’That is a courtesy to be remembered, O man of good will.  But why the sword?’

The old soldier looked as abashed as a child interrupted in his game of make-believe.

‘The sword,’ he said, fumbling it.  ’Oh, that was a fancy of mine an old man’s fancy.  Truly the police orders are that no man must bear weapons throughout Hind, but’ — he cheered up and slapped the hilt — ‘all the constabeels hereabout know me.’

‘It is not a good fancy,’ said the lama.  ‘What profit to kill men?’

’Very little — as I know; but if evil men were not now and then slain it would not be a good world for weaponless dreamers.  I do not speak without knowledge who have seen the land from Delhi south awash with blood.’

‘What madness was that, then?’

’The Gods, who sent it for a plague, alone know.  A madness ate into all the Army, and they turned against their officers.  That was the first evil, but not past remedy if they had then held their hands.  But they chose to kill the Sahibs’ wives and children.  Then came the Sahibs from over the sea and called them to most strict account.’

’Some such rumour, I believe, reached me once long ago.  They called it the Black Year, as I remember.’

’What manner of life hast thou led, not to know The Year?  A rumour indeed!  All earth knew, and trembled!’

’Our earth never shook but once — upon the day that the Excellent One received Enlightenment.’

’Umph!  I saw Delhi shake at least- and Delhi is the navel of the world.’

’So they turned against women and children?  That was a bad deed, for which the punishment cannot be avoided.’

’Many strove to do so, but with very small profit.  I was then in a regiment of cavalry.  It broke.  Of six hundred and eighty sabres stood fast to their salt — how many, think you?  Three.  Of whom I was one.’

‘The greater merit.’

’Merit!  We did not consider it merit in those days.  My people, my friends, my brothers fell from me.  They said:  “The time of the English is accomplished.  Let each strike out a little holding for himself.”  But I had talked with the men of Sobraon, of Chilianwallah, of Moodkee and Ferozeshah.  I said:  “Abide a little and the wind turns.  There is no blessing in this work.”  In those days I rode seventy miles with an English Memsahib and her babe on my saddle-bow. (Wow!  That was a horse fit for a man!) I placed them in safety, and back came I to my officer — the one that was not killed of our five.  “Give me work,” said I, “for I am an outcast among my own kind, and my cousin’s blood is wet on my sabre.”  “Be content,” said he.  “There is great work forward.  When this madness is over there is a recompense."’

‘Ay, there is a recompense when the madness is over, surely?’ the lama muttered half to himself.