Hedin and his caravan eventually arrive at Shigatse:

. . . The credulous people at whose expense the monks live in laziness-and live well-are not satisfied with religious spectacles alone, which minister only to their spiritual needs; they must also be amused with profane exhibitions, which are more congenial to their lower instincts, and are more adapted to stimulate the senses. On February 15 an exhibition of this kind was to take place on the plain outside the town of Shigatse, and I and my people were invited. We mounted our horses in good time and rode northwards through the small town, which has not more than 300 houses-towns in Tibet are few and insignificant. The houses are white, with a black or red band at the top; with few exceptions they are only one storey high; the roof is almost always flat and guarded by a parapet; the windows and doors are in the same style as those of the monastery. From the street you enter into a yard where generally a large savage dog is chained. The roofs are adorned with a forest of bundles of twigs and rods hung with prayer streamers in all the colours of the rainbow; their object is to drive away devils. Between the irregular lines of houses run narrow lanes and roads, where black swine wallow among the discarded refuse, dead dogs lie about, and stinking puddles stagnate; and we also pass open squares, sometimes with ponds.

There is something uniformly dull about the whole town, in vivid, humiliating contrast to the dzong, the castle proudly enthroned on its rock, and the golden temple roofs of Tashi-lunpo at the foot of the mountain.

The ground is yellow dust, and here and there we pass abrupt terraces of loess; dust whirled up by the wind lies on all the houses and roads.

A black, continuous procession of pleasure-seekers streams out to the great plain on the north-east of the dzong; the farther we go the thicker it grows; most are on foot - men with prayer mills and tobacco pipes, women with round red aureoles at the neck and crying children in their arms, boys, beggars, monks, and all the pilgrims from neighbouring countries. Here and there rides a fine gentleman with one or more attendants, while hawkers transport dried fruit and sweetmeats on mules to sell among the people.

Arrived at the show-ground, we leave our horses in charge of Rabsang, and watch with keen interest the curious festive scene presented to our sight. It is a sea of human beings, thousands and thousands of Tibetans and travelling strangers in varied costumes, any one of whom is a subject worthy of an artist's brush. Before us, to the east, we have the gardens of the villages at the foot of the mountains in the Nyang-chu valley, and behind us stretches a whole town of blue-and-white tents with spectators of more or less importance, and in the best position stands a blue-and-white tent open towards the show-ground - there sit, cross-legged, on soft rugs, the officials of the dzong in yellow raiment, solemn as statues of Buddha, and take refreshments now and again. All these tents rise like islands above the sea of heads.

Right through the crowd from north to south runs a race-course, only 6 or 7 feet broad, and flanked on both sides by ridges of earth a foot high. The ground slopes down from the canvas town to the course, and the spectators collected here, ourselves among the number, have seated themselves in groups; but on the east side, where the ground is level, they remain standing. And here the crowd is separated into three divisions by two broad clear lanes. At the end, close to the race-course, two targets are erected, consisting of round discs suspended from poles with a white and a black ring, and a red spot in the middle. The lanes are kept clear lest any one should be hurt during the shooting. Policemen in red-and-white coats with yellow hats, and pigtails both in front and behind, keep the people in order; the pigtail swings backwards and forwards, while a rope's end is in constant use to drive too inquisitive spectators off the course. Two of these policemen are attached to me, to keep me a clear view, but they cause me more annoyance than satisfaction, for I have constantly to restrain them when they would strike half-naked youngsters who are not at all in the way.

Now the show commences! All eyes are turned to a troop of seventy cavaliers in extraordinary motley costumes, who ride slowly in single file northwards along the racecourse, so slowly that there is plenty of time to examine the various dresses. All wear red flat mushroom-hats with waving, drooping plumes, white thin vests with a waistcoat over them, and white trousers with patches on the knees. But in some details there is a great variety. One rider, for instance, is dressed in a white silk waistcoat bound with black, over a yellow silken jacket with wide rucked sleeves while another wears a bright blue jacket on a yellow vest and has also blue knee-caps on his yellow pantaloons. In general the knee patches are red. The quiver, covered with red material, hangs from a shoulder-belt, and is decorated with shining metal plates, shields, and buttons, and contains a bundle of long arrows tipped with single feathers or tufts. The saddle with its clumsy high wooden frame rests on a saddle-cloth worked in colours. The tail of the horse is wrapped round with red, yellow, and blue ribands terminating in a tassel, which is stretched out by a ring of wire so as to be more effective. A similar rosette also adorns the root of the tail, and from it ribands and cross strips running along the flanks of the horse are attached to the saddle, and flutter in the wind. Between the cars the horse carries a towering plume of peacock's feathers stuck in a bunch of down; on the forehead is a bundle of strips of material of various lengths and colours; the bridle is thickly studded with plates of metal, and across the chest is a broad belt with bells, which ring at the slightest movement.

The party is therefore decked out fantastically in rich colours, and now it turns and rides along the course in the reverse direction, but this time in full career. They ride as fast as the horses can gallop, fling their legs and, elbows up and down, the plumes wave, the quivers rattle, and all the tassels, streamers, and ribands fly and flutter in all directions during this wild career. The horses snort, the bridles are covered with flakes of froth, and each rider leaves a cloud of dust for the one behind him. This evolution is repeated twice, and then at the third lap the riders shoot with their long bows at the two targets. The distance between the two is about 6o yards, and an arrow is aimed at each target. The first shot is easy, but then the shooter must be very smart in his movements to catch hold of the quiver, swinging and jumping on his back, take out the arrow, place it against the string and discharge it before he is past the second target. Many marksmen hit both targets, others sent the first arrow into the target, but the second into the ground. Sometimes the arrow glanced against the wooden frame of the target, while some of the riders got over the difficulty by turning round and discharging the arrows backwards, to the great danger of the spectators.

The horses are small and active, some of them half-wild and fiery; they have long hair, are badly groomed and shaggy. During the shooting their legs are at full stretch, and the reins hang loose on their necks.

At the fourth career the riders shot with loose powder, and at the fifth with the gun at the first target, and with the bow at the second. They use long, heavy, clumsy muskets, and have not even taken off the inconvenient crutch. A ball of crushed-up paper is inserted in the mouth of the barrel, which is scattered around when the shot is fired to make a show. The start is made at a considerable distance, and the rider is at full gallop when he comes up to the first target. He holds the gun in the left hand, raises it slowly and gracefully to the right shoulder, grasps the butt with his right hand, holds the muzzle in front of him in the direction of the course, and at the moment he is flying past the target turns the barrel towards it and fires, the match having been lighted at starting. Many produced a red cloud from the target, all a white, of paper, if the gun went off ; for it failed when the tinder was not held at the right moment to the touch-hole. Some marksmen discharged their guns a little too late, when they were past the target, and then the spectators most exposed to danger began to rush away in all directions, for they had good reason to fear that their eyebrows would be singed. Immediately the shot is fired the gun-sling is quickly thrown over the shoulder, and now there are two seconds in which to catch hold of the quiver, take out an arrow, and discharge it at the second target. The interval was so short that most of the riders missed; when one made a hit, the crowds gave vent to prolonged applause, and a miss caused still more delight. It must be very hot and trying work to ride in this gorgeous costume with gun, bow, and quiver in full sunshine, every now and then buried in a cloud of dust. Some horses were so restive that their riders could not shoot, and that caused great amusement to the people. One of the marksmen loses his hat, and the next horse shies at it when he is opposite the target, and, leaving the marked course, springs into the crowd of sightseers. Another handles his gun well and raises a red cloud from the target, and also hits the second, but in his hurry has discharged two arrows. One shatters the target and another breaks his gun, and rides on with only the butt in his raised hand, all to the great amusement of the people. Attendants collect the arrows, repair the targets, and fill in the bull's eyes with fresh powder.

This is a Tibetan popular diversion, fresh, rich in colouring, and picturesque. The spectators have evidently their favourites among the competitors, as may be gathered from the increased buzz of voices when certain cavaliers draw near. Others are not expected to win laurels, for they are received with bursts of laughter. The people are all eyes and ears as they stand or sit for hours together, eating nuts and sweet stuff. In the crowd we see many old acquaintances from the monastery, and also lamas from Ladak, who are studying in the theological seminaries of Tashi-lunpo; merchants from Nepal and Bhotan, Mongolian pilgrims in fur caps with large ear-flaps of fox-skin, and about a score of merchants from Ladak and Kashmir, in tall white turbans and black kaftans with waist-belts. The Chinese, who play the same part in Tibet as the English in India, sit in small groups, smoking their pipes; they seem to take no interest in the prize-shooting. They wear blue dresses, black vests, and black skull-caps with a coral button on the top.

Two horses, which probably had never before taken part in such sports, took fright, rushed among the crowd on our side, knocking down some and jumping over others, and were caught at length when they had fallen down entangled in human bodies and clothing. Last of all, a ragged fellow jolted along the course on a wretched brute, causing great merriment. This was the signal that the sports were ended, and now the riders dismounted and passed in a long procession before the dzong tent, where each bowed his head before the "Chairman of the Town Council," and a kadakh was laid over his neck. This inexpensive mark of favour was also bestowed on them by their friends and acquaintances, and some favourites went about with as many as sixty white neck-cloths. I treated the whole party to tea, and gave them a present of money for the amusement they had afforded myself and my retinue. When we at last rode into Shigatse, we were escorted by quite a host of black Tibetans.

Text and photographs originally from Sven Hedin, Transhimalaya, vol 1.

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