses sounded hollow as though we rode above caves or hollows. Our caravan people called our attention to this, saying, “Do you hear what hollow subterranean passages we are crossing? Through these passages, people who are familiar with them can reach far-off countries.” When we saw entrances of caves, our caravaneers told us, “Long ago people lived there; now they have gone inside; they have found a subterranean passage to the subterranean kingdom. Only rarely do some of them appear again on earth. At our bazaar such people come with strange, very ancient money, but nobody could even remember a time when such money was in usage here.” I asked them, if we could also see such people. And they answered, “Yes, if your thoughts are similarly high and in contact with these holy people, because only sinners are upon earth and the pure and courageous people pass on to something more beautiful.”
 

Great is the belief in the Kingdom of the subterranean people. Through all Asia, through the spaces of all deserts, from the Pacific to the Urals, you can hear the same wondrous tale of the vanished holy people. And even far beyond the Ural Mountains, the echo of the same tale will reach you. Often you hear about subterranean tribes. Sometimes an invisible holy people is said to be living behind a mountain. Sometimes either poisonous or vitalizing gases are spread over the earth, to protect some one. Sometimes you hear how the sands of the great desert shift, and for a moment disclose treasures of the entrances of subterranean kingdoms. But none would dare to touch those treasures. You will hear how, in the rocks, in the most deserted mountain ranges, you can see openings which connect with these subterranean passes, and how beautiful princesses once upon a time occupied these natural castles.

From distances one might take these openings for eyries, because all which belongs to the subterranean peoples is concealed. Sometimes the Holy City is submerged, as in the folk-lore of Netherlands and Switzerland. And there is folk-lore that coincides with actual discoveries in the lakes and along the sea coasts. In Siberia, in Russia, Lithuania and Poland, you find many legends and fairy tales about giants who lived at times in these countries but afterwards, disliking the new customs, disappeared. In these legends, one may recognize the specific foundations of the ancient clans. The giants are brothers. Very often the sisters of the giants live on the other shores of the lakes or the other side of the mountains. Very often they do not like to move from the site but some special event drives them from their patrimonial dwelling. Birds and animals are always near these giants; as witnesses they follow them and announce their departure.

Among the stories of submerged cities, the story of Kerjenetz city in the Nijni Novgorod section possesses a superb beauty. This legend has such an influence on the people that even now, once yearly, numerous religious folk gather in holy procession around the lake, where the holy city was submerged. It is touching to see how vital are the legends, vital as the bon-fires and torches of the procession itself, which resounds with holy songs about the city. Afterward, in complete silence, around the bonfires these people await and listen for the festal bells of the invisible churches.

This procession recalls the sacred festival on the Manas-arowar Lake in the Himalayas. The Russian legend of Kerjenetz is attributed to the time of the Tartar yoke. It is related that when the victorious Mongol hordes approached, the ancient Russian city of Kerjenetz was unable to defend itself. Then all the holy people of this city came to the temple and prayed for salvation. Before the very eyes of the merciless conquerors, the city solemnly sank into the lake, which thenceforth was regarded as sacred. Although the legend speaks of the time of the Tartar yoke, you can distinguish that the essential bases of the legend is far more ancient and you can distinguish the traces of the typical effects of migration. This legend not only gave rise to many variants but even inspired many modern composers and artists. Every one may remember the beautiful opera of Rimsky-Korsakoff, “The City of Kitege.”

The endless Kurgans of the southern steppes retain around them numerous stories about the appearance of the unknown warrior, nobody knows from whence. The Carpathian Mountains in Hungary have many similar stories of unknown tribes, giant-warriors and mysterious cities. If, without prejudice, you patiently point out on your map all the legends and stories of this nature you will be astonished at the result. When you collect all the fairy-tales of lost and subterranean tribes, will you not have before you a full map of the great migrations? An old Catholic missionary casually tells us that the site of Lhassa was sometimes called Gotha. In the Trans-Himalayas, at heights of fifteen thousand and sixteen thousand feet, we found several groups of menhirs. Of these menhirs in Tibet, nobody knows. Once after an entire day’s trip through the barren hills and rocks of the Trans-Himalayas, we saw, at a distance, some black tents prepared for our camp. At the same time, we noticed, not far from the same direction, those long stones which are so meaningful for every archaeologist. Even from afar, could be distinguished the peculiar design of their construction.

“What kind of stones are these on the slopes?” we asked our Tibetan guide.

“Oh,” he replied, “they are Doring—long stones; this is an ancient sacred place. It is very useful to put grease on the heads of the stones. Then the deities of this place help the travelers.”

“Who laid these stones together?”
“Nobody knows. But this district from ancient times has been called Doring—long stones. The people say that unknown people passed here long ago.”

Across the relief of the Trans-Himalayas we saw distinctly the long rows of vertical stones. These alleys finished with a circle with three high stones in the center. The direction of the entire figure was from west to east. After encamping, we hurriedly proceeded to the site. And with the full evidence before us we realized that here was a typical menhir, such as gave its glory to the stone field of Carnac. On the surrounding slopes, no objects were found. Not far from the menhir was a trace of a small river, temporarily dried. No excavation was permitted because of the stupid prejudice of the Tibetans who invented the story that Buddha forbade the touching of the soil. But no excavation was needed to recognize the typical Druidic construction so carefully transported from the shores of the ocean… “The strongest have passed this way and found the most suitable sites.”

During the next four days we found four other groups of menhirs. Some of them had the same rather long alleys of stone; others consisted only of several long stones encircled by smaller stones. When we approached the high passes before the Brahmaputra, these constructions ceased. In connection with these old sanctuaries, we found several tombs, a square outlined by huge stones. Again a complete repetition of those in the Altai and Caucasus was revealed. Before me, from the same spot, is a characteristic fibula—the two-headed eagle. The same design is known to us from the graves of the northern Caucasus. Before me are Tibetan swords, exactly like those in the Gothic tombs.

The women of the same district wear the head-dress, like the head-dress of the Slavonic peoples, the so-called Kofoshni^. As you travel through the heights of Tibet with their unbearable cold and hurricanes; as you mark these savage Tibetans in decayed furs, devouring raw meat, you are deeply astonished when out of the fur hat peers apparendy the face of a Spaniard, a Hungarian or southern Frenchman. Admittedly, they are somewhat distorted of feature, but they have no relation with the Mongolian or Chinese type. You can relate them only to Europeans. One may also imagine that the best and most courageous people have departed somewhere and now you have before you only the poor degenerate remnants.

Looking on the merciless glaciers of the Trans-Hima-layas, on this sterile soil, on barren rocks, where even animals are scarce, where even eagles are seen but rarely, you may conceive how people were impelled onward, and how, from the high mountains, they reached the expanses of the future deserts. But their spirits were unsatisfied. They longed for the mountains. Thus did the Altai Mountains give them the temporary illusion of a longed-for happiness. But the glaciers of the Altai were too close to them; only now are they beginning to recede, for scientists have estimated the recession of the glaciers to be about twenty-five feet during the last thirty years. Some new and more fertile dwelling site for the courageous travelers was to be found in the Northern Caucasus and in the Crimea. Once again, the mountains permitted them breathing space. But they no longer had to combat the glaciers. The long journey was rewarded. Why, then, not to try still further?

The Carpathian Mountains were also inviting; so to the very shores of the ocean came the pilgrims. And they remembered all the sacred signs of their long journey. For this reason, we appreciated so much the menhirs and Stone Henge of Bretagne and the British Isles. We cannot give statements of finality because each finality is a conclusion, and conclusions mean death. In broad decisions, in broad expectations and search, we are happy to add more pearls to the string of searching.
When I was asked, “Why do you so rejoice over these menhirs?” I answered, “Because my map of fairy-tales was verified. When in one’s hand you hold one end of an enchanted cord at Carnac, is it not a joy to find its beginning in the Trans-Himalayas?”

Somebody may argue, that perhaps the builders of the menhirs came into the Trans-Himalayas from somewhere, and that the Trans-Himalayas may thus have been their stopping place, but not their original abode. Of course, it may perhaps have been thus. Hence, the less-defined conclusions we build, and the less we expect, the better for the future.

“But are you sure that the people, about whom you are talking, are the so-called Goths?”

“It is immaterial to me, what they are called, whether they were forefathers of the Goths or their grandchildren. Were these deep links with Celts or Alans or Scythian tribes? These scrupulous calculations will have to be undertaken by some one else. But I rejoice at the fact, that on the heights of the Trans-Himalayas I have seen the embodiment of Carnac. I do not insist upon nomenclatures, because before my very eyes the superficial nomenclatures have changed so often, and often a so-called fact was easily juggled about for periods of approximately a thousand years. I shall not forget my amazement when, on excavating a kurgan which at the time had been definitely established as characteristic of a period not later than the Tenth Century, I found in the hands of the skeleton, a coin of the Fourteenth Century. Such are the fluctuations!”
 

The folk determine these problems much more simply: for them all which has disappeared, has departed underground.
When we are asking our centenarian grandfather about the covered wagon of his youth, we shall certainly hear many things in a fantastic manner. But there will always be some truths revealed. When we ask the people about their forefathers, they are still able to tell us, they may still sing to us some song of a great. truth.

Old Tibetan legends since very ancient times have drawn attention to the menhirs and Dolmens of unknown origin. The memory of the Tibetan people thus records these Great Travelers:

“From far-away India there departed two princes and they turned their path northwards. On the way, one of the princes died and his brother honored his memory by erecting over him a resplendent abode of huge stones. And he himself continued his long way into the unknown lands.”

Thus the memory of the people knows!

Tangoo, 1928.

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