‘Yonder is a small stream. Let us look,’
said the lama, and he led from the white road across
the fields; walking into a very hornets’ nest
of pariah dogs.
Yea, voice of every Soul that clung
To life that strove from rung to rung
When Devadatta’s rule was young,
The warm wind brings Kamakura.
Buddha at Kamakura.
Behind them an angry farmer brandished a bamboo pole.
He was a market-gardener, Arain by caste, growing
vegetables and flowers for Umballa city, and well
Kim knew the breed.
‘Such an one,’ said the lama, disregarding
the dogs, ’is impolite to strangers, intemperate
of speech and uncharitable. Be warned by his
demeanour, my disciple.’
‘Ho, shameless beggars!’ shouted the
farmer. ‘Begone! Get hence!’
‘We go,’ the lama returned, with quiet
dignity. ’We go from these unblessed fields.’
‘Ah,’ said Kim, sucking in his breath.
’If the next crops fail, thou canst only blame
thine own tongue.’
The man shuffled uneasily in his slippers. ’The
land is full of beggars,’ he began, half apologetically.
’And by what sign didst thou know that we would
beg from thee, O Mali?’ said Kim tartly, using
the name that a market-gardener least likes.
’All we sought was to look at that river beyond
the field there.’
‘River, forsooth!’ the man snorted.
’What city do ye hail from not to know a canal-cut?
It runs as straight as an arrow, and I pay for the
water as though it were molten silver. There
is a branch of a river beyond. But if ye need
water I can give that — and milk.’
‘Nay, we will go to the river,’ said the
lama, striding out.
‘Milk and a meal.’ the man stammered,
as he looked at the strange tall figure. ’I
— I would not draw evil upon myself — or
my crops. But beggars are so many in these hard
days.’
‘Take notice.’ The lama turned to
Kim. ’He was led to speak harshly by the
Red Mist of anger. That clearing from his eyes,
he becomes courteous and of an affable heart.
May his fields be blessed! Beware not to judge
men too hastily, O farmer.’
’I have met holy ones who would have cursed
thee from hearthstone to byre,’ said Kim to
the abashed man. ’Is he not wise and holy?
I am his disciple.’
He cocked his nose in the air loftily and stepped
across the narrow field-borders with great dignity.
‘There is no pride,’ said the lama, after
a pause, ’there is no pride among such as follow
the Middle Way.’
‘But thou hast said he was low-caste and discourteous.’
’Low-caste I did not say, for how can that be
which is not? Afterwards he amended his discourtesy,
and I forgot the offence. Moreover, he is as
we are, bound upon the Wheel of Things; but he does
not tread the way of deliverance.’ He halted
at a little runlet among the fields, and considered
the hoof-pitted bank.
