CHAPTER XI

[20]A one-horse open cab.

[21]A gold coin, value about one pound sterling.

[22]A goldsmith.

[23]Delusion.

The most important thing is Silence. In the Silence Wisdom speaks, and they whose hearts are open understand her. The brave man is at the mercy of cowards, and the honest man at the mercy of thieves, unless he keep silence. But if he keep silence he is safe, because they will fail to understand him; and then he may do them good without their knowing it, which is a source of true humor and contentment.From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup.

From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup.

CHAPTER XI

Thegirls took the seat in the window the men had vacated, and sprawled there like sirens on a rock. Even the fan-girls joined them. It was quite clear there was a secret in the air; the ostentatious way in which the girls kept up a low-voiced chatter to show they were not listening was proof enough of that. Vasantasena lay on the wide divan with a cushion beneath her breast and her chin on both hands, considering Ommony for several minutes before she spoke, presumably curious to know why he had come with Maitraya; possibly she thought the silence and the stare would break him down and make him offer an explanation, but he met her eyes with challenging indifference. Silence is the only safe answer to Silence.

“Tsiang Samdup,” she said at last, “let the girls put your mat here in front of me.”

But the Lama would not move. He shook his head. And Samding spoke:

“The holy Lama knows where it is best to sit. He is not to be moved for convenience.”

The voice was no more astonishing than is anything else that sets a key-note. It was like the rhythm of a tuning-fork. It changed the key—the very atmosphere, asserting fundamental fact, to which everything else must adjust itself or be out of harmony. Vasantasena raised her eyebrows, but yielded and changed her position so as to face the Lama, signing to Ommony to squat down on a cushion beside Maitraya; which was disappointing, because it prevented him from watching the Lama’s face. He could see Samding’s profile beyond Maitraya’s only through the corner of his eye, but he marveled at that; it was as beautiful as a figure of the Buddha done in porcelain.

“If I am to let my piece of jade go,” Vasantasena asked at last, “what reward have I?”

“None,” said the Lama; and that was another fundamental statement, issuing in a voice like the gong that starts the engines. It left nothing whatever to argue about.

“Then why should I do it?” Vasantasena asked.

“Because you wish to do it, and the wish is wise,” the Lama answered, as if he were replying to the question of a little child.

“How do you know I wish to do it?”

“How do you know you are alive?” the Lama retorted.

Vasantasena laughed. “I believe you know where you can sell it!” she said, in an obvious effort to lower the conversation to a plane on which she might have the advantage.

“I know you do not believe that,” said the Lama.

Vasantasena sighed. “How do you learnsuchknowledge?” she asked. “You seem to know everything. I am not ignorant. A hundred men come here, and none of them can make a fool of me, but—”

“Perhaps you are not a fool,” the Lama interrupted.

“No, I am not a fool. I can whisper a word here and a word there, and some of the evil that would have been done dies still-born—and some of the good that might never have been born has birth. And as for me, what does it matter? And yet—sometimes I think it does matter about me. And sometimes I think I will give all my money to the poor—”

“And rob them,” said the Lama.

“Rob them of what?” She stared at him blankly.

“Of the moment. It is not wise to deprive them of the moment. At the moment of our utmost need, we learn.”

“Yours is a heartless creed,” she retorted, glancing at the money in the bowl beside her. “That money would feed a thousand people.”

“Nothing is heartless,” said the Lama. “It is better to eat consequences now than to put off the day of retribution. Better the sting of an insect now than a serpent’s bite a year hence. Better an experience in this life than a thousand-fold the bitterness in lives to come.”

“What says the Bhat to that?” she asked suddenly, glancing at Ommony, and Samding came out of his immobility to give one swift searching glance sidewise.

Privilege has its disadvantages. It is one of the obligations of a Bhat that when appealed to he must say something; and the quicker he says it, the better for his reputation.

“I am not your priest. You would like to quote me against him, but I am only interested in learning why I was brought here,” Ommony answered.

Vasantasena sneered. “Just like a Bhat! You think of nothing but your own convenience. Well, I am glad there is none of your money in my birthday bowl. Rather I will give you some of it. Here—help yourself.”

“It is unclean money,” said Ommony, falling back on the caste-rules that a Bhat may observe if he chooses, even if the other Brahmans refuse him recognition.

“Is that true?” she asked the Lama. “This is not all. I am rich. I have lakhs and lakhs.”

“It is yours,” the Lama answered. “It is your responsibility.”

“Well,” she said, “as I told you before, if you will take it all, you may have it. I am about to becomeSanyasin[24]. I think the piece of jade will help me more than all my money. I will keep the jade.”

“I will not take your money,” said the Lama. “Nor can you escape responsibility. There is a Middle Way, and the middle of it lies before you.”

Vasantasena frowned, her chin on both hands, studying the Lama’s face. His bright old eyes looked straight back at her out of a mass of wrinkles, but he did not move; if he smiled, there were too many wrinkles for any one to be quite sure of it.

“Well—I will call the girls,” she said at last. “I will test you. You must tell me from which of them I received the piece of jade.”

She clapped her hands and the girls came hurrying from the far end of the room, standing in a line self-consciously. They were used to being admired, and it was quite in keeping with the probabilities that every one of them had been bought and sold at some early stage of her career, but there was novelty in this ordeal, and they did not seem to know what to make of it.

“That one,” said Vasantasena, nodding at the nearest, “is much the most popular.”

“She has no other merit,” said the Lama, and the girl looked bewildered—piqued.

“And that one at the other end is the cleverest. She has the quickest wit of all of them. She might have stolen it.”

“If so she would have kept it,” said the Lama, watching the girls’ faces. “The fourth from this end. She is the one. Let the others go.”

At a nod from Vasantasena eight girls returned to the window-seat and one stood still. She was the same who had admitted Maitraya and Ommony, only now all her self-possession had departed; she seemed to fear the Lama as a cornered dove fears a snake. She was trembling.

“Why are you afraid?” the Lama asked, as gently as if he were talking to a woman he would woo; but the girl made a gesture to her mistress for protection from him.

“She is afraid because you have read rightly,” said Vasantasena. “I, too, am afraid. Are you in league with gods or devils?”

“That is not well,” said the Lama. “Whom haveIharmed?”

“You are too wise,” said Vasantasena.

“Macauley the Eurasian had the stone,” the Lama went on in a booming voice. “A certain person gave it to him in a package yesterday, to take it to Simla and thence to Tilgaun. That would have been well. But Macauley the Eurasian was weak and dallied with a woman—”

“No Eurasian haseverbeen in my house!” Vasantasena interrupted, flaring.

“And the woman had a husband; and the husband was a Sudra[25]who was seeking education from a Brahman, so he gave the piece of jade tohim. And the Brahman came hither, and boasted—and took opium—”

“He brought the drug with him. Inevergave any man opium!” Vasantasena interrupted.

“Andshetook the stone from him and brought it toyou. All this in the space of one night,” said the Lama.

“But how do youknow?

“I do know.”

“How do you know it was this girl!”

“She is the only one who would have given it to you. Any of the others would have kept it.”

Ommony managed to master his emotions somehow, but it was not easy, for here was proof of a system of spying that out-spied the Secret Service. How had the Lama learned that the stone had been entrusted to McGregor, to be given in turn to Macauley, to be taken to Tilgaun? Given that much information in the first place it might have been comparatively easy to trace the stone afterward, but—McGregor had surely not talked. Macauley and McGregor’ssaiswere the only possibilities.

Vasantasena groped under the cushions and brought out the piece of jade—the same piece that had been in Ommony’s possession; there was no mistaking its peculiar shape, or the deep-sea green translucence. The expression of Samding’s face changed for a moment; he actually blinked and smiled, and the smile was as attractive as the marvel of the stone. Vasantasena noticed it.

“Give me yourchelain exchange!” she said suddenly. “I could endure thatchela! He is almost fit to be a god. He needs only passion to awaken him. I can not understand this stone, which makes me dizzy to look into it, and dark with fear of myself. Thechelamakes me feel there is a future. I can look into his eyes and know that all wisdom is attainable. I will teach him passion, and he shall teach me pure desire.”

The Lama chuckled engagingly. His wrinkles multiplied and his smile was as full of amusement as a Chinese fisherman’s. “Askhim,” he said.

Vasantasena smiled at Samding—that same smile that had explained the secret of her influence. It promised unrestraint, indulgence without limit, and thereafter forgiveness. She held up the stone in her right hand, ready to exchange.

“A bargain?” she asked eagerly.

“No”—one monosyllable, abrupt and clear—F natural exactly in the middle of the note. A golden gong could not have answered more finally or with less regard for consequences.

Vasantasena started as if stung. Her eyes flashed and her mood changed into savagery like a stirred snake’s. The girl who was still standing before her shrank and half-smothered a scream. Maitraya ducked instantly with his face behind his hands. Vasantasena flung the stone at Samding straight and hard. It struck him in the breast, but if it hurt, he gave no sign. He covered the stone with both hands for a moment, as if caressing it, wiped it carefully on a corner of his robe, and passed it to the Lama, who secreted it in his bosom as matter-of-factly as if the entire proceeding were exactly what he had expected.

“Go!” Vasantasena ordered hoarsely. “Begone from here! Never darken my door again! Go, all of you—you, and you—what is a dog of an actor doing here? A Bhat! A Bhat—a casteless Brahman! You defile my house! A gang of devil-worshipers! Girls—call the men-servants and throw them out!”

But the Lama was quite unhurried. He got up from the mat and blessed Vasantasena sonorously in Tibetan, which she did not understand; it might have been a curse for all she knew. Samding rolled up the mat. Maitraya got behind the Lama for protection; and the girls hesitated to obey the order to use violence on any one as sacred as a Lama, or as dangerous as a Bhat. The Lama led the way out of the room with his skirts swinging majestically, and Ommony brought up the rear, aware that the danger was by no means over. He paused in the door and met Vasantasena’s furious stare.

“ShallIsummon the guests from below?” he inquired; for that was the one risk he wanted to avoid. If he proposed it, she might forbid. “They would like to hear me sing a song of this!” he added.

“Go!” she screamed. “I will have you stabbed! I will have you—”

“Shall I sing to them in the courtyard?” he asked; and as she choked, trying to force new threats out of her throat, he shut the door behind him and hurried to follow the Lama, dreading what mood might overtake her during the minute or two before they could reach the street.

But the Lama would not make haste, although Maitraya urged him in sibilant undertones. In the courtyard he chose to think the greetings called out to Maitraya were intended for himself and bowed, bestowing blessings right and left. Then solemnly and very slowly, as if walking were as mathematically exact a process as the precession of the equinox, he led the way into the outer courtyard, where he stood for a moment and studied the fountain as if it contained the answer to the riddle of the universe. The sound of running footsteps did not break his meditation, or upset the equanimity of Samding, but Maitraya, glancing over-shoulder, started for the gate, and Ommony, muttering “Oh, my God!” had to steel himself not to follow. The two enormous sashed and turbaned janitors who kept the stairway to Vasantasena’s upper room came shouting from the inner court—shouting to the man on guard at the outer gate; and Ommony’s blood ran cold.

But they stopped shouting when they caught sight of the Lama—stopped running—stopped gesticulating. Very humbly they approached him, offering a present from Vasantasena—gold in a silken bag, and a smaller bag of gold for Gupta Rao the Bhat, with a request that he should remember the donor kindly. They pressed the presents—followed to the gate, imploring, swearing their mistress would take deep offense and think it an ill-omen if the gold were not accepted. When the Lama and Ommony persisted in refusing they tried to force both presents on Samding, and even followed to the street, where they snatched the flowers that were tucked into the carving of the arch and thrust them into the Lama’s hands. Not until a strange, old-fashioned one-horse carriage with shuttered sides drew up at the gate and the Lama and Samding stepped into it, signing to Ommony and Maitraya to follow, was it possible to escape from the clamorous importunity; and even when the carriage drove away the voices followed after.

[24]In a sense this means “taking the veil,” although the process is almost exactly the opposite. Just as men so often do in India, women sometimes renounce all worldly possessions and become wandering hermits, living in caves and practising inhumanly severe austerities. Such women, whatever their previous occupation may have been, are deeply venerated.

[25]Some Brahmans consent to teach the Sudra castes because of the enormous “gifts” they receive for doing so, but the practise is frowned on by the pundits and the guilty Brahmans are considered degraded, although not outcasts.

The man who knows he is ignorant is at no disadvantage if he permits a wise man to do the thinking; because the wise man knows that neither advantage to one or disadvantage to another comes at all within the scope of wisdom, and he will govern himself accordingly. But he who seeks to outwit wisdom adds to ignorance presumption; and that is a combination that the gods do not love.From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup.

From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup.

CHAPTER XII

Theheat inside the carriage was stifling. No breeze came through the slats that formed the sides, but they had the advantage that one could see out, and sufficient light streamed through to show the Lama’s face distinctly at close quarters. The Lama sat perched on the rear seat with Samding beside him, both of them cross-legged like Buddhas, but the front seat was as narrow as a knife-board, and in the space between there was hardly room for Ommony’s and Maitraya’s legs. Faces were so close that the utmost exercise of polite manners could hardly have prevented staring, and Ommony took full advantage of it.

But the Lama seemed unconscious of being looked at, making no effort to avoid Ommony’s eyes, although Samding kept his face averted and stared between the slats at the crowd on the sidewalks. The Lama’s eyes were motionless, fixed on vacancy somewhere through Ommony’s head and beyond it; they were blue eyes, not brown as might have been expected—blue aging into gray—the color of the northern sky on windy afternoons.

The horse clop-clopped along the paved street leisurely, the clink of a loose shoe adding a tantalizing punctuation to the rhythm, and a huge blow-fly buzzed disgustingly until it settled at last on the Lama’s nose.

“That is not the right place,” he remarked then in excellent English, and with a surprisingly deft motion of his right hand slapped the fly out through the slats. He smiled at Ommony, who pretended not to understand him; for the most important thing at the moment seemed to be to discover whether or not the Lama had guessed his identity and, if not, to preserve the secret as long as possible. From a pouch at his waist that Benjamin had thoughtfully provided he producedpan[26]and began to chew it—an offensive habit that he hated, but one that every Brahman practises. The Lama spoke again, this time in Urdu:

“Flies,” he said, in a voice as if he were teaching school, “are like evil thoughts that seem to come from nowhere. Kill them, and others come. They must be kept out, and their source looked for and destroyed.”

“It is news to me,” said Ommony, in his best Bhat-Brahman tone of voice, “that people from Tibet know the laws of sanitation. NowIhave studied them, for I lean to the modern view of things. Flies breed in dunghills and rotten meat, from larvæ that devour the solids therein contained.”

“Even as sin breeds in a man’s mind from curiosity that devours virtue,” said the Lama. He did not smile, but there was an inflection in his voice that suggested he had thought of smiling. Ommony improvised a perfectly good Brahman answer:

“Without curiosity progress would cease,” he asserted, well knowing that was untrue but bent on proving he was some one he was not. The Lama knew Cottswold Ommony for a thoughtful man (for twenty years’ correspondence must have demonstrated that) and, if not profound, at least acquainted with profundity; and it is men’s expressions of opinion more often than mechanical mistakes that betray disguises, so he didactically urged an opinion that he did not entertain.

“Without curiosity, nine-tenths of sin would cease. The other tenth would be destroyed by knowledge,” the Lama replied. Whereat he took snuff in huge quantities from a wonderful old silver box.

“Where are we going?” asked Ommony suddenly.

“I have disposed of curiosity.” The Lama dismissed the question with one firm horizontal movement of his right hand.

“I have a servant, to whom I must send a message,” Ommony objected.

“Thechelamay take it.”

Ommony glanced at Samding and the calm eyes met his without wavering; yet he did not have the Lama’s trick of seeming to look through a person. Perhaps youth had something to do with that. His gaze betrayed interest in an object, whereas the Lama’s looked behind, beyond, as if he could see causes.

Ommony sat still, grateful for the silence, thinking furiously. He had witnessed proof that the Lama commanded a spy-system perfectly capable of discovering even the secret moves of McGregor. The odds were therefore ten to one that he knew exactly who was sitting in the carriage facing him. Samding had read the name Ommony on Diana’s collar in Chutter Chand’s shop. The letter from the Lama had been delivered to Mrs. Cornock-Campbell’s house. Benjamin was the Lama’s secret agent, as well as more or less openly his man of business. Viewed in all its bearings, it would be almost a miracle if the Lama did not at least suspect the real identity of the Bhat-Brahman who sat chewing betel-nut in front of him.

And the Lama now had the piece of jade for which ostensibly he had come all the way to Delhi. Moreover, he had known where it was, at least for several hours. Then why did he continue to submit to being spied on? Why had he not, for instance, stepped into the carriage and driven away, leaving Ommony on the sidewalk outside Vasantasena’s? That would have been perfectly easy. Or he could have denounced Ommony in Vasantasena’s presence, with consequences at the hands of the assembled guests that would have been at least drastic, and perhaps deadly. If the Lama really did know who was sitting in the carriage with him, the mystery was increased rather than clarified.

And now there was the problem of Dawa Tsering and the dog. Ommony wished for the moment he had made some other arrangement—until he realized the futility of making any effort to conceal what the Lama almost certainly already knew. He might have left the dog with McGregor, and have had Dawa Tsering confined in jail, but he would have lost two important allies by doing it. A man with a “knife” and a dog with a terrific set of teeth might turn out to be as good as guardian angels.

On the other hand, the Lama might be planning to disappear along the mysterious “Middle Way” that baffles all detection. If so, the dog and Dawa Tsering might be exceedingly useful in tracing him. If the offer to send Samding with a message were not a trick, it would at least acquaint the dog with Samding’s smell; and it might be that the Lama was ignorant about a trained dog’s hunting ability.

Finally, as the carriage dawdled through the sun-baked, thronging streets, Ommony reached the conclusion that he had been guided by intuition when he gave orders to Dawa Tsering. A man who has lived in a forest for the greater part of twenty years, and has studied native life and nature in the raw as methodically as Ommony had done, achieves a faith in intuition that persists in the face of much that is called evidence. He decided to carry on, at least one step farther, trusting again to intuition that assured him he was not in serious danger and wondering whether the Lama was not quite as puzzled as himself. He glanced at the Lama’s face, hoping to detect a trace of worry.

But the Lama was asleep. He was sleeping as serenely as a child, with his head drooped forward and his shoulders leaning back into the corner. Samding made a signal not to waken him.

The carriage dawdled on. The Lama stirred, glanced through the slats to find out where they were, and dozed away again. The streets grew narrower, and then broadened into unpaved roads that wandered between high walls and shuttered windows, in a part of Delhi that Ommony only knew by hearsay and from books. It was shabbily exclusive—drab—with plaster peeling from old-fashioned houses and an air of detachment from excitement in all forms. Here and there a Moslem minaret uprose above surrounding flat roofs, and trees peeped over the wall of a crowded cemetery. They were going northward, toward where the ruins of really ancient Delhi shelter thieves and jackals in impenetrable scrub and mounds of debris; a district where anything might happen and no official be a word the wiser.

Suddenly the carriage checked and turned between high walls into an alley with a gate at the farther end. The driver cried aloud with a voice like a prophet of despair announcing the end of all things; the double gate swung wide, not more than a yard in advance of the horse’s nose; paved stones rang underfoot; the gates slammed shut; and the Lama came to life, opening first one eye, then the other.

“All things end—even carriage rides,” he said in English, looking hard at Ommony. But Ommony was still of the opinion it was better to pretend he did not understand that language.

Somebody opened the carriage door from outside—a Tibetan, all smiles and benedictions, robed like a medieval monk—who chattered so fast in a northern dialect that Ommony could not make head or tail of it. Samding cut short the flow of speech by pushing past him, followed by Maitraya. Ommony got out next, his eyes blinded for the moment by sunlight off the white stone walls of a courtyard; and before he could take in the scene the carriage containing the Lama moved on again and disappeared through a gate under an arch in a barrack-like building; the gate was pulled shut after it by some one on the inside.

It was a four-square courtyard, dazzling white, paved with ancient stones, surrounded on three sides by a cloister supported on wooden posts, on to which tall narrow doors opened at unequal intervals. There was no attempt at ornament, but the place had a sort of stern dignity and looked as if it might originally have been a khan for northern travelers. The windows on the walls above the cloister roof were all shuttered with slatted blinds, and there were no human beings in evidence except Samding, Maitraya and the Tibetan who had opened the carriage door; but there were sounds of many voices coming from the shuttered window of a room that opened on the cloister.

Samding stood still, facing Ommony, silent, presumably waiting for the message he was to take. Ommony spoke to him in Urdu:

“Is this our destination? Or do we go elsewhere from here?”

“Here—until to-morrow or the next day,” said the quiet voice.

“Do you know your way about Delhi? Can you find your way to Benjamin, the Jew’s, in the Chandni Chowk? Will you take this handkerchief of mine and go to Benjamin’s, where you will find a very big dog. Show the handkerchief to the dog, and let her smell it. She will follow you to this place.”

Samding smiled engagingly, but incomprehensibly; the smile seemed to portend something.

“Speak louder,” he suggested, as if he were deaf and had not heard the message.

Ommony raised his voice almost to a shout; he was irritated by the enigmatic smile. His words, as he repeated what he had said, echoed under the cloister—and were answered by a deep-throated bay he could have recognized from among the chorus of a dog-pound. A door in the cloister that stood ajar flew wide, and Diana came bounding out like a crazy thing, yelping and squealing delight to see her master, almost knocking him down and smelling him all over from head to foot to make sure it was really he inside the unaccustomed garments. And a moment later Dawa Tsering strode out through the same door, knife and all, blinking at the sunlight, looking half-ashamed.

Ommony quieted Diana, stared sharply at Dawa Tsering, and turned to question Samding. Thechelawas gone. He just caught sight of his back as he vanished through a door under the cloister, twenty feet away. He questioned the Tibetan, using Prakrit, but the man appeared not to understand him. Dawa Tsering strolled closer, grinning, trying to appear self-confident.

“O Gupta Rao,” he began. But Ommony turned his back.

“Do you know where we are?” he asked Maitraya.

“Certainly. This is where my troupe was to assemble. Let us hope they are all here and that the Jew has delivered the costumes.”

“O you, Gupta Rao,” Dawa Tsering insisted, laying a heavy hand on Ommony’s shoulder from behind to call attention to himself, “listen to me: that dog of yours is certainly a devil, and the Jew is a worse devil, and that man there—” (he pointed at the Tibetan) “—is the father of them both! You had not left the Jew’s store longer than a man would need to scratch himself, when that fellow entered and talked with the Jew. I also talked with the Jew; I bade him supply me with garments according to your command, and two pairs of blankets and a good, heavy yak-hair cloak; and there were certain other things I saw that I became aware I needed. But the Jew said that this fellow had brought word that you had changed your mind regarding me, and that I was to go elsewhere withhim. I gave him the lie. I told him who was father of them both, and what their end would be, and they said many things. So I helped myself to a yak-hair cloak, a good one, and lo, I have it with me; and I also picked out one pair of blankets of a sort such as are not to be had in Spiti; and with those and the cloak and some trifles I encumbered myself, so that neither hand was free.

“And while I was looking to see what else was important to a man of your standing and my needs, lo, the Jew took the socks you had left behind and gave them to this rascal; and the son of unforgiveable offenses showed them to the dog, who forthwith followed him, notwithstanding that I called her many names. He led her out of the shop, and I after him with both arms full, and the Jew after me because of the blankets and what-not else. And lo, there was a cart outside having four wheels and sides like the shutters of a te-rain only not made to slide up and down. And the door was at the rear. And thereinto he led the dog, she following the socks, and I after both of them to bring the dog back. And lo, no sooner was I within the cart—not more than my head and shoulders were within it—than two men like this one, only bigger, seized me and wrapped me in my own blankets and bound me fast, taking my knife.

“So they brought me to this place, where they dragged me into that room yonder and released me, returning my knife to me and saying such wasyourorder. And if they had not returned my knife I would have fought them; but as they did return it, and said it was your order, and as the dog appeared satisfied, because they threw the socks to her to guard, it seemed to me there might be something in it after all. Did you give such an order? Or shall I slay these men?”

“Have you been here before?” asked Ommony.

“Oh, yes, two or three times. This is not a bad place, and there is lots to eat, well buttered, with plenty of onions. This is a place where they think the Lama Tsiang Samdup is of more importance than a bellyfull. But they eat notwithstanding—thrice daily—and much. But tell me: did you give such an order—to have me brought here?”

Ommony had a flash of inspiration. “The man mistook the order,” he answered. (Maitraya was listening; he did not want to take Maitraya into confidence.) “I will tell you later what I intend to do about it. Meanwhile, keep silence, keep close to the dog, and keep an eye on me.”

But Maitraya was growing more than curious, although he did not understand the Prakrit dialect that Dawa Tsering used.

“What is a Bhat-Brahman doing with such a servant?” he asked, stroking his chin, cocking his head to one side like a parrot that sees sugar.

Ommony fell back on the excuse that Benjamin invented:

“You were told. He attends to my little affairs of the heart. Isn’t the real puzzle, what ishedoing with such a master? Why are we standing here? The sun overpowers me.”

Maitraya led the way toward the room whence the voices emerged and the Tibetan, seeing they knew where to go, took himself off in the opposite direction. Excepting Dawa Tsering, there were no armed men in evidence; the double gate that opened on the alley was barred, but there was no padlock on the bars, and no guard; it looked as if escape, if once determined on, would be simple enough. If the place was a prison, its system for detaining prisoners was extremely artfully concealed; there did not appear to be even the sort of passive vigilance employed in monasteries.

Maitraya crossed the cloister, opened a door near the window whence the voices came, kicked it so that it swung inward with a bang against the wall, and made an effective stage-entry into a dim enormous room. There was a long row of slippers on the threshold, and he kicked those aside to make room for his own with a leg-gesture that was quite good histrionics.

Six men, three women and two boys, who had been sitting with their backs against a wall, stood up to greet him. They were a rather sorry-looking group, dowdy and travel-worn, without an expensive garment or a really clean turban among them; but that was another form of histrionics; there were bundles on the floor containing finery they did not choose to show yet, lest the sight of it might prevent their paymaster, for his own pride’s sake, from fitting them out with new, clean clothing. Maitraya looked disgusted. He knew that ancient method of extortion and assessed it for what it was worth.

“Such a rabble! Such a band of mendicants!” he exclaimed. “I am ashamed to present you to his honor the learned Brahman Gupta Rao, who will play leading parts in our company! He will think it is a company of street-sweepers!”

They bowed to Ommony, murmuring “Pranam,” and he blessed them perfunctorily. It was more important at the moment to examine the room carefully than to make friends with outcaste actors, who pretend to themselves that they despise a Brahman, but actually fear one like the devil if he takes, and keeps, the upper hand.

The room was about thirty-five feet broad by ninety feet long, extremely high and beamed and cross-beamed with adze-trimmed timbers as heavy as the deck-beams of a sailing ship. There was a faint suggestion of a smell of grain and gunny-bags. Along one end, to the right of the door, was a platform, not more than four feet high nor eight feet deep, with a door in the wall at the end of it farthest from the courtyard; on the platform was a clean Tibetan prayer mat.

The walls were bare, of stone reinforced by heavy timbers, and the only furniture or ornaments consisted of heavy brass chandeliers suspended on brass chains from the ceiling and brass sconces fastened to the timbers of the wails. The place was fairly clean, except for wasp’s nests and grease on the floor and walls where the illuminating medium had dripped. There were no prayer-wheels, images of gods, or anything to suggest a religious atmosphere, which nevertheless prevailed, perhaps because of the austerity.

Ommony decided to try the platform; as a Bhat-Brahman he had perfect authority for being impudent, and as a man of ordinary good sense he was justified in taking Dawa Tsering with him, to keep that individual out of mischief; so he beckoned to the dog and Dawa Tsering, climbed to the platform by means of some pegs stuck there for the purpose, and checked an exclamation of surprise.

The trunk full of clothes that he had ordered from Benjamin stood unopened in the far dark corner of the platform, where almost no light penetrated. It was strapped, locked, sealed with a leaden disk, and the key hung down from the handle.

He determined then and there to waste no further effort on conjecture. The Lama knew who he was. Benjamin was the informer. Probably on one of the occasions when Benjamin went shuffling along the passage by the staircase in front of his store he had sent a message to the Lama. Luck must favor him now or not, as the Powers who measure out the luck should see fit. He sat down cross-legged in deep shadow on top of the trunk, which creaked under his weight, signed to Dawa Tsering to be seated upon the floor, watched Diana curl herself in patient boredom in the shadow beside him, leaned into the corner, listened to the chattering of the actors and to Maitraya’s pompous scolding, and presently fell asleep. Not having slept at all the previous night, he judged it was ridiculous to stay awake and worry. Opportunity is meant for wise men’s seizing.

[26]A preparation of betel-nut.

THE MAGIC INCANTATION OF SAN-FUN-HOLords of evolving night and day!Ye spirits of the spaceless dreams!O Souls of the reflected hillsEmbosomed in pellucid streams!Magicians of the morning hazeWho weave anew the virgin veilThat dews the blush of waking daysWith innocence! Ye Rishis[27], hail!I charge that whosoe’er may viewThis talisman, shall greet the dawnDegreed, arrayed and ranked anewAs he may wish to have been born!Prevail desire! A day and nightPrevail ambition! Till they seeThey can not set the world arightBy being what they crave to be!Be time and space, and all save Karma[28]stilled!Grant that each secret wish may be fulfilled!

THE MAGIC INCANTATION OF SAN-FUN-HO

Lords of evolving night and day!

Ye spirits of the spaceless dreams!

O Souls of the reflected hills

Embosomed in pellucid streams!

Magicians of the morning haze

Who weave anew the virgin veil

That dews the blush of waking days

With innocence! Ye Rishis[27], hail!

I charge that whosoe’er may view

This talisman, shall greet the dawn

Degreed, arrayed and ranked anew

As he may wish to have been born!

Prevail desire! A day and night

Prevail ambition! Till they see

They can not set the world aright

By being what they crave to be!

Be time and space, and all save Karma[28]stilled!

Grant that each secret wish may be fulfilled!

[27]The guardians of the esoteric Law, whose ordinances are regarded as infallible and binding, and from whom the Brahmans are supposed to be descended.

[28]The Law of Cause and Effect, governing the consequences of every thought and deed.

CHAPTER XIII

Howlong Ommony slept he did not know, but probably for at least an hour. At first his doze was broken by the sound of the actors’ voices, but after a while they may have slept too for lack of better entertainment; the buzz of conversation ceased and he was left to the pursuit of unquiet dreams, in which the Lama plotted and disputed with Vasantasena for possession of Samding in a place in which there was a fountain brim-full of goldenmohurs.

He awoke quietly after a while, that being habit, and noticed that Diana’s tail was thumping a friendly salute on the platform floor. The next thing he saw was the Lama sitting motionless on the prayer mat, with Samding as usual beside him. Below them, on the floor of the room, stood Maitraya looking upward. The gabble of angry argument that he caught between sleeping and waking made no clear impression on his brain. The first words he heard distinctly were the Lama’s, speaking Urdu:

“My son, you are convinced of a delusion. That is not good. You believe you are answerable for results, whereas you are not even connected with the cause. You have but to obey. It is I who am burdened with the tribulation of deciding how this matter shall be managed, since I conceived it. From you there is required good will and whatever talent you possess for your profession.”

The voice was kind, but it did not allay Maitraya’s wrath. He scolded back.

“I am famous! I am known wherever we will go. Men will mock me! Am I to be a common mountebank? Vishnu! Vishnu! Why engage me, if you won’t listen when I tell you the proper way to do a thing, and what the public will accept and what it will not accept?”

The Lama listened patiently, not changing his expression, which was bland and gently whimsical.

“All ways are proper in their proper place. Men will usually take what they receive for nothing,” he answered after a pause. “As foryourdissatisfaction, you may go, my son. You may go to Benjamin, and he shall pay you one week’s money.”

“I have a contract!” Maitraya retorted, posturing like Ajax defying lightning.

“That is true,” said the Lama gently. “There would be merit in observing the terms of it.”

Maitraya smote his breast, disheveled his turban desperately and turned to throw an appealing gesture to the troupe. But they were a hungry-looking lot, more interested in being fed and paid than in Maitraya’s artistic anxieties. The Lama looked kind and spoke gently. In silence, with eye-movements, they took the Lama’s side of the dispute.

“Prostitutes!” exclaimed Maitraya in a frenzy. “You will make apes of yourselves for the sake of two months’ wage! Oh, very well. I will out-ape you! I will be a worse ape than the one who ate the fruit out of the Buddha’s begging-bowl! Behold me—Maitraya, the prostitute! I will be infamous, to fill your miserable bellies!” Then, facing the Lama again with a gesture of heartbroken anguish: “But this that you ask is impossible! It is not done—never! My genius might overcome a difficulty, but how can these fools do what they have never learned?”

“How does the wolf-cub know where to look for milk?” the Lama answered, and all laughed, except Maitraya, who tried to rearrange his turban. A woman finished the business for him, grinning in his face as boldly as if there were the slats of a zenana window in between.

“Do you observe that woman?” Dawa Tsering whispered to Ommony. “Now if she were in Spiti there would be knife-work within the day. She lacks awareness of what might be!”

Aware that he, too, lacked that most desirable of assets at the moment, Ommony frowned for silence. There was just a chance that he might pick up a clue to a part of the mystery if he should attract no attention to himself. Maitraya—supposing he knew anything—was in a frame of mind to explode a secret at any moment. He was blowing up again.

“Krishna! By the many eyes of Krishna, I swear to you that some of them can not read!” he shouted, strutting to and fro and pausing to throw both arms upward in a gesture of despair.

“Krishna is a comprehensive Power to swear by,” said the Lama mildly. “How many can not read?”

Two women confessed to disability; the third boasted her attainment proudly.

“Not so insuperable!” said the Lama. “That one woman shall read for the three. Thus the two will learn. Give their parts to them. They have almost nothing to say in the first act.”

Samding picked up a dozen wooden cylinders with paper scrolls wrapped around them and bundled the lot into Maitraya’s hands.

“We must cast them,” said Maitraya. “The cast is all-important. Who shall play which part? It is essential to decide that to begin with.”

“No,” said the Lama, “the essential thing is that every one shall understand the play. Give the women’s parts to that woman. Distribute the others at random.”

Maitraya, with a shrug, chose the biggest scroll for himself and distributed the others. Samding beckoned to Dawa Tsering, who got up leisurely as if in doubt whether obedience was not infra dig. now that he had changed masters. Samding gave him a scroll, which he carried to Ommony, but neither Samding nor the Lama gave a glance in Ommony’s direction.

The scroll was written in Urdu in a fine and beautifully even hand, heavily corrected here and there by some one who had used a quill pen. It looked as if Samding might have written and the Lama, perhaps, revised. There was no title at the head, but the part was marked “TheSaddhu,” and the cues were carefully included. To get light enough to read by Ommony sat at the edge of the platform with his face toward the Lama, and presently began to chuckle. There were lines he liked, loaded with irony.

There followed a long silence while Maitraya glanced over his own fat part and consulted stage directions in the margin; it was he who first broke silence:

“O ye critical and all-observing gods!” he exclaimed. “This is modernism, is it! Who will listen to a play that only has one king in it, and no queen, and no courtiers—but a shoemaker, and a goatherd, and a seller of sweetmeats, and three low-caste-women with water-jars, and only one soldier—he not a general but a sepoy, if you please!—and a wanderingsaddhu[29], and no vizier to support the king, but a tax-gatherer and a camel-driver, and a village headman, and two farmers—and for heroine—what kind of a heroine is this? A Chinese woman? And what a name! San-fun-ho! Bah! Who will listen to the end of such a play?”

“I will be the first to listen,” said the Lama dryly. “Let us begin reading.”

“And not even a marriage at the end!” Maitraya growled disgustedly. “None marries the king—not even the Chinese woman and her pigtail! No gods—one goddess! Not even a Brahman! How do you likethat, Gupta Rao? Not as much as one Brahman to give the play dignity! What part have you? Thesaddhu’s? Let us hope it is a better part than mine. Listen to this: I am a king. I enter right, one sepoy following. (O Vishnu! Thy sharp beams burn! A king, and one sepoy for escort!) The sweetmeat seller enters left. Back of the stage the Chinese woman is beside a well under a peepul-tree, talking with three women who carry water-jars—and may the gods explain how a Chinese woman comes to be there! I address the sweetmeat seller. Listen:

“ ‘Thou, who sellest evanescent joy—and possibly enduring bellyache—to little ones, what hast thou to offer to me, who am in need of many things?’—What do you think ofthatfor a speech for a king to make his entry with?”

“To which, what says the sweetmeat seller?” asked the Lama. “Who has the sweetmeat seller’s part? Read on.”

They sat down in a semicircle on the floor, Maitraya standing in the midst of them, and one of the men read matter-of-factly:

“ ‘Mightiest of kings, thy servant is a poor man, needing money to pay the municipal tax. May all the gods instruct me how to answer! Who am I that I should offer anything to the owner of all these leagues of forest and flowing stream and royal cities? An alms, O image of the sun?’ ”

“If he were a real king, and this a real play,” Maitraya exclaimed, consulting the directions, “he would order that sweetmeat seller into jail for impudence! But what does he do? He looks sad, gives the fellow an alms, and turns to face the women at the well. How can he do that? I tell you, hemustface the audience. Are they interested in his back? And this is what he says:

“ ‘Bearers of refreshment! Ye who walk so straight beneath the water-jars! Ye who laugh and tell a city’s gossip! Ye who bring new men into the world! What haveyeto offer me, whose heart is heavy? Lo, I bring forth sorrow amid many midwives. Wherewith shall I suckle it?’—It is just at this point that the audience begins to walk out!” said Maitraya.

“A woman speaks. What says the woman?” boomed the Lama; and the woman who could read held her scroll to the light, speaking sidewise, jerking her head at the Lama, as ifhewere the king:

“ ‘O Maharajah, thy servants are but women, who must toil the day long; and the water-jars are heavy! If we bring no man into the world, we are unfortunate; but if we do, we must suckle him, and cook, and keep a house clean, and go to the well thrice daily notwithstanding. Lo, the young one robs us of our strength and increases our labor. We are women. Who are we to offer comfort to a king?’ ”

“Enter thesaddhu,” read Maitraya. “He leans on a staff and salutes the king with quiet dignity—”

“Thesaddhushall have a dog with him,” the Lama interrupted. “Samding,” (he glanced sidewise at thechela) “there is merit in the dog. Consider well what part the dog may play.”

Thechelanodded. He and the Lama seemed to take it quite for granted that the dog and her master were obedient members of the troupe.

“Whoever heard of a dog in a play?” Maitraya grumbled. “Krishna! But the very gods will laugh at us! Read, Gupta Rao. What says thesaddhu?”

“ ‘O King, thou art truly to be pitied more than all of these. Mine—the path I take—is the only way from misery to happiness. Alone of all these, I can give advice. Forswear the pomp and glory of a kingdom—’ ”

“Pomp—and one sepoy!” Maitraya exploded.

“Silence!” commanded the Lama, in a voice that astonished everybody. His face was as mild as ever. Ommony continued:

“ ‘—Discard the scepter. Let the reins of despotism fall, and follow me. I mortify the flesh. I eat no more than keeps the body servant to the soul. No house, no revenues are mine, no other goods than this chance-given staff to lean on and a ragged robe. None robs me; I have no wealth to steal. None troubles me, for who could gain by it? I sleep under the skies, or crawl into a cave and share it with the beasts; for they and I, even as thou and I, O King, are brothers.’ ”

“Now the king speaks,” said Maitraya. “Listen to this!—‘Brothers? Yes; but some one has to beat the ox. And who shall rule the kingdom, if the ass and the jackal and the pigeon and the kite are reckoned equals with the king? Answer me that, OSaddhu.’ ”

“ ‘Rule?’ ” read Ommony. “ ‘Are the gods not equal to the task? What is this world but a passage to the next—a place wherein to let the storms ofKarmapass and store up holiness? Beware, O King!’ ”

“Thesaddhupasses on, turns and stands meditating,” Maitraya read, consulting his scroll. “A shoemaker approaches. What says the shoemaker?”

“He salutes the king,” said the Lama, “and walks up to the soldier. Now, let the shoemaker speak.”

A voice piped up from the floor: “ ‘Thou with the long sword, pay me or kill me!’ ”

“He turns to the king,” the Lama interrupted, “read on.”

“ ‘—O mighty king, O heaven-born companion of the gods! This sepoy owes me for a pair of shoes. Nor will he pay. Nor have I any remedy, since all fear him and none will give evidence against him. I am poor, O prince of valor. May the gods answer if there is any justice in the world! As I am an honest laborer, there is none!’ ”

“To which the king answers,” said Maitraya, “ ‘True. And if you were king, what would you do about it?’ ”

The shoemaker: “ ‘Ah! If I were king!’ ”

“Now,” said the Lama, “a crowd collects. They enter left and right, the tax-gatherer, the goatherd, the farmers, the camel-driver and the village headman. They all make complaints to the king.”

“A crowd of seven people!” sneered Maitraya.

“There are dancing women also,” said the Lama. “They are not wanted to dance until later; therefore they may take part in the crowd in various disguises. They have nothing to say. Read on.”

Maitraya read: “ ‘The crowd salutes the king, and thesaddhuwatches scornfully; thesaddhuspeaks.’ Read on, Gupta Rao.”

“ ‘So many men and women, so many fools! Waves crying to an empty boat to guide them! O ye men and women, children of delusion and blind slaves of appetite, how long will ye store up wrath against the hour of reckoning?’ ”

“Now the shoemaker,” said the Lama.

“ ‘Tell us how to collect our debts, thouSaddhu! Tell us how to feed our young ones! To that we will listen!’ ”

“Now the tax-collector.”

“ ‘Tell me how to get the tax-money from men who declare they have nothing! Tell me how to conduct a government without a revenue! Tell me what will happen if I fail, O mouther ofmantras![30]’ ”

“The king,” said the Lama, and Maitraya spoke with the scroll behind him, to prove how swiftly he could memorize.

“ ‘Peace, all of you! Ye little know how fortunate ye are to have a king whose only will is that the realm shall ooze contenting justice. Day and night my meditation is to spread contentment through the land. Is this your gratitude?’ ”

TheSaddhu: “ ‘To whom? For what?’ ” Ommony’s voice charged the line with sarcasm that made the Lama glance at him.

“A farmer,” said Maitraya.

“ ‘The locusts spread through the land, and there is no ooze of dew, nor any rain. The crops have failed; and nevertheless, the tax-gatherer! He fails not with his visits! Meditate a little on the tax-gatherer, O King.’ ”

TheSaddhu: “ ‘Aye, meditate!’ ”

“A camel-driver,” said Maitraya.

“ ‘O King, they wait beside the mother-camel for the unborn calf. They take from us in taxes at the frontier more than the freight is worth. We fetch and carry, but the profit of the labor goeth to the rich. Our very tents are worn until the women can no longer patch them.’ ”

TheSaddhu: “ ‘Live in caves, O brother of the wind!’ ”

“The shoemaker,” said Maitraya.

“ ‘And the owner of goats charges twice as much as formerly for goatskins!’ ”

“The goatherd.”

“ ‘Maybe. But he pays me less than half of what is right for herding them!’ ”

“The soldier.”

“ ‘Listen, all of you! Behold your king—a great king and a good one! Know ye not the nature of a king? Lo, ye should rally to him and support him! A realm is ruled by force of discipline, wherein is strength; and to the strong all things are possible! Rally to your king and bid him lead you to a war on foreigners, who nibble at our wealth like rats and give us no return.’ ”

“A woman,” said the Lama.

“ ‘Tell us first, whose sons shall fight this war!’ ”

“Another woman.”

“ ‘And who shall console the widows!’ ”

TheSaddhu: “ ‘The widows of the conquered nation will console them.Theywill naturally see the justice of the war!’ ”

“The soldier,” said Maitraya. “He shakes his sword at theSaddhu.”

“ ‘Peace, idiot! They will invade us, unless we first attackthem. Then in which cave will you hide? If I had my way, I would send you in the front rank to the war to show us whether your sanctity isn’t really cowardice after all!’ ”

“All laugh at thesaddhu,” said the Lama. “Now the king.” And Maitraya postured splendidly.

“ ‘Ye men and women, know ye not that I have neither will nor power to make war unless ye brew the war within you as a snake brews venom in its mouth?’ ”

TheSaddhu: “ ‘Yet a snake slays vermin!’ ”

Maitraya read on: “ ‘Peace,Saddhu! There is merit everywhere. Am I not king? And how shall I please all, who so unfairly disagree? Ye see these lines that mark my worried brow; ye see this head that bends beneath the burden of your care; and ye upbraid me with more tribulations? What if I should wreak impatience on you all? Am I alone in travail? Is none among you, man or woman, who can offer me a counsel of perfection?’ ”

“I!” It was Samding’s voice, resonant and splendid yet peculiarly unassertive. It was as if the tone included listeners in its embrace. All eyes turned to Samding instantly, but he sat motionless.

“The crowd divides down the midst,” said the Lama. “San-fun-ho steps forward from beside the well beneath the peepul-tree. She speaks.”

“ ‘O King!’ ” Thechela’svoice was not unlike a woman’s, although its strength suggested it might ripen soon into a royal baritone. “ ‘I come from a far land where wisdom dwells and all the problems that can vex were worked to a solution in the birth of time. Well said, O King, that there is merit everywhere! Well said, ye men and women, that ye have no words nor wealth to offer to your king. Nor could he understand, nor could he listen, since the ears of kings are deaf to common murmurings, even asyourears are deaf to royal overtones. But lo! I bring a talisman—a stone enchanted by the all-wise gods—whose virtue is to change from dawn to dawn the rank, condition, raiment and degree of all who look on it! Avert thine eyes, O King! I would not changethyrank, not even while a day and night shall pass. Look,Saddhu—soldier—goatherd—women—all of you!’ ”

“She holds up the stone,” said the Lama, “and they stare at it in superstitious awe. They show astonishment and reverence. Then San-fun-ho intones amantra.”

Thechelabegan to chant in a voice that filled the huge room with golden sound, as solemn, lonely and as drenched with music as a requiem to a cathedral roof. Without an effort Ommony imagined stained-glass windows and an organ-loft. Maitraya bowed his head, and even the other actors, outcaste and irreverent, held their breath. It sounded like magic. All India believes implicitly in magic. The words were Sanskrit, and probably only Ommony, Samding and the Lama understood them; but the ancient, sacred, unintelligible language only added to the mystery and made the spell more real.

None, not even Maitraya, moved or breathed until the chanting ceased. The Lama glanced at Ommony, who was so thrilled by thechela’svoice as to have forgotten for the moment that he held thesaddhu’sscroll. He looked at it and read aloud in solemn tones:

“ ‘I did not look! I turned mine eyes away!’ ”

The King: “ ‘I looked!’ ” Maitraya put a world of meaning into that line.

“And that,” said the Lama, “ends the first act.”

“Too short! Much too short!” exclaimed Maitraya.

“Too long,” said the Lama. “I may have to cut one of your speeches. Now there would be merit in the learning of your parts until the gong sounds for dinner. After dinner we will take the second act. Peace dwell with you. Samding!”

Thechelahelped him to his feet, rolled up the mat, and followed him out through the door at the end of the platform, where neither of them paused; some one on the far side of the door opened it as they drew near, pulled back a curtain, admitted them, slammed the door after them, and locked it noisily.

For a moment after that there was no sound. All stared at one another. Ommony felt snubbed. He had intended to force an interview with the Lama at the end of the rehearsal, but the calm old prelate seemed to have foreseen that move!

“What do you think of it, Gupta Rao?” asked Maitraya.

“Crafty!” answered Ommony, still thinking of the Lama. “I mean, full of craft—I mean, it is a good play; it will succeed.”

“Perhaps—if he neglects to charge admission!” said Maitraya. (But he seemed tempted to share Ommony’s opinion.) “If he would let me give him the benefit of my experience, itmightbe made into a real play,” he added. “And thechela? What do you think of thechela?”

“Iknow!” said Ommony. “He will make all the rest of us, except the dog, look and sound like wooden dummies!”

“There again!” said Maitraya. “The dog! Before you know it he will order thechelato write a part for that knife-swinging savage of yours from Spiti!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. By Vishnu’s brow, I wouldn’t be surprised at anything!” said Ommony, and cut off further conversation by returning to the trunk and squatting on it with his back to the light, to study the scroll of thesaddhu—or rather, to pretend to study it. He was too full of thoughts of the Lama and thechela, and of his own good fortune in having stumbled into their company, to study anything else.

“The Lama knows I’m Cottswold Ommony. He knows I know who he is. Isheusing his own method of showing me what he knows I want to see? Or is he keeping an eye on me while he attends to his own secrets? Or am I trapped? Or being tested?”

He had heard of the extraordinary tests to which Lamas put disciples before entrusting them with knowledge.

“But I have never offered to be his disciple!” he reflected. And then he remembered that Lamas always choose their disciples, and that thought made him chuckle. It is notorious they do not choose them for what would pass for erudition according to most standards.

“I’d better see how stupid I can be,” he decided. “I chose Diana without asking her leave,” he remembered. “Shelikes it all right. Maybe—”

But the thought of becoming an ascetic Lamaist was too much like burlesque to entertain, and he dismissed it—puzzled more than ever.

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