“Shall I summon the guests from below?” he inquired; for that was the one risk he wanted to avoid. If he proposed it, she might forbid. “They would like to hear me sing a song of this!” he added.
“Go!” she screamed. “I will have you stabbed! I will have you—”
“Shall I sing to them in the courtyard?” he asked; and as she choked, trying to force new threats out of her throat, he shut the door behind him and hurried to follow the Lama, dreading what mood might overtake her during the minute or two before they could reach the street.
But the Lama would not make haste, although Maitraya urged him in sibilant undertones. In the courtyard he chose to think the greetings called out to Maitraya were intended for himself and bowed, bestowing blessings right and left. Then solemnly and very slowly, as if walking were as mathematically exact a process as the precession of the equinox, he led the way into the outer courtyard, where he stood for a moment and studied the fountain as if it contained the answer to the riddle of the universe. The sound of running footsteps did not break his meditation, or upset the equanimity of Samding, but Maitraya, glancing over-shoulder, started for the gate, and Ommony, muttering “Oh, my God!” had to steel himself not to follow. The two enormous sashed and turbaned janitors who kept the stairway to Vasantasena’s upper room came shouting from the inner court—shouting to the man on guard at the outer gate; and Ommony’s blood ran cold.
But they stopped shouting when they caught sight of the Lama—stopped running—stopped gesticulating. Very humbly they approached him, offering a present from Vasantasena—gold in a silken bag, and a smaller bag of gold for Gupta Rao the Bhat, with a request that he should remember the donor kindly. They pressed the presents—followed to the gate, imploring, swearing their mistress would take deep offense and think it an ill-omen if the gold were not accepted. When the Lama and Ommony persisted in refusing they tried to force both presents on Samding, and even followed to the street, where they snatched the flowers that were tucked into the carving of the arch and thrust them into the Lama’s hands. Not until a strange, old-fashioned one-horse carriage with shuttered sides drew up at the gate and the Lama and Samding stepped into it, signing to Ommony and Maitraya to follow, was it possible to escape from the clamorous importunity; and even when the carriage drove away the voices followed after.
[24] In a sense this means “taking the veil,” although the process is almost exactly the opposite. Just as men so often do in India, women sometimes renounce all worldly possessions and become wandering hermits, living in caves and practising inhumanly severe austerities. Such women, whatever their previous occupation may have been, are deeply venerated.
[25] Some Brahmans consent to teach the Sudra castes because of the enormous “gifts” they receive for doing so, but the practise is frowned on by the pundits and the guilty Brahmans are considered degraded, although not outcasts.
The man who knows he is ignorant is at no disadvantage if he permits a wise man to do the thinking; because the wise man knows that neither advantage to one or disadvantage to another comes at all within the scope of wisdom, and he will govern himself accordingly. But he who seeks to outwit wisdom adds to ignorance presumption; and that is a combination that the gods do not love.