Oman neither spoke nor answered the look. He was beyond himself. Suddenly, out of the dark fastnesses of the past, shot a gleam of light. A new vista was opening before his eyes. Memory—fleeting, evanescent—hovered over him. His mind was struggling to penetrate the land of forgetfulness. The gates seemed still barred; and yet—here was a key. That river—that shining river, yonder, in the light—he knew it well,—so well that he was shuddering at sight of it. “Oman,” repeated Hushka, disturbed at the look in his pupil’s eyes. With that one word, the dream broke. Oman turned sharply, stared for a second into his Master’s face, and then, in a voice of the far away, answered: “Yes, I am ready, master. Let us descend. Let us enter the Vihara of Truth.” CHAPTER VI THE VIHARA OF TRUTH The town of Bágh, begun in a little valley, had gradually spread, up an open hillside looking toward the southeast, and over and beyond the jungle, to the Narmáda plain. The great Viharas were two or three miles south of the village, built, all nine of them, in the flat of a ravine, with wooded hillsides rising abruptly on either side. It was not until the morning after their view from the hilltop that Hushka and Oman made their appearance here. They had arrived in Bágh at dusk the evening before, unusually wearied by an unusual day’s toil. Now, after passing the night in Bágh, they had come, in the glow of a June morning, fiercely hot, but filled with that glorifying sense of summer that cannot be burnt away even by the deadly rays of an Indian sun, to begin the Vassa season. Along the path from the town, and through the ravine itself, they met with what seemed to Oman, brought up to regard Buddhism as a dead faith, a surprising number of Bhikkhus, all, apparently, like themselves, returning from the pilgrimage. And Oman further wondered by what feat of perfect calculation they had managed to arrive from their wanderings on this particular day. As a matter of fact, some that they passed had been in the neighborhood for a week or more; and others would continue to arrive through the next week. There were perhaps a hundred and fifty men in all, including fourteen or fifteen novices; and there were few here who could remember a time when there had been more in the valley. Yet tradition told a great tale. For, whereas now, all these men lived in a single Vihara, the last in the row of the great buildings, in the days of the past every one of the nine huge monasteries had been filled to overflowing, and twenty-five hundred men had passed their Vassa in the ravine.