“The remark shows yer ignerance,” retorted the son of Erin. “Listen. Oop te the day of me confirmation I was drhawin’ a hunder rupees a month. I quit me job. I gave ivery blessed thing I owned to a friend of moine, even te me socks. At the timple, an ould priest made me prisint of a strip of yellow cloth, but they tore it inte three paces te make it warthless, and thin sewed the paces togither agin fer a robe, and I’ve worn it or wan loike it iver since. If I’d put on European clothes agin, fer even wan day, I’d be expilled. I cut off me hair and as foine a mustache as iver ye saw. If I’d lit them grow agin I’d be expilled. If I’d put on a hat or shoes I’d be expilled. So wud I if I owned a farthin’ of money, if I shud kill so much as a flee, if I’d dhrink a glass of arrack, if I tuched the ouldest hag in the market place with so much as me finger.
“Foine graft, say you and yer loikes. Listen te more. Whin I tuk the robe, and that’s twinty year an’ gone, I become a novice in the faymous Tavoy monistary. Ivery blessed morning of me loife fer foive year, I wint out with the ither novices, huggin’ a big rhice bowl aginst me belly. We stopped at ivery blessed house. If we’d asked fer inything we’d ’a been expilled. The thrue Buddhists all put something inte the bowl, rhice generally and curry, sometoimes fish. Whin they were full we wint back te the monistary, an’ all the priests, ould wans and novices, had dinner from what we’d brung them. Thin we gave the rist te the biggars, fer blessed a thing can we ate from the noon te the nixt sunrise.
“’Twas harrd, the foirst months, atin’ nothin’ but curry and rhice. Now, bless ye, I’d not ate European fud if ’twas set down before me. Ivery blessed afternoon I sthudied the history of Buddha and Burmese with the ould priests. ’Twas a foine thing fer me. Before I found the thrue faith I was that blessed ignerent I cud hardly rade me ouwn tungue. To-day, bless ye, I know eight languages and the ins an’ outs of ivery religion on the futstool. I was a vile curser whin I was hoboin’ in the States, and ’twas harrd te quit it. But ivery toime I started te say a cuss-ward I thought of the revired Gautama and sid ‘blessed’ instead, and I’m master of me ouwn tungue, now.”
“Then you really worship the Buddhist god,” put in James.
“There agin,” cried the Irishman, “is the ignerance of them that follows that champeen faker, Jaysus, the son of Mary and a dhrunken Roman soldier. The Buddhists worship no wan. We riveere Buddha, the foinest man that iver lived, because he showed us the way te attain Nirvana, which is te say hiven. He was no god, but a man loike the rist of us.
“After foive year I was ordayned and foive more I was tachin’ th’ ither novices and the childr’, the Tavoy monistary bein’ the big school of Rhangoon. Thin I was made an ilder, thin the abbot of the monistary, thin after fifteen year, the bishop, as ye wud call it, of Rhangoon. Th’ abbots and the bishops have no nade te tache, but, bless ye, I’m tachin’ yit, it bein’ me duty te give te ithers of the thrue faith what I’ve larned.
“’Tis the bishop’s place te travel, and in these six years gone I’ve visited ivery blessed Buddhist kingdom in Asia, from Japan te Caylon; and I was in Lhassa talkin’ with the delai lama long before Yoonghusband wud have dared te show his face there. There’s niver a Buddhist king nor prince thot hasn’t traited me loike wan uv them, though they’d have cut the throats of iny ither European. I’m comin’ back now from three months with the prince uv Naypal, taychin’ his priests, him givin’ me the ticket te Chittagong.”
“But if you can’t touch money?—” I began.
“In haythen lands we can carry enough te buy our currie and rhice. I hove here three rupees,”—drawing out a knotted handkerchief from the folds of his robe—“if there’s a anna of it lift whin I land in Burma, I’ll give it te the foirst biggar te ask me. In Buddhist cuntries the blessed people give us what we nade, as they’ll give it te inywan ilse thot’s nadin’ it. They’re no superstitious, selfish bastes loike these dhirty Hindus. Whin we come te Chittagong ye can stop with me. Thin I’ll give ye a chit te the Tavoy in Rhangoon and ye can stay there as long as iver ye loike. If iver ye have no place te put oop in a Buddhist town, go te the monistary. And if ye till them ye know me, see how foine ye’ll be traited.”
“Aye, but we’d have to know your name,” I suggested.