“ ‘Rule?’ ” read Ommony. “ ‘Are the gods not equal to the task? What is this world but a passage to the next—a place wherein to let the storms of Karma pass and store up holiness? Beware, O King!’ ”
“The saddhu passes on, turns and stands meditating,” Maitraya read, consulting his scroll. “A shoemaker approaches. What says the shoemaker?”
“He salutes the king,” said the Lama, “and walks up to the soldier. Now, let the shoemaker speak.”
A voice piped up from the floor: “ ‘Thou with the long sword, pay me or kill me!’ ”
“He turns to the king,” the Lama interrupted, “read on.”
“ ‘—O mighty king, O heaven-born companion of the gods! This sepoy owes me for a pair of shoes. Nor will he pay. Nor have I any remedy, since all fear him and none will give evidence against him. I am poor, O prince of valor. May the gods answer if there is any justice in the world! As I am an honest laborer, there is none!’ ”
“To which the king answers,” said Maitraya, “ ‘True. And if you were king, what would you do about it?’ ”
The shoemaker: “ ‘Ah! If I were king!’ ”
“Now,” said the Lama, “a crowd collects. They enter left and right, the tax-gatherer, the goatherd, the farmers, the camel-driver and the village headman. They all make complaints to the king.”
“A crowd of seven people!” sneered Maitraya.