Knocking on Iron Gates

"One step farther and you will die, white man," warned the Tibetan soldier. "No one passes this place into the land of the snows. Go back to your own country. We don't want you here!"

Two Moravian missionaries found their way barred by fierce Tibetan soldiers who looked more like brigands, with long, unkempt hair which fell to their shoulders, partly concealing large silver rings dangling from their ears. They were dressed in sheepskins with the wool inside. Their right shoulders were bared for quick action with their weapons. Across the front of their loose robes they carried swords two feet in length, ancient guns, and ammunition pouches with powder and shot. They eyed the missionaries with obvious displeasure.

"But we have Chinese passports to enter Tibet. Look!"

"Our master, the ponpon, has forbidden any to cross this pass. The Devashung in Lhasa forbids any foreigner to enter the land of Tibet. Your Chinese passport - we do not want it."

"We also have an important message for his holiness."

"No! You must leave now." The soldiers cast covetous eyes on the two men's baggage.

The two men gazed over the Jelep-la (the Jelep Pass) into the Cliumbi Valley of Tibet. Would they never be permitted to enter the land of their dreams? They knew God had commissioned them to go to the roof of the world to help these people bound in superstition and fear. For almost two years they had tried to penetrate the forbidden land.

Dr. A. W. Heyde, the elder of the two, was determined to take the gospel to Tibet. That spark had been born in his soul years before in sunny Bavaria, as he read the story of Odoric, a Capuchin monk who had reached Lhasa and established a mission. Odoric had described the Tibetan religion as being much like the Roman religion:

"In this city of Lhasa dwells the Obaysam, that is to say in their language, the pope. The monks love to gather together as our cloister people. They do not marry, and the young ones sing chants, clear, load, and expressive after our style. Their temples are like our churches but finer and better adorned. There is an image of the mother of god, and the priests hear confessions, have holy water and a sprinkling compared to baptism."

As Heyde read, he seemed to hear a voice saying: "You must tell them about Me." He never doubted that God had thus laid on him the burden of Tibet.

His companion, Mr. Pagel, had the same conviction of a divine mission to the land where gods are mountains. While not of the same robust physique as Dr. Heyde, he made up for this with a dogged determination that nothing could crush. The two had met providentially while traveling on the same boat to China.

They had first attempted to penetrate the closed doors of Tibet from Tatsienlu (now Kangting, western China). Starting out with high hope, they reached the Kumbum monastery with its thousands of monks. Not far beyond this spot they were set upon by a fierce band of Gorolocks, who plundered their caravan and left the men for dead. Dazed and bleeding, they crawled back to Kumbum and finally to Tatsienlu, where they gradually recovered.

"Why not enter Tibet from India?" some had suggested. "There are good roads over the Himalayas from the plains of India."

Sailing to Calcutta, they journeyed up the Brahmaputra River, which north of the mountains is Tibet's Tsangpo. Again they succeeded in crossing the Himalayas, but were soon discovered and driven back across the border.

Eventually they arrived in Darjeeling, a hill town under the shadow of glorious Mount Kanchenjunga, guarding the way into the forbidden land of Tibet. From here a regular mule trail led over the deep Tista Gorge to Kalimpong, across into Sikkim, and finally to the Jelep-la through the Himalayas. Then the trail dropped into the Chumbi Valley and wound down through Gyangtse and Shigatse to Lhasa.

The missionaries enjoyed a magnificent walk through a rain forest which filled the Tista Valley. Sweet-scented orchids hung in clusters from giant salwood trees, as gorgeous butterflies played hide and seek among them. At night the jungle echoed with the roar of the tiger and the snarl of the leopard.

They had selected this route, not for its scenery, but because they hoped the Jelep-la would not be guarded as carefully as other routes. With their heavily laden coolies they had struggled through the forest and forded the treacherous Tista River. With bursting lungs they had struggled to the top of the high pass. Now it seemed that all their effort was lost. They tried to reason with the soldiers, and even offered them money, but in vain.

"If only we could enter the Chumbi Valley we would reach our goal." Pagel looked beyond the soldiers to the hills of Tibet. But one of the soldiers interrupted his musings, pointing angrily back down the pass.

"Well, Pagel," suggested Heyde, "our welcoming committee is getting impatient. We had better start moving. But we will yet succeed in bringing God's light to this land, and not all the demons of the mountains or hell will hold us back!" He motioned to the terrified coolies to pick up their loads and begin a reverse march down the trail.

The trip back would have discouraged men less determined than Pagel and Heyde. The two men talked of only one topic: Where would they try again? Just below the pass they came to a mani wall covered with the usual cryptic letters. Pausing, they again studied the Tibetan characters carved in the rock. Doctor Heyde exclaimed impatiently, "There it is again. The same mystic phrase of Tibet. If only the Word of God were translated into Tibetan, the people could read the gospel for themselves."

Pagel nodded. "They say about a third of the Tibetan men can read - they spend some time in monasteries where they learn. Thousands of homes could have the Bible!"

"We must learn the language as soon as possible." Dr. Heyde looked again at the ancient mani wall. "It is not going to be an easy language."

As they plodded through the jungle, they discussed this new idea. Now they needed to find an educated Tibetan who would teach them the language. "That will be our first task once we get into Tibet," said Pagel. "Where do we go from here?"

"Let's try crossing through Nepal. If that fails - but we must not fail!"

Back at Darjeeling the men made a short trek up Tiger Hill to see if they could spy out a new route across the mountains. Below them lay a mist-filled valley. Across the valley stretched the long barrier of snowy mountains. Kanchenjunga loomed into the sky, dominating the scene. Farther away they could see other icy peaks - Tendong, Makalu, and even Mount Everest at a great distance.

"What a view, doctor! Have you ever seen anything as beautiful as these mountains? How can anyone see all this and not believe in God?"

"It's a marvelous view, but those mountains are what stand between us and our goal. To think that there are three million souls over there who have never heard the gospel."

"I had hoped we might go through Nepal, but I hear the Rana rulers have forbidden foreigners to enter their country. Our only hope it seems is to go to the west of Nepal, to Naini Tal and follow the pilgrim trail to Badrinath and then on to Kailas, the holy mountain, in Tibet. In fact, why don't we disguise ourselves as pilgrims?"

Mr. Pagel laughed. "I can just imagine you in a dhoti, doctor. You would look priceless. But who knows? Maybe it's worth a try."

They journeyed across northern India. At Naini Tal, disguised as two Bengali hakims, they set out on the pilgrim trail to Badrinath. Neither of them knew more than a few phrases of Hindi, nor did they know the simple customs of the people. At the first pilgrim checkpoint their experiment ended in failure. A Sikh officer sympathised when he heard their story, but he told them their only hope of success was to move farther west into Kashmir and across the Indus River into Tibet.

They trekked over more hills and valleys of northern India, finally arriving in the town of Leh, overlooking the Indus River. There in the evening light, the lingering sunset glowed blood red over the eternal snows of Tibet's mountains. Their goal was in sight, and they longed to be on their way.

"You will never cross into Tibet from here." The local governor looked again at the passports he held in his hand. "We have the strictest instructions to let no one pass this way."

"But why? Surely your jurisdiction is only over Kashmir, not Tibet," replied Dr. Heyde.

"This is true, but we dare not anger Tibet by letting travellers cross from here. I am sorry, gentlemen. You will have to forget the idea."

"We won't be beaten," said Heyde as they left the governor's office. "If the main route is closed, let us travel east along the Indus and cross by a lesser known pass. It's our last hope."

They had traveled a week when they stumbled upon the Luba Valley, where Tempu Gergan and his family had settled. Their reaction was similar to that of Droma when she had first seen the valley. It was no longer virtually empty as when the first fugitives arrived. In the center of the valley stood Gergan's home with prayer flags fluttering from the roof. From the small temple boomed a great trumpet and clashing cymbals as the lamas prayed to their gods. Tibetans in colorful clothing harvested in golden rice fields. Beyond, the snow-capped mountains marched across the land of Tibet.

"What a glorious scene!" Pagel halted his horse on a knoll near the southern end of the valley. "I wonder who owns that home?"

"It looks quite imposing," replied Dr. Heyde. "In fact, I would think the owner is a man of great importance. Let's find out."

With the best Tibetan hospitality Gorgan welcomed the two men.* He offered them large cups of steaming butter tea served in exquisite porcelain cups nestling inside silver bowls inlaid with coral. Everywhere the men noticed evidences of culture and luxury.

"So you plan to go to Tibet? I don't think you will ever get there. The government is determined to keep foreigners out. Even if you did get through yonder pass, it is many months of hard travelling to reach Lhasa. Long before you get there you will be seized and thrown back over the border."

Dr. Heyde gazed into the glowing charcoal brazier. "What do we do, then? We cannot go back."

"Why don't you stay here for a while?" offered Tempu Gergan., "Many Tibetans now live in this valley, and you can help when sickness comes."

"Would you help us learn your language better and help us write our Holy Book in the Tibetan language if we stay?" questioned Pagel.

"But yes! Surely I will be happy to do that," replied Gergan.

"Then we will stay here."

As the men lay down to sleep that night, they gave thanks to God, whose providence had led them into this beautiful valley. With Gergan to teach them and help them translate the Bible, they would see their dreams fulfilled.

Heyde and Pagel arrived in Luba Valley about 1858.