“But my River—the River of my healing?”
“And then, if it please thee, we will go hunting for that River on foot. So that we miss nothing—not even a little rivulet in a field-side.”
“But thou hast a Search of thine own?” The lama—very pleased that he remembered so well—sat bolt upright.
“Ay,” said Kim, humouring him. The boy was entirely happy to be out chewing pan and seeing new people in the great good-tempered world.
“It was a bull—a Red Bull that shall come and help thee and carry thee—whither? I have forgotten. A Red Bull on a green field, was it not?”
“Nay, it will carry me nowhere,” said Kim. “It is but a tale I told thee.”
“What is this?” The cultivator’s wife leaned forward, her bracelets clinking on her arm. “Do ye both dream dreams? A Red Bull on a green field, that shall carry thee to the heavens or what? Was it a vision? Did one make a prophecy? We have a Red Bull in our village behind Jullundur city, and he grazes by choice in the very greenest of our fields!”
“Give a woman an old wife’s tale and a weaver-bird a leaf and a thread”, they will weave wonderful things,” said the Sikh. “All holy men dream dreams, and by following holy men their disciples attain that power.”
“A Red Bull on a green field, was it?” the lama repeated. “In a former life it may be thou hast acquired merit, and the Bull will come to reward thee.”
“Nay—nay—it was but a tale one told to me—for a jest belike. But I will seek the Bull about Umballa, and thou canst look for thy River and rest from the clatter of the train.”