Beasts, Men and Gods

Part I. Drawing Lots With Death

CHAPTER

I. INTO THE FORESTS

II. THE SECRET OF MY FELLOW TRAVELER

III. THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE

IV. A FISHERMAN

V. A DANGEROUS NEIGHBOR

VI. A RIVER IN TRAVAIL

VII. THROUGH SOVIET SIBERIA

VIII. THREE DAYS ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE

IX. TO THE SAYANS AND SAFETY

X. THE BATTLE OF THE SEYBI

XI. THE BARRIER OF RED PARTISANS

XII. IN THE COUNTRY OF ETERNAL PEACE

XIII. MYSTERIES, MIRACLES AND A NEW FIGHT

XIV. THE RIVER OF THE DEVIL

XV. THE MARCH OF GHOSTS

XVI. IN MYSTERIOUS TIBET

Part Ii. the Land of Demons

XVII. MYSTERIOUS MONGOLIA

XVIII. THE MYSTERIOUS LAMA AVENGER

XIX. WILD CHAHARS

XX. THE DEMON OF JAGISSTAI

XXI. THE NEST OF DEATH

XXII. AMONG THE MURDERERS

XXIII. ON A VOLCANO

XXIV. A BLOODY CHASTISEMENT

XXV. HARASSING DAYS

XXVI. THE BAND OF WHITE HUNGHUTZES

XXVII. MYSTERY IN A SMALL TEMPLE

XXVIII. THE BREATH OF DEATH

Part Iii. the Straining Heart of Asia

XXIX. ON THE ROAD OF GREAT CONQUERORS

XXX. ARRESTED!

XXXI. TRAVELING BY “URGA”

XXXII. AN OLD FORTUNE TELLER

XXXIII. “DEATH FROM THE WHITE MAN WILL STAND BEHIND YOU”

XXXIV. THE HORROR OF WAR!

XXXV. IN THE CITY OF LIVING GODS, 30,000 BUDDHAS AND 60,000 MONKS

XXXVI. A SON OF CRUSADERS AND PRIVATEERS

XXXVII. THE CAMP OF MARTYRS

XXXVIII. BEFORE THE FACE OF BUDDHA

XXXIX. “THE MAN WITH A HEAD LIKE A SADDLE”

Part Iv. the Living Buddha

XL. IN THE BLISSFUL GARDEN OF A THOUSAND JOYS

XLI. THE DUST OF CENTURIES

XLII. THE BOOKS OF MIRACLES

XLIII. THE BIRTH OF THE LIVING BUDDHA

XLIV. A PAGE IN THE HISTORY OF THE PRESENT LIVING BUDDHA

XLV. THE VISION OF THE LIVING BUDDHA OF MAY 17, 1921

Part V. Mystery of Mysteries--the King of the World

XLVI. THE SUBTERRANEAN KINGDOM

XLVII. THE KING OF THE WORLD BEFORE THE FACE OF GOD

XLVIII. REALITY OR RELIGIOUS FANTASY?

XLIX. THE PROPHECY OF THE KING OF THE WORLD IN 1890

There are times, men and events about which History alone can record the final judgments; contemporaries and individual observers must only write what they have seen and heard. The very truth demands it.

TITUS LIVIUS.

BEASTS, MEN AND GODS

Part I. Drawing Lots With Death

DRAWING LOTS WITH DEATH

CHAPTER I

INTO THE FORESTS

In the beginning of the year 1920 I happened to be living in the Siberian town of Krasnoyarsk, situated on the shores of the River Yenisei, that noble stream which is cradled in the sun-bathed mountains of Mongolia to pour its warming life into the Arctic Ocean and to whose mouth Nansen has twice come to open the shortest road for commerce from Europe to the heart of Asia. There in the depths of the still Siberian winter I was suddenly caught up in the whirling storm of mad revolution raging all over Russia, sowing in this peaceful and rich land vengeance, hate, bloodshed and crimes that go unpunished by the law. No one could tell the hour of his fate. The people lived from day to day and left their homes not knowing whether they should return to them or whether they should be dragged from the streets and thrown into the dungeons of that travesty of courts, the Revolutionary Committee, more terrible and more bloody than those of the Mediaeval Inquisition. We who were strangers in this distraught land were not saved from its persecutions and I personally lived through them.

One morning, when I had gone out to see a friend, I suddenly received the news that twenty Red soldiers had surrounded my house to arrest me and that I must escape. I quickly put on one of my friend’s old hunting suits, took some money and hurried away on foot along the back ways of the town till I struck the open road, where I engaged a peasant, who in four hours had driven me twenty miles from the town and set me down in the midst of a deeply forested region. On the way I bought a rifle, three hundred cartridges, an ax, a knife, a sheepskin overcoat, tea, salt, dry bread and a kettle. I penetrated into the heart of the wood to an abandoned half-burned hut. From this day I became a genuine trapper but I never dreamed that I should follow this role as long as I did. The next morning I went hunting and had the good fortune to kill two heathcock. I found deer tracks in plenty and felt sure that I should not want for food. However, my sojourn in this place was not for long. Five days later when I returned from hunting I noticed smoke curling up out of the chimney of my hut. I stealthily crept along closer to the cabin and discovered two saddled horses with soldiers’ rifles slung to the saddles. Two disarmed men were not dangerous for me with a weapon, so I quickly rushed across the open and entered the hut. From the bench two soldiers started up in fright. They were Bolsheviki. On their big Astrakhan caps I made out the red stars of Bolshevism and on their blouses the dirty red bands. We greeted each other and sat down. The soldiers had already prepared tea and so we drank this ever welcome hot beverage and chatted, suspiciously eyeing one another the while. To disarm this suspicion on their part, I told them that I was a hunter from a distant place and was living there because I found it good country for sables. They announced to me that they were soldiers of a detachment sent from a town into the woods to pursue all suspicious people.

“Do you understand, ‘Comrade,’” said one of them to me, “we are looking for counter-revolutionists to shoot them?”

I knew it without his explanations. All my forces were directed to assuring them by my conduct that I was a simple peasant hunter and that I had nothing in common with the counter-revolutionists. I was thinking also all the time of where I should go after the departure of my unwelcome guests. It grew dark. In the darkness their faces were even less attractive. They took out bottles of vodka and drank and the alcohol began to act very noticeably. They talked loudly and constantly interrupted each other, boasting how many bourgeoisie they had killed in Krasnoyarsk and how many Cossacks they had slid under the ice in the river. Afterwards they began to quarrel but soon they were tired and prepared to sleep. All of a sudden and without any warning the door of the hut swung wide open and the steam of the heated room rolled out in a great cloud, out of which seemed to rise like a genie, as the steam settled, the figure of a tall, gaunt peasant impressively crowned with the high Astrakhan cap and wrapped in the great sheepskin overcoat that added to the massiveness of his figure. He stood with his rifle ready to fire. Under his girdle lay the sharp ax without which the Siberian peasant cannot exist. Eyes, quick and glimmering like those of a wild beast, fixed themselves alternately on each of us. In a moment he took off his cap, made the sign of the cross on his breast and asked of us: “Who is the master here?”

I answered him.

“May I stop the night?”

“Yes,” I replied, “places enough for all. Take a cup of tea. It is still hot.”

The stranger, running his eyes constantly over all of us and over everything about the room, began to take off his skin coat after putting his rifle in the corner. He was dressed in an old leather blouse with trousers of the same material tucked in high felt boots. His face was quite young, fine and tinged with something akin to mockery. His white, sharp teeth glimmered as his eyes penetrated everything they rested upon. I noticed the locks of grey in his shaggy head. Lines of bitterness circled his mouth. They showed his life had been very stormy and full of danger. He took a seat beside his rifle and laid his ax on the floor below.

“What? Is it your wife?” asked one of the drunken soldiers, pointing to the ax.

The tall peasant looked calmly at him from the quiet eyes under their heavy brows and as calmly answered:

“One meets a different folk these days and with an ax it is much safer.”

He began to drink tea very greedily, while his eyes looked at me many times with sharp inquiry in them and ran often round the whole cabin in search of the answer to his doubts. Very slowly and with a guarded drawl he answered all the questions of the soldiers between gulps of the hot tea, then he turned his glass upside down as evidence of having finished, placed on the top of it the small lump of sugar left and remarked to the soldiers:

“I am going out to look after my horse and will unsaddle your horses for you also.”

“All right,” exclaimed the half-sleeping young soldier, “bring in our rifles as well.”

The soldiers were lying on the benches and thus left for us only the floor. The stranger soon came back, brought the rifles and set them in the dark corner. He dropped the saddle pads on the floor, sat down on them and began to take off his boots. The soldiers and my guest soon were snoring but I did not sleep for thinking of what next to do. Finally as dawn was breaking, I dozed off only to awake in the broad daylight and find my stranger gone. I went outside the hut and discovered him saddling a fine bay stallion.

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