The Mountains of the Moon

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 496, 27 October 1928, Page 26

The Mountains of the Moon

LIFE IN UGANDA, WHERE PRINCES HAVE BEEN TOURING, DESCRIBED BY ELINOR MORDAUNT, TOURIST AND AUTHOR

IFFERENT places leave curiously different impressions behind them — not as much a memory of things seen or heard [ijK/ or experienced as an impression of the whole itself, as of a personality, charming or sombre, opulent and kind, or hard and arid. To my mind such of East Africa as I have visited, and which the Prince of Wales and Duke of Gloucester are now visiting, remains to me altogether thrilling—a little frightening, but thrilling, with its immense , open spacer, its contrasts, that champagnelike quality of the air on the uplands, under the almost direct rays of the sun and for the mpst part I was within a mile or so of-the equator. Egypt, ancient as it is, does not seem to me altogether Africa, or Morocco, or the Cape, or Natal. Africa itself —altogether female, and not feminine as Browning’s Tatchy, lies for me across the equator from the East Coast, past the great lakes and Mountains of the Moon to the Congo, although I have never penetrated so far—the true spine, the seat of all the nerve and power and brain of this immense somnolent yet watchful, fierce, and never to be forgotten beast. The beginning of the Prince’s journey is Kilindini, on the island of Mombasa, the port for all of Kenya, most of Uganda, and, via the lake, much of Tanganyika—a steaming, tropical island, thick in shining, deep green vegetation, among which the boabab tree, with its immense swollen and distorted limbs and trunk, seems to be the very quintessence of Africa — altogther one with the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the hippopotamus. Mombasa, so far as I could judge of it, is no more than three or four miles round, but it is packed with an infinite medley of natives of every sort of tribe. Indians and Arabs, and many white people, spun over and around by innumerable motors. Here is*the_ ancient Portuguese prison and fortress. Other Portuguese buildings, with magnificently carved doors, along with the foundations of other, far older buildings, remnants of an older civilisation. And here, too, at the decline of the Portuguese power, there took place one of the most awful massacres known to history, when men, women, and children were not only killed, but eaten, by the hordes of savages swooping down upon them from the north. Here, where English men and women now play golf, over the sweeps of grass above the water’s edge—here, where English bungalows lie thick among green lawns, shaded by the brilliant red plumes of flamboyant trees, a very paradise of peace, as it seems. Between Mombasa, with its port—connected with the mainland by a narrow channel spanned by a railway bridge—and Nairobi, which is the seat of government, some 22 hours’ train journey away, and over 6,000 feet above sea level, there is no sort of and until within the last few Iee 8 Nairobi scarcely a sign of human habitation. The journey begins with the moist

verdure of the tropical coast. From there, rising to the land of thickgrowing thorns, rising and still rising, the train passes on, and reaches at last the dry immensity of the Athi Plain, from which thick clouds of red dust arise, enveloping everything, penerating through every crack in the railway carriage, so that when one undresses at night one must pack one’s clothes carefully away in a box, while one’s face and most of one’s body is covered with a red mask, thick as velvet. Where Wild Beasts Rule Here, where the builders of this slender line of communication “fought with beasts,” when the toll of lives lost to lions during its construction was almost beyond counting. this great beast Africa seems to disdain man. It is not the place for man—he is counted out, and the wild beasts rule, not the lion, but the rhino and buffalo. Up through the thorn bush slopes one catches an occasional sight of luminous eyes amid swaying undergrowth or else, maybe, a spectral group of giraffes will step delicately across a wide stretch of moonlight; while the plains themselves are thick with game lions and buffalo, rhinoceros and leopards, ostriches and wildebeeste, innumerable brfk, some of them small as a child’s toy horse, incredibly fragile looking and incredibly swift. "Tommies,” or TJiomson’s gazelle, with the broad dark stripes along their sides; the larger Grant’s gazelle, and uncountable flocks of zebra. Why, even driving loss than a mile out of Nairobi, one gets among the zebra and wildebeeste, who wilj scarcely trouble to raise their head i so long as one remains in the car. And one does not look for roads to drive cars upon there, upon the backbone of the world, where the main roads are, indeed, scarcely recognisable—but cut straight across country, or push in among elephant grass high above the hood of the car. On the journey ud to Nairobi one gets out of the train at certain stations for meals, which are all ready to be served, and very well served, too. But the stations are few and far apart in the immensity of solitude. An Exciting Journey As the train mounts, amid a thick trail of sparks—for the engines are

fed by wood —the air grows colder and colder, clear and sweet. However tired one may be, anyhow the first time on that journey, one has jm desire to sleep—it is all far too exciting. I for one can never pass that way without being continually on the look-out for I scarcely know what — wild- beasts or else, maybe, the ghosts of those long trails of men who carried upon their heads all this long, long climb to Nairobi, through the burning heat of day, the biting cold of the night; on and on, as far again, up to over 9,000 feet above sea-level, the multitudinous pieces of the first steamer ever launched upon the lake, from Kisumu, the lake post at the end of that 30-mile long arm known as the Kavirondo Gulf. People at home have little idea of the size of this lake, over 3,000 feet above sea-level, round which it took me ten days to pass in one of the Kenya and Uganda Railway Company’s steamers. Warlike People Close against the lake are the immense stretches of the north, south, and central Kavirondo reserves—miles of it, aflame with what in gardens at home are known as red-liot pokers—where the married women wear tails like horses, and little else. And hack of the Kavirondo reserves are the Nandi reserves and the dark rocks of the Nandi escarpment, from which the warlike people used to hurl their captives during the good old days, when they were free to do as they liked, raiding the cattle of the more peaceful tribes. For the tribes are endless, and there are still those among whom a couple of men will run down a lion and kill him with their spears, while the Masai on Mount Elgon pursue and swarm over an elephant like flies, stabbing him to death. An immense and wonderful country!

HRISHNAMURTI, the same young earnest-eyed, intense Brahmin as ever, lias been interviewed in his retreat in Holland eighteenth century structure buried in pinewoods near Omruen, only a few miles from Amsterdam—by Guy Innes for the Sydney “Sun.” While the Olympic Games were in progress, he was conducting a camp of his devotees. They comprised one of the most remarkable gatherings in the world; for they numbered 2,500 men and women from 37 countries, and all were in quest of truth. Of the 2,500 devotees, 500 were British. They included Lady Emily Lutyens, who has been in India with her husband, and is not unfamiliar with the teachings of Mrs. Annie Besant, whose protege Krishnamurti is. Muriell Countess de la Warr also added the lustre of her name to the proceedings. Americans, as is only to be expected, were strongly represented in the congregation. Krishnamurti is the head of the Order of the Star in the East, which has been

given the castle and its surrounding grounds by its former owner, Baron Van Pallant, an admirer of the Brahmin philosopher and a supporter of his doctrines. The acquisition, if Krishnamurti cares for treasure upon earth, is worth having; for the large entrance hall of the castle is flanked by rooms hung with tapestries and adorned with oak panelling and valuable Dutch paintings.

The philospher received his interviewer with what the latter describes as “diffident cordiality.” He explained, on lines already familiar to those who have interested themselves in his teachings, that Buddha, Christ, and himself are the three persons who in many centuries have attained to a knowledge of the Truth—that stream of life which permeates, and imbues all things. The Order of the Star was, it will be remembered, founded by Annie Besant, and one of its objects was to unite those who believe in the presence and mission of the World Teacher —a post at present held

by Krishnamurti. Simply stated, his doctrine is an old one—that the Truth can be achieved only by studying the highest dictates of one’s own heart, and by freeing tbe soul from the fetters of dogma. Its keynote, in one word, is purity. As certain of our poets have said: “Self-reverence, Self-knowledge, selfcontrol. These three alone lead life to sovereign power.” Krishnamurti denies that he desires to be worshipped. Had he accepted lhe worship that has been proffered him, he would, he says, have merely been the head of another of the countless little religions in the world, and the Truth would have been sacrificed. HANDICAP, PLUS TWO It has been left to Reuter’s correspondent. a modest ..ellow-golfer, to draw Krishnamurti out upon a subject very near to his heart. “Do you know," he said, “I went round the North Berwick course iu 77? That was some years ago. I had spent six months in Cornwall with my brother, and acquired an enthusiasm for golf. A professional brought my handicap down to plus two: and during that period I simply lived on the links. I shall never forget seeing my name in a Scottish newspaper after my round at North Berwick—it was one of the proudest moments of my life!” The camp at Castle Eerde, it ia

asserted, is far from being an assemblage of impractical dreamers. Apparently it something resembles the Roycroft enterprise launched by the late Elbert Hubbard at East Aurora. Nearly all the members live in tents, tanging in size from one-man shelters to marquees holding a hundred

people. Temporary shops, a hospital, a post office, and the administrative headquarters are situated on a sort of central street, from which lead other streets to various minor camps. The sexes are separated. Every tent is numbered, and in the police tent, from which the main camp is patrolled by night, is kept a list of the occupants. Meat, alcohol and tobacco are forbidden. As with Elbert Hubbard, there is a press publicity department, and articles and addresses are distributed all over the world. Apparently it will be some time before Krishnamurti feels the urge to visit Australia. New Holland does not appeal to him when its older namesake is so comfortable.