“Not far from my Kure is located the ancient monastery of Erdeni Dzu, erected on the site of the ruins of Karakorum, the ancient capital of Jenghiz Khan and afterwards frequently visited by Kublai Kahn for sanctuary and rest after his labors as Emperor of China, India, Persia, Afghanistan, Mongolia and half of Europe.  Now only ruins and tombs remain to mark this former ‘Garden of Beatific Days.’  The pious monks of Baroun Kure found in the underground chambers of the ruins manuscripts that were much older than Erdeni Dzu itself.  In these my Maramba Meetchik-Atak found the prediction that the Hutuktu of Zain who should carry the title of ‘Pandita,’ should be but twenty-one years of age, be born in the heart of the lands of Jenghiz Khan and have on his chest the natural sign of the swastika—­such Hutuktu would be honored by the people in the days of a great war and trouble, would begin the fight with the servants of Red evil and would conquer them and bring order into the universe, celebrating this happy day in the city with white temples and with the songs of ten thousand bells.  It is I, Pandita Hutuktu!  The signs and symbols have met in me.  I shall destroy the Bolsheviki, the bad ‘servants of the Red evil,’ and in Moscow I shall rest from my glorious and great work.  Therefore I have asked Colonel Kazagrandi to enlist me in the troops of Baron Ungern and give me the chance to fight.  The Lamas seek to prevent me from going but who is the god here?”

He very sternly stamped his foot, while the Lamas and guard who accompanied him reverently bowed their heads.

As he left he presented me with a hatyk and, rummaging through my saddle bags, I found a single article that might be considered worthy as a gift for a Hutuktu, a small bottle of osmiridium, this rare, natural concomitant of platinum.

“This is the most stable and hardest of metals,” I said.  “Let it be the sign of your glory and strength, Hutuktu!”

The Pandita thanked me and invited me to visit him.  When I had recovered a little, I went to his house, which was arranged in European style:  electric lights, push bells and telephone.  He feasted me with wine and sweets and introduced me to two very interesting personages, one an old Tibetan surgeon with a face deeply pitted by smallpox, a heavy thick nose and crossed eyes.  He was a peculiar surgeon, consecrated in Tibet.  His duties consisted in treating and curing Hutuktus when they were ill and . . . in poisoning them when they became too independent or extravagant or when their policies were not in accord with the wishes of the Council of Lamas of the Living Buddha or the Dalai Lama.  By now Pandita Hutuktu probably rests in eternal peace on the top of some sacred mountain, sent thither by the solicitude of his extraordinary court physician.  The martial spirit of Pandita Hutuktu was very unwelcome to the Council of Lamas, who protested against the adventuresomeness of this “Living God.”