When he was dressed and Hushka had taught him the trick of fastening the end of the yellow cloth under his arm, Oman declared himself ready for the ordination. Thereupon Hushka, in a solemn tone, once more repeated to him the laws of abstinence for a novice; and then, Oman having faithfully promised to observe them all, Hushka bade him sit down, cross-legged, somewhat after the manner of a Yogi, and, when he had raised his clasped hands to a level with his eyes, caused him to repeat slowly, three times, these words:
“I take my refuge in the Buddha. I take my refuge in the Dharma. I take my refuge in the Samgha (the community of brethren).”
This said, Oman repeated after his preceptor the creed that he had heard for the first time that morning: “Of all things proceeding from cause, their causes hath the Tathagata explained. The Great Sramana hath likewise explained the causes of the cessation of existence. Let him be forever worshipped.”
With these simple words, the ordination was completed; but Oman still remained in the half-kneeling, half-sitting position, motionless, silent, a little pale. It was as if the repetition of the creed had wrought a change in his whole being. He experienced an inexplicably strong emotion, an emotion amazing to himself, perhaps not so much so to Hushka, who stood looking down on him with the silver moonlight in his gentle, dark eyes. Oman found himself gazing into those eyes as if they had been of the Buddha himself. After a little, however, Hushka broke the spell, saying, quietly:
“Come, my pupil, let us seek our rest. On the morrow we must proceed upon our way.”
Oman rose at once, and followed his master to that end of the veranda where he was wont to sleep. Here, dressed as they were, the two lay down, some distance apart, with no covering but their yellow garments and the sweet night air. Very soon Hushka’s breath came evenly and long; and the other knew that he slept. But Oman closed his eyes in vain. He could not sleep; nor, indeed, did he desire to. His heart was full. It had come, at last, all that he had dreamed of. The impossible was come to pass. On the morrow he was going out into the world,—out into the broad, shining world, in the companionship of a man that did not scorn him, with a faith in his heart that he loved, that loved him, that had been decreed for him and all the scattered brethren of the lonely life.
CHAPTER V
YELLOW-ROBED
The moon had set before Oman finally lost himself in sleep. It seemed to him that an hour could not possibly have passed when he felt a touch on his brow, and, looking up, beheld Hushka bending over him.
“Up—up—my Saddhiviharika! The new day is here. Let us renew our faith.”
Oman, sleepy and confused, rose, and, following his master’s example, knelt on one knee, lifted both his clasped hands, and repeated after Hushka the short creed that he already knew by heart. Then the Bhikkhu, rising, said: