“And my River, my River,” pleaded the lama. “I had hoped his Bull would lead us both to the River.”
“Alas, for that wondrous River, my brother,” the priest replied. “Such things are not common.”
Next morning, though they were pressed to stay, the lama insisted on departure. They gave Kim a large bundle of good food and nearly three annas in copper money for the needs of the road, and with many blessings watched the two go southward in the dawn.
“Pity it is that these and such as these could not be freed from—”
“Nay, then would only evil people be left on the earth, and who would give us meat and shelter?” quoth Kim, stepping merrily under his burden.
“Yonder is a small stream. Let us look,” said the lama, and he led from the white road across the fields; walking into a very hornets’ nest of pariah dogs.
CHAPTER III
Yea, voice of every Soul that clung
To life that strove from rung to rung
When Devadatta’s rule was young,
The warm wind brings Kamakura.
Behind them an angry farmer brandished a bamboo pole. He was a market-gardener, Arain by caste, growing vegetables and flowers for Umballa city, and well Kim knew the breed.
“Such an one,” said the lama, disregarding the dogs, “is impolite to strangers, intemperate of speech and uncharitable. Be warned by his demeanour, my disciple.”