Land of the Uphill Devils

Down through the years, as the zing of arrows gave way to the boom of the bomb, the people who live on the roof of the world never complained about all the noise down below. All they asked was to be left alone. Except for the occasional call by Lowell Thomas or somebody looking for the Abominable Snowman, they got their wish. Down below, Hannibal and Hitler, Socrates and Sinatra flashed by; high in the Himalayas, ignorant and innocent of it all, the people went right on hunting snow leopards, dodging devils and waiting for the reincarnation of their uncles.

In 1950 the Chinese Communists conquered Tibet, and slowly the centuries began to topple in on the states that form a buffer between Red China and India. In Bhutan the age of the wheel began. In Nepal the politics became as complicated as the most confused European parliamentary coalition. History even came to Sikkim.

Linked by road only to India, little Sikkim, the size of Delaware, has managed to preserve its identity across the centuries. Its 140,000 inhabitants lead a happy-go-lucky life amid oranges, orchids and 4,000 species of rhododendrons, in lush emerald valleys beneath 28,146-ft. Kanchenjunga, the world's third highest mountain, and Sikkim's "protecting deity of the snowy ranges."

Dollhouse Revolution. What happens in Tibet has always echoed in Sikkim. Tibetans began to migrate across the Himalayan peaks into Sikkim in the 14th century, and in 1642 Sikkim came formally under Tibetan influence. The British took over Sikkim in 1860, but even today, members of the ruling Maharajah's family traditionally marry Tibetans, and Buddhism is Sikkim's official religion, even though three-fourths of the Sikkimese people are Nepalese by descent and Hindu in worship.

When India got its independence from the British in 1947, so did Sikkim. For a while the Sikkimese tried to run their own show. But one day in 1949, peasants in their high boots and yakskin suits surrounded the Maharajah's yellow palace at Gangtok (pop. 7,000), a capital of doll-like houses with blue pagoda roofs, perched precariously 6,000 ft. up a mountain. In a bloodless revolution, they got their demands for an elected national council and an end to tax collection by landlords. But after a 29-day experiment in democracy, the Maharajah dispatched an S O S to India.

In came Indian troops, and a dewan or Prime Minister furnished by India. When the Reds seized neighboring Tibet, India made Sikkim a protectorate, posted troops on the Tibetan border to prevent the smuggling of Communist propaganda in mule trains, required all visitors to Sikkim to give two weeks' notice before getting clearance to enter the country.

Naked Pink Lady. To this day, Sikkim's mountain climbers lift one flap on their fur caps, the better to hear the devils that always go uphill, never down. Lamas stage skeleton dances to drive away evil spirits. The country has no newspapers, and mail goes by pony express. There are no lawyers, because the government thinks that lawyers stir up more trouble than they are worth. A magistrate hears both sides of an argument, makes his judgment. Crime is so rare that there are never more than 15 prisoners in jail.

The ruling Maharajah, 65-year-old Sir Tashi Namgyal, is the eleventh in a line of consecrated Lama rulers. He leaves politics to others. A shy, untraveled man with a pinched face and faint mustache, a delicate porcelain figurine who goes about in green-tinted glasses, Tibetan cap and a golden bakkhu (robe), the Maharajah paints Sikkim's misty peaks and glaciers in a surprisingly abstract style. Recently he had a "vision" of the Abominable Snowman, put him on canvas as a skinny, jet-black creature with a red face, carrying a naked pink lady across the peaks of the Himalayas. When he is not painting, he is praying. "His Majesty," an aide reports, "gets up at the most incredible hours of the morning to clang the cymbals."

The real power in the palace is 35-year-old Maharaj Kumar (crown prince) Palden Thondup Namgyal, who was educated in India, and then spent several years in a Buddhist lamasery as a reincarnation of his uncle (who had been an abbot). The handsome young prince wheels over the country's 57 miles of navigable roads in a pink Mercedes and has imported a fleet of Mercedes trucks for the government.

Watch Against Evil. Ironically, it is the dewan sent in from India who leads the battle against "evil outside influences." The present dewan, buoyant N. K. Rustomji, spent 18 years in Britain, but has become so attached to his work that he walks around Sikkimese style in a gleaming, embroidered bakkhu with a Great Dane said by the Sikkimese to be a reincarnation of Albert Einstein. The dewan considers his main task to be "the Sikkimization" of Sikkim--the attempt to preserve Sikkim's culture and identity from too much Tibetan or Chinese influence. The Indians are also pushing a $7,000,000 seven-year plan to modernize Sikkim's covered-wagon transport, build schools and roads.

The dewan worries about Sikkimese students who copy "some cute design" from an Indian magazine. "We must watch very carefully," he warns. Both he and the crown prince are aware of ushering in the 20th century too rapidly. When Gangtok's first movie house opened a few years back, Sikkim's young people took one look and promptly went out and engaged in drunken brawls and prostitution. The movie was closed down.

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