DESTINY HIMALAYA

H. PAIDAR

Schmaderer and Paidar had taken part in the fine ascent of Tent Peak in May 1939 which has been described in vol. xiii, pp. 48 ff.—Ed.

It was about noon when we arrived at Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim. We were coming down from the high mountains round the Zemu glacier, ignorant of what was happening in the wide world. Next day—it was the 3rd September—we learnt that Britain was at war with Germany. That was the end of our second Sikkim Himalayan Expedition of 1939. Grob, who was of Swiss nationality, could leave for Europe and, because of the kindliness and help of the Political Officer of Sikkim, Mr. B. J. Gould, could take with him all our photos and films, but Schmaderer and myself, being Germans, had to be interned.

After several changes of camp, we landed at last at Premnagar, near Dehra Dun, at the foot of the Mussoorie Hills. That was in October 1941. It was not until May 1943 that Schmaderer made his first escape, with Schuemmer. They made their way along the Jumna, but near Rajgarhi they were recaptured and brought back, after three weeks' absence from the camp.

In March 1945, twenty-three internees were ordered to be transferred to Deoli, a camp in Rajputana, among them Schmaderer. To be sent away from the mountains which meant so much to him was more than he could stand, and he escaped again, having arranged that I should escape and join him, three days later. A cart called daily to take the rubbish out of camp to the refuse-ditches a mile away and, on 27th March, having had the driver called away on some pretext or other, I boarded this vehicle and was covered down with tins, straw, and filth by my comrades. The water-buffalo seemed uneasy as if there were something unusual with his load, but the driver noticed nothing at all—it was a very hot day and everybody a little lazy. The gates were opened and I rumbled out. Luck was with me. Before the refuse-ditches were reached, the driver stopped, unharnessed his buffalo, and disappeared ! The sun was hot, his home was near, and no one was due at the ditches until 4 o'clock. I made for the jungle.

Two hours later I met Schmaderer in the Swarna Nulla, and that same night we reached the Jumna by way of the Kara-su saddle. The first ten days we did our marching by night, in case of arrest. About what we took to be the 14th April we reached Nelang, a village high in the Jadhganga valley, and it was the end of April when we stood on the top of the Taga-la (c. 18,000 feet), a pass on the border of Tibet and India. The winter of 1944/5 was a hard one, and from 10,000 feet onwards paths and slopes were snow-covered. Our tennis-shoes were in shreds, we had no boots, our rations were melting like snow in the sun, and we had another pass of 16,000 feet to cross before we reached habitation.

Garhwal, Spiti, Bushar

However, we readied Pulling at last, a small village, typically Tibetan and none too clean. The people were not very friendly and at first were unwilling to sell us the fat and ghur (sugar) we needed so badly. But there we met the Raja of Tulling and accompanied him down to Par, a more congenial village where we stayed eight days, making the acquaintance of the Dzong-pen of Shang-tse, who travelled with a tea caravan to Shipki. We put our few belongings on one of his yaks, and accepted his offer of escort to Shipki, travelling through barren country to a pass leading to the Ob, a tributary of the Sutlej. On our march we visited Ri, a picturesque place in an amphitheatre opening to the south on a wild and narrow gorge, with a monastery and an old chorten with beautiful paintings on the walls. From Ri we went via Chuse gom-pa down to Sarang, crossing the Sutlej and climbing the Shiring-la (17,000 feet) from where we marched down to Mai-yang, and it was the end of May when we reached Shipki, high above the Sutlej with the rock and ice-walls of Riwo Phargyul in the background.

On 1st June we arrived at Mam-gya on Indian territory again, to learn that Aufschneiter and Harrer had been, like us, escorted to Shipki, in 1944. We had to decide between going down the Sutlej valley, with the possibility of being interned again, or try Tibet a second time. If we could have known that the war in Europe was over, our plans would have been different and Schmaderer would still be alive, but as it was, our anxiety was to get away, and so that night we escaped down the slopes to the suspension bridge crossing the Sutlej, and in the early hours of the morning we camped in the neighbourhood of Tashigang. Four days' forced marches took us to Lari, the first village in the upper Spiti valley. All the way we had to carry our entire belongings so we got plenty of first-hand experience in what it means to take a load of 60 to 70 lb. at altitudes of 16,000 and 17,000 feet, and reminded us of our porters and their heavy packs on our 1937 and 1939 expeditions.

Schmaderer's idea was that we should follow the Spiti for some ten days and then go eastwards to Gartok, but this proved to be wrong. We made up the Spiti valley as far as Dankhar, hanging like an eagle's nest among steep cliffs, and thence to Kibar, where the people told us the best way to Gartok would be via Sum-gyl. So we turned back to try this route, and bought a donkey to relieve our weary shoulders.

At Sum-gyl we met traders who were on their way to Trashigang on the Indus. Asking about the way to the Bibi-la, we were told it was impassable and dangerous, but our hearts were set on trying to reach Nepal and see the mighty mountains of the Lidi valley, so we decided to try it, in spite of the villagers' forebodings—they even offered us rations for our return journey!

Next morning when the waters of the Sumgyl river were low we crossed and four hours later pitched camp. We were preparing our evening meal when from behind a small hill a man mysteriously appeared, followed by another, and later yet another—at last twenty-seven men in all, who formed a half circle around us in a very ominous manner. After an hour a spokesman came up and told us that on no account could we proceed to Trashigang and if we did not return to Sum-gyl there would be trouble—and accordingly back we had to go.

We next tried the road to Tibet without success, from Bartiok, and then decided to abandon all plans for Nepal, and turn west for Kashmir. So up the Spiti valley we went again, by now the middle of July. Lari was our first objective where we found the inhabitants had all moved to higher and better grazing grounds, and food was therefore not obtainable. However, we knew a farmer at the next village, Tabo, who had sold us cheese and tsampa before, and so Schmaderer decided to stop at Tabo and bargain for some food, while I continued to pitch our next camp, half-way between Tabo and Poo.

I went off about 11.30 and two hours later was climbing the little hill which leads to the camping-ground. From there I looked back over the route 1 had come, and about 2 miles off I could see three tiny dots moving, in my direction. That must have been about the time Schmaderer was murdered, because the three dots never materialized -no one came to join me. After four or five hours of waiting I became very anxious, and went back to Tabo. I could find no trace of Schmaderer's footprints, his army boots, heavily nailed, and everyone I asked told me the same story—'he had bought his provisions and left Tabo on the road for Poo.' As often as I questioned them, so often did I receive the same reply.

Early next morning I arose, loaded the donkey, and set off for Poo again. It was not an easy path to follow, disappearing as it does every now and then in the waters of the river, to the great despondency of the donkey, who had to be forced through the flood. Under overhanging rocks, in one place, there is a steep bridge to ascend, dangling and swaying in the air, with the hungry waters of the Spiti rushing below, and it was hard to drive the frightened donkey over this. However, at noon I reached Poo, to find that no one knew anything of Schmaderer—he had not reached that village. A few women who overheard me sat down and started weeping, which alarmed me, as it is only customary in that land to weep for the dead, but I got no clue and had to return to Tabo. There I got the same replies as before, but with a new suggestion : could my companion have been drowned by the river while crossing it? It seemed incredible that a trained man like Schmaderer could have been drowned in water that was only knee-deep, however fiercely it was flowing; moreover, there was a bridge and no reason to ford it. However, I searched both banks widely, and the neighbourhood generally, and after three days of fruitless inquiry and investigation decided I had better return to India. Something had to be done in this matter, and, I was sure, the people knew what had happened.

In fourteen days' time I reached Tashigang, meeting on the way a Tibetan from Sargong with whom we had struck up a friendship on the Pulling-Shipki march. Tashigang was much nicer than it had been in June. The trees were green and the apricots were ripe, and the sheep were grazing on the new grass. I set up my tent each evening with a heavy heart; I was beginning to doubt that Schmaderer would return and the troubles and anxieties of the past fortnight be ended.

In the late afternoon one day a Tibetan arrived at Tashigang, and from him I learnt the story of my friend's disappearance, as we sat by the fireside of the Tibetan from Sarong.

The informer was a resident of Lari and had picked up the tale on the way through Tabo-Schmaderer had been murdered in Tabo. He had let the natives see his money and valuables when he paid for his provisions, and they had then and there murdered him and robbed him. When I asked for the names of the murderers, the Tibetan demanded money, to accompany me to Rampur and report the matter there. When I told him I had no money, as it had all been with Schmaderer, he disappeared and was not seen again. The friendly Tibetan from Sarong warned me not to trust this man and on no account to stay by myself at night, and one way and another I thought it would be best to push on to Poo¹ on the road back to India.

On arrival there 1 told my story to the schoolmaster, Neg Dharam Bag, and the headman of Poo, Devi Ghand. They identified the suspicious Tibetan as Sonam Chhering, a very bad character, a robber and a thief, and were strongly of the opinion that he was after any remaining money or possessions of value. Accordingly I placed a full report with the Superintendent of Police at Saharan, where I rested for a fortnight after my journey there via Chini. Before my rest was up I was told that immediate action had been taken by the Deputy-Gommissioner of Police, Kangra, while on inspection duty at Spiti. The culprits had been arrested, though two of them escaped afterwards, and one man, Raqzin Chherrup, was brought to Kangra, put into jail, and charged with the robbery and murder of Schmaderer. A police-inspector of Rampur, Parsho- tam Dass, told me it had been forty years since such an offence had been committed.

By the end of August I was in Rampur where the escort from the C.I. Camp Premnagar was waiting for me, and I returned to Dehra Dun via Simla, arriving on 6th September. Nearly a month later I was restored to Deoli, Rajputana, a sad blow, as I missed the mountains, valleys, and woods of the Premnagar camp so badly. During our internment we had many privileges to relieve the monotony of seven years' imprisonment, and the greatest privilege was to be allowed excursions, as we were. In September 1946 when the Italians from Deoli were repatriated, we Germans returned to Dehra Dun. Here I got another light on Schmaderer's murder, which I believe to be the true one. The natives saw the money, gold coins, and watch, &c., in his possession while he was at Tabo, and after he had left, three men followed him to the steep and narrow bridge on the way to Poo. There while he was talking they pushed him over into the river, killing him with stones from above, and drowning him in the Spiti, where they threw his body. His valuables were found by the Inspector on the Tibetans at Tabo, and this story was told to a fellow internee while on excursion, by a nomad he encountered who came down every year from the Sutlej valley. This story he had heard seems to record the ending of Ludwig Schmaderer, a fine mountaineer, and my friend and comrade of three expeditions.

Peter Aufschnaiter and Harrer had escaped from Dehra Dun to Tibet just a year prior to Schmaderer and Paidar, vide H.J., vol. xiv, using much the same route to the frontier. They are still in Lhasa.—Ed.

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