“Krishna! By the many eyes of Krishna, I swear to you that some of them can not read!” he shouted, strutting to and fro and pausing to throw both arms upward in a gesture of despair.
“Krishna is a comprehensive Power to swear by,” said the Lama mildly. “How many can not read?”
Two women confessed to disability; the third boasted her attainment proudly.
“Not so insuperable!” said the Lama. “That one woman shall read for the three. Thus the two will learn. Give their parts to them. They have almost nothing to say in the first act.”
Samding picked up a dozen wooden cylinders with paper scrolls wrapped around them and bundled the lot into Maitraya’s hands.
“We must cast them,” said Maitraya. “The cast is all-important. Who shall play which part? It is essential to decide that to begin with.”
“No,” said the Lama, “the essential thing is that every one shall understand the play. Give the women’s parts to that woman. Distribute the others at random.”
Maitraya, with a shrug, chose the biggest scroll for himself and distributed the others. Samding beckoned to Dawa Tsering, who got up leisurely as if in doubt whether obedience was not infra dig. now that he had changed masters. Samding gave him a scroll, which he carried to Ommony, but neither Samding nor the Lama gave a glance in Ommony’s direction.
The scroll was written in Urdu in a fine and beautifully even hand, heavily corrected here and there by some one who had used a quill pen. It looked as if Samding might have written and the Lama, perhaps, revised. There was no title at the head, but the part was marked “The Saddhu,” and the cues were carefully included. To get light enough to read by Ommony sat at the edge of the platform with his face toward the Lama, and presently began to chuckle. There were lines he liked, loaded with irony.
There followed a long silence while Maitraya glanced over his own fat part and consulted stage directions in the margin; it was he who first broke silence: