“This very night,”—the words came slowly, vibrating with triumph—“this very night he will be as free as I am from all taint of sin—assured as I am, when he quits this body, of Freedom from the Wheel of Things. I have a sign”—he laid his hand above the torn chart in his bosom—“that my time is short; but I shall have safeguarded him throughout the years. Remember, I have reached Knowledge, as I told thee only three nights back.” “It must be true, as the Tirah priest said when I stole his cousin’s wife, that I am a _sufi_ (a free-thinker); for here I sit,” said Mahbub to himself, “drinking in blasphemy unthinkable ... I remember the tale. On that, then, he goes to _Jannatu l’Adn_ (the Gardens of Eden). But how? Wilt thou slay him or drown him in that wonderful river from which the Babu dragged thee?” “I was dragged from no river,” said the lama simply. “Thou hast forgotten what befell. I found it by Knowledge.” “Oh, ay. True,” stammered Mahbub, divided between high indignation and enormous mirth. “I had forgotten the exact run of what happened. Thou didst find it knowingly.” “And to say that I would take life is—not a sin, but a madness simple. My _chela_ aided me to the River. It is his right to be cleansed from sin—with me.” “Ay, he needs cleansing. But afterwards, old man—afterwards?” “What matter under all the Heavens? He is sure of Nibban—enlightened—as I am.” “Well said. I had a fear he might mount Mohammed’s Horse and fly away.” “Nay—he must go forth as a teacher.” “Aha! Now I see! That is the right gait for the colt. Certainly he must go forth as a teacher. He is somewhat urgently needed as a scribe by the State, for instance.” “To that end he was prepared. I acquired merit in that I gave alms for his sake. A good deed does not die. He aided me in my Search. I aided him in his. Just is the Wheel, O horse-seller from the North. Let him be a teacher; let him be a scribe—what matter? He will have attained Freedom at the end. The rest is illusion.” “What matter? When I must have him with me beyond Balkh in six months! I come up with ten lame horses and three strong-backed men—thanks to that chicken of a Babu—to break a sick boy by force out of an old trot’s house. It seems that I stand by while a young Sahib is hoisted into Allah knows what of an idolater’s Heaven by means of old Red Hat. And I am reckoned something of a player of the Game myself! But the madman is fond of the boy; and I must be very reasonably mad too.” “What is the prayer?” said the lama, as the rough Pushtu rumbled into the red beard. “No matter at all; but now I understand that the boy, sure of Paradise, can yet enter Government service, my mind is easier. I must get to my horses. It grows dark. Do not wake him. I have no wish to hear him call thee master.” “But he _is_ my disciple. What else?” “He has told me.” Mahbub choked down his touch of spleen and rose laughing. “I am not altogether of thy faith, Red Hat—if so small a matter concern thee.”