'Nay, but in my mind was the thought of a certain river of healing.'
'That is Gunga. Who bathes in her is made clean and goes to the gods. Thrice have I made pilgrimage to Gunga.' He looked round proudly.
'There was need,' said the young sepoy drily, and the travellers' laugh turned against the banker.
'Clean—to return again to the gods,' the lama muttered. 'And to go forth on the round of lives anew—still tied to the Wheel.' He shook his head testily. 'But maybe there is a mistake. Who, then, made Gunga in the beginning?'
'The gods. Of what known faith art thou?' the banker said, appalled.
'I follow the Law—the most excellent Law. So it was the gods that made Gunga. What like of gods were they?'
The carriage looked at him in amazement. It was inconceivable that any one should be ignorant of Gunga.
'What—what is thy god?' said the money-lender at last.
'Hear!' said the lama, shifting the rosary to his hand. 'Hear: for I speak of Him now! O people of Hind, listen!'
He began in Urdu the tale of the Lord Buddha, but, borne by his own thoughts, slid into Tibetan and long-droned texts from a Chinese book of the Buddha's life. The gentle, tolerant folk looked on reverently. All India is full of holy men stammering gospels in strange tongues; shaken and consumed in the fires of their own zeal; dreamers, babblers, and visionaries: as it has been from the beginning and will continue to the end.
'Um!' said the soldier of the Loodhiana Sikhs. 'There was a Mohammedan regiment lay next to us at the Pirzai Kotal, and a priest of theirs, he was, as I remember, a naik,—when the fit
