Happily, to-day, none cared to dwell on the memory of old glories. The Brethren were all busy greeting one another, and giving hasty account of incidents of their various pilgrimages; for, through the winter months, the Buddhists of Bágh were scattered over all Malwa, as far north as Rajputana, and southward, through the plains, nearly to the great ghats. Hushka was never alone, for he was one of the most important and also one of the most popular monks of the Samgha. Oman, indeed, following at his master’s heels, felt aggrieved and neglected. He occupied himself in observation, finding high cause for wonder in the vast, empty buildings lining the valley. They were immensely long, narrow for their width, and built entirely of stone cut from the great quarries near the river. Their verandas were wide, roofed and pillared with stone; but the shade-mats of straw had long since rotted and fallen away, and the interior of the mighty monuments stood open and empty, deserted by their builders and their faith.
Gradually the two approached the last of the line of monasteries, which, as Hushka had told him, was called the Vihara of Truth, and was the only one still inhabited. This place presented a very different appearance from that of its silent neighbors. As they came near the central doorway, Hushka left off his conversation with a friend, and turned to Oman. Taking him by the hand, he led him up the step, to the spot where stood a large man, wearing a white cloak over his yellow robes, and further marked by an air of extreme dignity and condescension. Oman had observed his statuesque figure some moments previously, and saw that, though he never moved from his place, every Bhikkhu that approached made haste to go to him, to bow and receive his greeting.
“That is the Sugata, the master of the Vihara, who has almost attained to Arahatship, and remains in meditation throughout the period of pilgrimage,” murmured Hushka in Oman’s ear, just before they reached the great man.
Oman felt a thrill of reverence, and looked again, hoping to perceive new marks of holiness. All that his eyes could see, however, was a tall, stout person, with a round, benign-looking face, plump and smooth-shaven. The Sugata was smiling, and Oman, hungrily as he searched, could find in that countenance no traces of divine spirituality. However, the great One’s eight months of meditation seemed to have agreed with him uncommonly well.
Before this irreverent thought had taken root in Oman’s mind, he was led up by Hushka and presented to the mighty one as a Saddhiviharika who had received first ordination three months before. The Sugata fixed his eyes upon the young man, who ingenuously returned the look, as the master addressed Hushka:
“He appears young. Is he of age?”
“Of eighteen years, sir.”
“Let him study well the Dharma, that, in a year, he may receive Upasampada.”
With this, Oman’s audience appeared to be at an end; and, a little relieved to be out of the neighborhood of such holiness, he followed Hushka across the veranda to a square, arcaded cloister, where, directly in front of the entrance, stood a man with an open bag before him, containing coins. Hushka took from his girdle the alms-purse that he had worn for eight months, and emptied its contents into the receptacle, at the same time exchanging greetings with the almoner. Oman, looking on, understood that it was upon this money, received on the pilgrimages, that the Bhikkhus lived in their monastery through the Vassa season.
Hushka’s exchange of courtesies ended in the question as to where he should find one Mahapra. Informed that he was in the Uposatha hall, the monk went back, Oman still at his side, and, passing into the veranda again, turned down it to the right, and, some distance farther on, entered a room so vast that Oman stopped upon its threshold, staring. Here, near the door, was gathered quite a throng, engaged in lively altercation with one of their number, whose lean face wore a perturbed and strained look. At sight of him Hushka began to laugh.