Authors: Maurice Herzog
Under the lee of a house right in the centre of the little village of Garomboree, I lay exhausted after a session with the surgeon’s knife during which I had undergone several amputations. I gazed blankly at the bustling activity of the stony main street. The Sherpas had gone coolie-hunting, and a porter belonging to the Suba of Tukucha who, the day before, had given me a superb sword of chased silver, had gone with them. He took our side and
held
forth louder than anyone. He had a stentorian voice, and the teeth of a savage, which terrified me: I was always afraid he would take a bite out of me. Suddenly Sarki, Angtharkay and Ajeeba shot out of a nearby alley pushing before them four bewildered rice-planters. In a twinkling all their tools had been taken away and after some ‘friendly’ propelling, hey presto, here they were! One after the other the ‘volunteers’ arrived at the scene of action as the enrolment went ahead.
We moved along in single file in the rain. As the day was drawing to a close and a strange and restful quiet reigned in the green countryside, the Sherpas spotted a fisherman, going home with his net well filled, walking slowly along ahead of us. Ajeeba nudged Phutharkay and Sarki, picked up a cudgel and advanced stealthily. There was a sudden scuffle: away went the captive’s net and line and his bags of bits and pieces, and a few moments later he found himself at the right front end of my stretcher, marching in step with his new friends. Poor fisherman! The Sherpas softened their tone, explaining that he would have to go on as far as Tansing, but that he would have a handsome number of rupees by way of compensation. The fisherman cried, and begged, and if he had not been prevented, would have knelt down and chanted a dirge. But as there was nothing to be done about it, he finished by smiling. ‘Well, that’s a good one on me!’ he appeared to be thinking.
Every day during our retreat, such scenes were enacted, for every night a number of coolies deserted, preferring to forgo the rupees owing to them. The situation became critical. The Expedition was scattered over several villages, and sometimes the front and the rear were separated by two days’ march. Some groups were brought to a standstill in lonely places where it was impossible to find even the trace of a coolie.
On June 29th, at Darjing, twenty-five coolies were missing at the roll call – and the weather was appalling. A former Gurkha N.C.O., who sported a magnificent cap, had, for several days, been playing a queer and rather sinister role as he prowled round the Expedition without any discernible reason. His conversations with the coolies were always followed by desertions; he harangued them and made trouble. Ichac came to Oudot and myself and said:
‘If this chap has such a bad influence on the coolies it may be that he has some authority.’
‘Yes, but if he uses it in this way, we shall end up like Harrer,’
2
replied Oudot.
‘Perhaps we could conciliate him and make good use of his influence,’ suggested Ichac. ‘Why not employ him – use him as a recruiting sergeant?’
So we engaged him at ten rupees a day. He was not exactly a desirable character. If he managed to enlist coolies by bringing pressure to bear on the Subas of the neighbourhood, he also possessed an immoderate liking for chang and for the pretty girls of Nepal. In the evening yelling mobs threw themselves into wild dances which went on until far into the night. The next morning our recruiting sergeant reported for duty, seedy-looking and with tired eyes; but he braced himself up and was soon off on the quest for volunteer porters.
For days on end, through the most fantastic country, we descended the high valleys of Nepal to reach the plains. After following the Krishna Gandaki for a whole week to Kusma, we had to abandon the route we had taken on the journey out: the waters of this great river were now so high that the crossings had become hazardous, if not impossible. So at Kusma we left the Gandaki and crossed a range of fairly high hills to rejoin the Andhi Khola Valley which runs parallel to the Gandaki, the banks of which were still negotiable. We rejoined our outward route again at Tansing.
The Expedition had turned into a limp and anaemic body straggling without much spirit on a course the reason for which escaped us. We were buoyed up by a single wish: to get to India as quickly as possible. This interminable descent of the valleys of Nepal, in endless rain and in the damp heat of the monsoon, had a bad effect on us physically. The others had lost their energy and they dragged themselves miserably along the little walls of the rice-fields, plodding listlessly on and taking no interest in anything.
Couzy and Terray brought up the rear. When we got near to the frontier, Noyelle went on to Gorakhpur, with the object of making arrangements with the Indian railways for our return journey. In
the
centre of our formation were Oudot, Ichac, Lachenal, Rébuffat, Schatz and myself. Every day Lachenal was more restive; he could not endure the least delay and swore at the coolies. During halts we sometimes found ourselves side by side. He was reading the Expedition’s only thriller – by small instalments, so as to savour it all the better; it was, I gathered, the story of a headless man – I never got further than that.
‘What a lot of time we’re wasting!’
‘We’ll have to be patient, Biscante; things aren’t always easy. Think of the difficulty of recruiting volunteers!’
‘What about G. B.! Don’t you think he could bestir himself a bit?’
‘The heat depresses everyone after all this hard going.’
‘Oh, hell!’ burst out Lachenal, his patience exhausted. ‘I just
can’t
stand all these chaps round us day in and day out, gesticulating, and bellowing a gibberish that you can’t understand a single ruddy word of! You make signs to them to come near, and they put down their loads! You make signs that you want to drink, so they bring you bananas! Oh, for my house in Chamonix, my wife and the kids!’
‘There’s not much further to go now. After Tansing it’s two days’ march to India. It’s no longer a question of days but of hours. All I ask for is a good nursing-home with a modern operating theatre, masses of medical supplies, dressings which are changed continually … and nice thick ones at that!’
The fact was that for some time our cotton wool had been getting scarce, though Oudot saved all the usable pieces. The surgical spirit had all gone and the needles had to be disinfected in my eau-de-Cologne.
‘Thank God we’ve got our M.O.,’ acknowledged Lachenal. ‘I can’t think what we’d ever have done without him. For one thing, you wouldn’t be here now! But don’t you think he could be a bit more gentle? God, how he hurts sometimes! You know, these surgeons, when they’re on the job they don’t worry about whether people are under an anaesthetic or not, they go on just the same – cut, snip, stab. Oh, what miserable wretches we are!’
And what a duet we set up! But how pleasant it was to complain!
1
A surgical instrument used for scraping bones and separating living and dead tissue.
2
Harrer was a member of a German expedition who, during an extraordinary trip, crossed the Himalaya, followed the course of the Brahmaputra and finished by settling in Lhasa where it is said he was chief engineer and then commander-in-chief of the Tibetan army.
19
Gorakhpur
THE PARTY HAD
become gradually accustomed to the nomadic life which we had been leading for the last few weeks. Sometimes we made our way along the slippery little walls running between the rice-fields, but the stretchers were too wide for this and had to be carried right through the fields. This reminded me of those medieval lords whom, as a child, I had pictured trampling down flourishing crops for their pleasure. Sometimes we proceeded in single file along tracks that took us right through the middle of strange maize-fields where the gigantic plants towered several feet above our heads.
During the halts the coolies would squat round us, taking it in turns for a puff at the same cigarette. Their religion forbade them to put their lips to tobacco, source of an impure pleasure; but they got round this difficulty by inserting the tip of the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, curled round to form a little bowl; putting their lips to this they inhaled without touching the tobacco, and so obtained an innocent delight.
As we approached Tansing the weather improved, and it was the sun now that made us suffer. The flies swarmed over my saturated bandages and there was nothing I could do about it. A Brahman came up and embarked on a long prayer; listlessly I answered, ‘Atcha! Atcha!’ As far as I could make out he said he was a sun-worshipper: it was not quite the best moment for such a declaration, and I wished him and his sun to the devil!
He gesticulated continuously while he droned on. I got tired of him and my eyes strayed to the freshly rain-washed sky. Suddenly my attention was caught by an object – unless I was mistaken it was an umbrella that the Brahman carried under his arm. Immediately I began to take an intense interest in what he was saying, and after a few moments I got him to understand that his umbrella would be most useful to me, and we continued to converse under its restful shade as he held it over us, trotting along beside the stretcher.
Another two hours and we were at the end of our march. While
Sarki
fed me with an astonishing number of bananas I heard cries and protests: it was Angtharkay hastening the poor Brahman on his way with a few well-placed kicks. I asked our Sirdar what it was all about and he explained as best he could:
‘Bara Sahib, he’s a robber, not a porter! He wants to be paid four rupees for the march! And where is his load, I should like to know!’
My Brahman, seeing that I was inquiring about him, came up, jabbering incomprehensibly. Angtharkay went on:
‘Bara Sahib, he says he worked as he went along, that it tired him greatly, and that it is only natural he should be compensated for his trouble.’
‘Give him two rupees.’
He was bitterly disappointed.
We were nearing Tansing and there was now no danger of the porters deserting us; they all wished to go to the ‘big town’, and trotted along briskly.
‘There’s Pansy!’
‘Can’t be!’
Pansy, who had been gone a long while and about whom we were beginning to feel concerned, came up quite unruffled, with his usual pleasant grin, as though he had only been away a few moments. Everyone rushed to greet this splendid Sherpa who had just completed a nineteen days’ march with only one halt, at Delhi. There he had stayed for forty-eight hours.
‘Here’s the post!’
‘Any letters?’
It was almost unbelievable; for the first time we were going to get news from France. The letters were soon distributed and faces disappeared behind sheets of notepaper.
‘My wife’s not very well,’ Ichac told me, ‘the last letter was written some time ago. I wonder how she is.’
‘I say, there’s going to be another Himalayan expedition!’
This was surprising news.
‘Well they must be feeling tough!’
‘How many are going?’
‘Where are they going?’
There was a cross-fire of questions and answers. Not everybody
received
good news; some of the party looked worried or anxious as they resumed the march.
In the distance a green hill appeared. Sarki pointed with his finger:
‘Tansing, Bara Sahib, Tansing!’
Were we nearing the end?
Next day, after a heavy shower, though we had to go down a very muddy path full of potholes, the porters no longer walked, they flew. Tansing was only a few hundred yards away; already we were on the outskirts. Here again were the little stalls, the motley and inquisitive populace. We crossed the town and came out at last on a wide level place where we pitched our camp. Terray shifted the loads about eagerly and sang at the top of his voice – a good sign – the one and only song he knew: ‘
Au son joyeux des balalaikas
.’ Everyone had taken fresh heart.
Just for a change Oudot did some operating that afternoon. During this session I lost my second big toe and the thumb of my right hand. It began to rain and I was taken into a tent, where for over an hour I listened in terror to Lachenal’s cries as he underwent his first amputation. I was terribly upset by his sufferings, especially when I heard him protesting: ‘No! No!’ as though he could not resign himself to losing anything so precious.
Next day the ‘authorities’ were received at the camp. The Governor, who impressed me most favourably, seemed very well disposed towards us. Why should he not help us to recruit coolies? He promised to do so at once. It was now the morning of July 4th and in a few hours’ time porters would be at our disposal – a great relief. Officially, G. B.’s assignment would come to an end in two days’ time, at Butwal, but I wanted him to accompany us as far as Katmandu. There was no doubt he would be very useful to us there, but I was chiefly concerned with giving him a richly deserved reward. G. B. was agreeable, and promised to make the necessary application to the Maharajah. A few hours later he burst into the tent, his face wreathed in smiles, and announced that the Maharajah had given permission for him to go to the capital.
Before leaving for Butwal, our last stage, I wanted to spruce myself up a bit. I asked for a barber, for I had a beard like an ancient prophet. G. B.’s orderly undertook to go and fetch one, and he returned soon after accompanied by a Gurkha with a hang-dog
air
and revoltingly dirty. I was apprehensive as he approached, but I hugged the thought of his razor which would skim my cheeks so delicately. Water was brought and my Gurkha began to soap me. He used some primitive stuff which was not soapy, nor did it lather, and he rubbed my face with it vigorously. All ten fingers as well as his palms were energetically employed and the massage became painful.
‘Bechtari, Bechtari!’ I said, ‘Gently!’
But the man seemed quite determined. Soon the beard was ready. He rummaged in his box and drew out an instrument which I did not at all like the look of. It was a small steel blade, very short, fixed between two bamboo sticks. The whole thing looked most peculiar. The barber seized hold of my face roughly with his smelly hands and began to ‘shave’ me. The blade dragged the hairs and with his fingers he plucked them out one by one most conscientiously. I yelled blue murder, but he scolded me and took not the slightest notice of my protests.