’But surely, Holy One, thou hast not forgotten the Road and all that befell on it.  Surely it was a little to see me that thou didst come?’

‘The horses are cold, and it is past their feeding-time,’ whined the driver.

‘Go to Jehannum and abide there with thy reputationless aunt!’ Kim snarled over his shoulder.  ’I am all alone in this land; I know not where I go nor what shall befall me.  My heart was in that letter I sent thee.  Except for Mahbub Ali, and he is a Pathan, I have no friend save thee, Holy One.  Do not altogether go away.’

‘I have considered that also,’ the lama replied, in a shaking voice.  ’It is manifest that from time to time I shall acquire merit if before that I have not found my River — by assuring myself that thy feet are set on wisdom.  What they will teach thee I do not know, but the priest wrote me that no son of a Sahib in all India will be better taught than thou.  So from time to time, therefore, I will come again.  Maybe thou wilt be such a Sahib as he who gave me these spectacles’ — the lama wiped them elaborately — ’in the Wonder House at Lahore.  That is my hope, for he was a Fountain of Wisdom — wiser than many abbots ....  Again, maybe thou wilt forget me and our meetings.’

‘If I eat thy bread,’ cried Kim passionately, ’how shall I ever forget thee?’

‘No — no.’  He put the boy aside.  ’I must go back to Benares.  From time to time, now that I know the customs of letter-writers in this land, I will send thee a letter, and from time to time I will come and see thee.’

‘But whither shall I send my letters?’ wailed Kim, clutching at the robe, all forgetful that he was a Sahib.

’To the Temple of the Tirthankars at Benares.  That is the place I have chosen till I find my River.  Do not weep; for, look you, all Desire is Illusion and a new binding upon the Wheel.  Go up to the Gates of Learning.  Let me see thee go ...  Dost thou love me?  Then go, or my heart cracks ...  I will come again.  Surely I will come again.

The lama watched the ticca-gharri rumble into the compound, and strode off, snuffing between each long stride.

‘The Gates of Learning’ shut with a clang.

The country born and bred boy has his own manners and customs, which do not resemble those of any other land; and his teachers approach him by roads which an English master would not understand.  Therefore, you would scarcely be interested in Kim’s experiences as a St Xavier’s boy among two or three hundred precocious youths, most of whom had never seen the sea.  He suffered the usual penalties for breaking out of bounds when there was cholera in the city.  This was before he had learned to write fair English, and so was obliged to find a bazar letter-writer.  He was, of course, indicted for smoking and for the use of abuse more full-flavoured than even St Xavier’s had ever heard.  He learned to wash himself with the Levitical scrupulosity of the native-born, who in his heart considers the Englishman rather dirty.  He played the usual tricks on the patient coolies pulling the punkahs in the sleeping-rooms where the boys threshed through the hot nights telling tales till the dawn; and quietly he measured himself against his self-reliant mates.