“Sramana-Gautama?” The Bhikkhu bowed his head. “There are many Jainists that come here, saying that they also worship the Buddha truly—” “Jainists! Hypocrites!” for an instant, Hushka’s eyes flashed fire; but he pressed his lips tightly together, and when he spoke again it was quite calmly: “The Jainists are false Buddhists. The world has been sadly overrun with hypocrisy; and they have been its devotees. They do not follow Buddha, but Buddhaghosa; and their law is not our law, for they do not possess the manuscripts of truth.” Oman nodded, and there was a pause. Then the youth, his heart beating rapidly, his throat quite dry, asked: “What is required of those that would join your order?” Hushka looked at him penetratingly, and said: “Come. Let us proceed out of ear-shot of this tumult, where we may talk together in peace.” Willingly Oman complied; nor did either speak again till they were in one of the least frequented of the village streets. Even then, Oman hesitated to begin. He was in such an inward turmoil that he could not think of words in which to express himself. After a little waiting, Hushka spoke for him: “You have asked me, young man, what is required of one that wishes to join our order. I answer you that nothing is required save the wish.” “But Sudras—outcasts—the once-born—do you accept these into the brotherhood?” “In the eyes of the Sramana, any man and any woman may attain to Arahatship.” “Women! Then there is no caste among you?” “Thus it is written in one of our sacred books: ‘A man does not become a Brahmana by his family or by his birth. In whom there is truth and righteousness, he is blessed, he is a Brahmana.’” It was the first time that Oman had dreamed of such a thing as a social order without caste; and the idea was so overwhelming that for some moments he was silent out of sheer amazement. All his preconceived notions went whirling in his head while he strove to adjust himself to this. Never, until this Bhikkhu had spoken in the market-place, had he had any idea of a religion built solely for the help of human frailty, and for the consolation of human sorrow. Now, what a vista was suddenly opened before him! Small wonder that he shut his eyes to the first radiant flood of light. That he could see anything at all of the possibilities carried in Hushka’s words, was due to the fact of his three years of bitter solitude and lonely meditation. After a few moments, during which Hushka kept a wise silence, Oman asked slowly, with a trembling that betrayed itself on his very lips: “Could—a weaver—a Vaisya—become one of you? Could I become a Bhikkhu?” “Art thou a weaver? I had thought thee Brahman born.” “That also is true. I was born a Brahman.”