The air seemed close with incense and also with bad ventilation.

The centre of the nave, if I may so call it, was occupied by a huge wooden cylinder, a sort of overgrown drum, painted in bright colours, with ornamental designs and Tibetan letters.

It was much taller than a man, some nine feet high, I should say, and it revolved above and below on an iron spindle.

Looking closer, I saw it had a crank attached to it, with a string tied to the crank.

A solitary monk, absorbed in his devotions, was pulling this string as we entered, and making the cylinder revolve with a jerk as he pulled it.