THE LAMA’S STORY (_Continued_).
A monk brought food and set it on a stool between Tsiang Samdup and
Ommony. They ate in silence—the monk watching—the Lama tossing scraps
to Diana, his wrinkles rippling into a smile each time she caught a
piece of meat in mid-air. Then, when the monk went away with the
remnants, he resumed his story abruptly, before Ommony could start to
question him.
“My son, since the beginning of the world—and your brain can not
imagine how long ago that was—there has never been one minute when the
knowledge that was in the beginning has been utterly forgotten. There
have always been men who possessed and guarded the secrets; and there
always will be such men. There is not a religion in the world that is
not based on the tradition that such secrets do exist; there is not a
philosophy that is not founded on the ancient mysteries; there is not a
modern science, however perverted and material, that is not an effort to
discover and to put to use some aspect of the ancient knowledge and the
Higher Law.
“There is a Law of Evolution. Scientists have touched the fringe of it,
and what do they tell you in consequence? That man has evolved from the
worms! There is a Law of Cause and Effect, of which one infinitely tiny
fraction has been dimly sensed. To what use do they put it? They brew
poison-gas, with which to murder one another! There is a Law of Cycles,
as the astronomers can tell you, and as financiers begin vaguely to
understand. But those who think they understand it use the secret to
enrich themselves—by each enrichment of themselves afflicting others.
Men dig in the ruins of Egypt and Babylon, but buy and sell the trophies
and draw the absurd deduction that they know more than all the ancients
did—even as worms digging in a carcass may imagine themselves superior
to the life that once used that body for a while.
“Do you begin to see, my son, why it would be unwise to reveal the
ancient wisdom by more than infinitesimal fragments at a time? I heard,
when I was in Delhi, that the men of the West are studying the
construction of the atom, and have guessed at the force imprisoned in
it. Wait until they have learned how to explode the atom, and then see
what they will do to one another.
“But you will notice this, as you grow wiser. There is a fitness in
things. There is a balance in the universe and an intelligence that
governs it. No man can escape the consequences of his own act, though it
take him a million lives to redress the balance. Justice is inevitable.
Evil produces evil, and is due to ignorance. But Justice being infinite
in all its ways, there is a Middle Way by which we may escape from
ignorance. I, who saw the world increasing its downward impetus, while
it believes itself to be progressing upward through the invention of new
means for exploiting selfishness; I, who saw the ruins of Egypt, and of
Babylon; of Rome and Greece; of Jerusalem; of Ceylon; of India; I, who
have lived for fifty years within a stone’s throw of a city ten times
older than Babylon; I _knew_ that day follows night, and I waited for
the dawn, not knowing the hour. I waited.
“I knew there are those who have won merit in their former lives, whose
time comes to be born again. I knew that the key to evolution is in
character, not in numbers or material increase—in the character of the
soul, my son! I knew that at the right time those would begin to be
born, whose character would influence the world as mine could not. And I
waited, studying the Jade of Ahbor.
“For the Jade, my son, was set here in the dawn of time by men who
understood how to make a mirror for the soul, even as men nowadays make
mirrors that reflect stars which no eye can detect. You laugh? That is
not wise! Men laughed, remember, at Galileo. They laughed at Newton. I
had not thought you were one who mocks what is contrary to common
superstition.”
“My father,” said Ommony, “you are confirming rumors I have heard on and
off for twenty years. I was laughing at the men who told me I was a fool
to pay any attention to such madness.”
“Nor was that wise!” the Lama answered. “It is foolish either to laugh
or to grieve over other men’s ignorance; the hidden motive of that
laughter or grief is pride, which blinds the faculties.” He looked at
Ommony a very long time in silence, studying him.
“It is also unwise to speak of truths to men who prefer untruths,” he
said at last. “They proceed to indiscretions, for which the speaker is
in part responsible. But I think, my son, you see the error of that way.
The Jade of Ahbor is a mirror of the human soul. Whoever looks in it
beholds his lower nature first; and there are few who can look long
enough to see the first gleam of their higher nature shining through the
horrors that the Jade reveals. When I first looked into the Jade, he who
led me to behold it carried me forth like a dead man. And I had been the
_chela_ of the Tashi Lama! I will lead you to the Jade; but will you
dare to look?”
He paused, his bright old eyes observing Ommony’s with that disturbing
stare with which an artist studies the face of one whose portrait he is
painting.
“There was a time,” he went on, “when those who professed to be teachers
were stood before the Jade of Ahbor, that their own characters might be
revealed to them. Those who could endure the test (and they were few)
might teach; and those who failed, might not. For it is character that
must be taught; all else depends on it. That time will come again, but
not yet. To-day, if men knew of the Jade of Ahbor they would seize upon
it. They would test their rulers by it, as they try their criminals.
They would overthrow whoever failed the test—and all would fail.
Thereafter intellectual men would seize power, who would destroy the
stone, asserting its magic property was superstition, and _that_ one
fragment of the ancient knowledge would be lost.
“And now,” he paused again, “I read temptation in your mind. You think
that I, who have enabled you to reach this valley, will enable you to
leave it; and that is true, you shall return to India unharmed. But you
think that you, and certain other men, might use that stone discreetly.
Imagination tells you that to return to the Ahbor Valley; that to occupy
it by force or trickery, and so to obtain access to the stone would be a
good thing, which should benefit the human race. Nay, my son, waste no
words on denial, for I saw the thought!
“Therefore, I tell you this: the ancient wisdom is more wise than your
imagination. They who know cause and effect can foretell consequences.
Lest the evils should befall, that must inevitably follow if such an
instrument were placed too soon into men’s hands, the means to hide the
stone, if necessary for another million years, has been placed in the
hands of those who guard it. My son, men fight to the death over the
Golden Rule. What would they not do with the Jade of Ahbor?
“You have heard that the Tsangpo River holds more water than the
Brahmaputra, which is the same river lower down? Part of the Tsangpo
pours into caverns, which have an outlet below Bengal to the sea. One
man (and there _are_ more than one who know the secret) can in one
moment admit a mighty river into caverns that are now dry. Then not an
army of engineers could find the Jade of Ahbor in a thousand
years.—But,” he spoke very slowly, “he who had deliberately made that
act necessary—having been warned, as _you_ are warned—would be
responsible. You can not foresee the consequences, but it may be that in
a million lives you can not outlive them, because all the harm that,
through you, befalls others must inevitably return to you for
readjustment. It is well not to deceive yourself that this life is the
last.”
Ommony had sat still, lest interruption break the thread of the Lama’s
story. But it appeared to be broken. His own personal relation to it
stirred impatience.
“How, where, when did my sister and Jack Terry die?” he asked.
“Bear with me, my son. I have a great deal to tell, and not much time in
which to tell it. My hour comes soon. There is a death awaiting me, and
I am nearly ready.”
The Lama closed his eyes, his right hand patting Diana’s head, as if he
were eliminating detail and remembering the thread.
“I studied the Jade of Ahbor,” he resumed after a long while. “Which is
the same as to say that I studied my own failings and my own strength,
using the one with which to conquer the other, so that light might flow
into my mind. And many times that one came to me, of whom I spoke
before—he who first led me to the Jade. Many times I journeyed into
India. Many men I spoke with. And there came Marmaduke the American to
Darjiling, much wrought up about the future of the world and very angry
with the Christian missionaries. And as you know, he founded the
Marmaduke Mission at Tilgaun and endowed it. He wished me to be a
trustee, but I refused, until that one came to me, of whom I spoke
before, and said it was not good to refuse the work that destiny had
given me to do. Then I accepted, although it did not appear to me then
that my act was wise.
“And you and Hannah Sanburn became the other trustees. And you and I
corresponded, from which it became clear to me that you are a determined
man, of good faith, having courage, but possessed by indignation against
those whose vision of right and wrong is shorter than your own. And in
indignation there is not much wisdom; so I avoided meeting you.
“And then came Doctor Terry and your sister to this
valley—children!—hand in hand—as innocent as lambs—as brave and
simple as two humming-birds—in search of me, because, forsooth, they
had been told I knew the secret of the Jade of Ahbor. She far-gone with
child; he dying of wounds; the Ahbors hunting them—for the Ahbors guard
this valley as cobras guard ancient ruins.”
“How did they get into the valley?” asked Ommony.
“None knows. Not even I, nor the Ahbors. They suffered; they had no
memory, except of caverns and of being washed along an ancient conduit
underground. I heard of them, because the Ahbors asked me whether it
were best to crucify them living or to cut them up and throw them into
the Brahmaputra. The Ahbors said they seemed such unoffending people
that it might be the gods would be angry if they should put them to
further pain. They also said there was a baby to be born, and it is
against the Ahbors’ law to slay the mother until one month after
childbirth; nevertheless, it is also against their law to admit
strangers and to let them live.
“Therefore I lied to the Ahbors, inventing an ancient prophecy that a
saint was to be born of strangers in this valley. Thus I rescued those
two innocents, there being—as that Tashi Lama, whose _chela_ I was,
said—a condition in me, due to faults in former lives, that, though I
may fulfill a useful destiny, I must come to a violent death through
lies of my own telling.
“I lied to the Ahbors, and I had to keep on lying to them. But he who
lies does well, my son, who gladly eats the consequences when he may,
and ends them. Better a little self-surrender now than unknown
consequences in the lives to come! I am answerable to the Ahbors. I
would rather receive their judgment than that of the Unseen! It pays not
to postpone the reckoning.
“The baby was born here, in this room, and those two children who were
its parents died, though I did what might be done for them. I eased
their death as well as I was able, giving them comfort in the knowledge
that there are many lives to come, in which there is recompense for
every thought and deed, as also opportunity to undo all the evil of the
past. They died in peace, and I buried their bodies yonder; you can see
the grave below this window—that mass of rocks, over which the purple
flowers trail.
“Before she died, that child who was your sister gave her baby into my
hands. It was her last effort. She _gave_ the baby to me, not at my
request. In the clarity of vision and the peace that precedes death, she
_gave_ her baby into my hands, smiling, saying: ‘I see that this is as
it should be. It could not have been otherwise.’”
For five minutes the Lama was silent, remembering, his sky-blue eyes on
vacancy, his wrinkles motionless.
“And so I understood my destiny,” he went on presently. “I understood
that in my hands lay one who was greater than myself—whom I might
serve, that she might serve the world, as I can not by reason of my
limitations. That little spark of life, if I should do my duty, should
be fanned into a flame, whose light should blaze across the world, and
bless, and brighten it.
“And I have served, my son. I know of no regrets. Day in, day out, for
more than twenty years I have fanned that flame, and nursed and fed it,
letting no consideration hinder, omitting no experience that might
serve, sparing her no duty, killing out my own pride, and my own
weakness, lest it rob her of one element of virtue, inflicting no
punishment (for who am I that I should dare to punish?), omitting no
reproof (for who am I that I should dare to let the child deceive
herself?)
“I obtained a wet-nurse, who was doubtless born into this valley to that
very end, the wife of an Ahbor chieftain, whose recent ancestors were
healthy, whose mind was modest, unassuming, calm. I made that wet-nurse
stand before the Jade of Ahbor, before I trusted the flow from her
breasts.
“And I received advice, as he whose _chela_ I had been prophesied. He,
who had come to me in this place and in Lhassa, came again. From him I
learned that Hannah Sanburn might be trusted, and that if I should see
fit to trust her no harm would come of it. I think she has told you, my
son, what share she had in mothering the child.”
Ommony nodded. “Hannah is a noble woman,” he said gruffly. “I imagine
she sacrificed more than—”
But the Lama interrupted with a gesture of his hand. “My son, there is
no such thing as sacrifice, except in the imagination. There is
opportunity to serve, and he who overlooks it robs himself. Would you
call the sun’s light sacrifice? But you are right when you say Hannah
Sanburn is a noble woman. Her nobility is part of her. It works. It
overcomes the fear of what the world might say. It conquers pride. It
leaves adjustment of all consequences to the Higher Law. It keeps faith.
It knows no malice. It is brave. My burden, when I took that child to
Tilgaun, was all that I could bear, because I loved her and I feared for
her: but Hannah Sanburn’s was no less—no atom less—when she returned
the child to me.
“My hardest task has been to provide children of her own age, with whom
she might play and be happy without besmirchment from their ignorance.
For, though she is able now to stand alone, and to burn up trash in the
pure flame of her own character, she was then only a little, very clear
flame, needing care—my son, I wonder if you guess how much care she has
needed. The Tibetan children would have dimmed her light. They might
have smothered it; because the lower yearns toward the higher. And
though yeast is plunged into the dough and leavens it, the yeast is
spent. It is not good to clean corruption with a golden broom, nor is it
wise to take sap from the growing tree.
“But I have agents—agents here and there. We, who pursue the Middle
Way, are not without resources. There was Benjamin, who is a man of very
faithful pertinacity in some respects; and there are certain others,
whom I employed. It is easy to find children who need saving from the
rapacity of the world’s convenience; but it is very difficult to make
selection—much more difficult when agents do the choosing—and
impossible, my son, to find such another child as San-fun-ho, because
there is none like her in the world. I tell you, great ones are not born
many at a time.
“I obtained children. I obtained many children, hoping that among the
many one or two might excel, as indeed it happened. The others are
incapable in this life of much advancement, because of _karma_ and the
circumstances into which they had been born. It is very difficult to
help some individuals, because those who are born into an heredity are
so born in order that they may make that experience, and battle with it,
and acquire strength for the lives to come. But they have served; they
have done royal service. For, as I have educated my _chela_, in turn she
has educated them, learning through them how to practise the wisdom,
which is nothing unless put to use. And, lest they lose one rightful
opportunity, I found Tibetan girls for them to teach. You have seen for
yourself that those children have grown into women, who are not without
nobility. Some may make good teachers at Tilgaun.”
“How many laws did you break in obtaining those children?” asked Ommony,
smiling. He felt less critical than curious to know how the Lama would
defend himself.
“Many, perhaps. I do not know, my son. There is that which, because of
errors in past lives, makes it impossible for me to do good without
inflicting evil on myself. But it is better to do good than to fear
evil. It is he who breaks the laws who must accept the consequences. It
appears to me that I have injured none except myself and, although I
must meet in lives to come the consequence of having broken even human
laws, I do not doubt that the service I have rendered will provide me
strength with which to meet and overcome the _karma_. We can not do
_all_ the self-cleansing in _one_ life. It is enough that we do what we
can, and serve others.”
“I am sorry I spoke. I beg your pardon.”
The Lama looked keenly at Ommony. “My son, it is not within your power
to offend me, even if you had the wish to give offense, which I perceive
is not so. I would not impose on you an account of my fumblings with
duty, if it were not that you are entitled to sufficient facts on which
to base your judgment of what _your_ duty may be. I endeavor to be
brief.
“Life—right living is Art, my son, not artifice, and not an
accumulation of possessions, or of power, but a giving forth of inner
qualities. San-fun-ho has had encouragement to exercise herself in all
the arts; she will not be deceived by the many who will deny the merit
of her art—no more than the lamp’s flame is deceived by darkness.
“Above all, drama! Drama is the way to teach. All life is drama; and by
allegories, parables and illustrations men learn easily what no amount
of argument will drive into their understanding. Because of sympathy,
compassion and a knowledge of what difficulties and what ignorance the
greatest and the least most face, my _chela_ can play all parts. She
understands. She knows the difference between the higher and the lower,
and is not to be deceived by noise, or fear, or any man’s opinion.
“Nor can her head be turned by flattery; for I have let men tempt her in
the subtlest ways, they not knowing that they tempted. The superstitious
worship those whose art excels their own—until the time comes when they
meditate murder, and slander, (which is more cruel than murder) because
they grow weary of emulation. And worship is the most poisonous of all
corruption, to him who is the object of it. When an Ahbor, who was
bribed by some ambitious men, broke away and stole a fragment of the
Jade of Ahbor, and I learned that there were plans on foot to seduce men
into all kinds of superstition with its aid, I seized that opportunity.
“I let word go forth through secret channels into India that she who is
the rightful priestess of the Jade will come and find it. For there was
never a doubt about that, my son. I knew I could trace the fragment and
lay my hand on it. I seized that opportunity. I led my _chela_, clothed
as a boy, for she can play all parts, on a journey into India, as you
know. And, my son, I have made many errors in my day; I am but an old
man seeking, through the cloud of ignorance, to do my duty, knowing what
the duty is, but often misled by my own unwisdom. There were times,
while my _chela_ was growing, when I dreamed of triumphs for her among
India’s millions. In those deluded moods it had appeared to me—although
none had better right than I to know the contrary—that if she should
seize on the imagination of the East, which might very easily be done,
the East would rise out of its ignorance and teach the West. I did not
see, in those deluded hours, that the East would become filled with a
self-righteousness that would be even worse, if that were possible, than
what consumes the West and, seeking to throw off its conquerors, would
plunge the whole world into war. You have heard of Gandhi? That is a man
of singleness and merit, seeking, as it were, to hasten the precession
of the equinox.
“Even as Gandhi has made mistakes, I made them, though with less excuse.
During the lonely months when San-fun-ho was with Hannah Sanburn at
Tilgaun I used to journey into India with staff and begging-bowl, making
my preparations for the day when San-fun-ho should teach an awakening
multitude. Unwise—and the unwisdom multiplied by zeal! I raised too
many expectations.
“He, who had come to me before, came once again rebuking me. I told him
of this and that which I had done, expecting praise. He said to me:
‘Blood will flow. It will be you to whom the dead may look for
recompense. How soon can you repay them all?’ And I said: ‘But I have
promised. If I fail, will they not look to me for the fulfilment?’ But
_he_ said: ‘Which is better? To fail to do evil, and to eat the fruit of
disappointment; or to do great evil, and to interfere with destiny, and
then to eat the fruit of that? I tell you, San-fun-ho will light a flame
too fierce for India; but in the West she may do some good; and the East
may imitate the West, but the West will not imitate the East for many a
year to come, being too proud and too full of energy.’
“And then I asked him: ‘Who shall shield her in the West? Lo, I have
made these friends for her in India that she may have a foundation to
begin with when the time comes.’ To which he answered: ‘Is a dollar
without friends? And is she less than a dollar? Moreover, there will
come to you a man of her own race, who can serve her better than you
when his turn comes. He will know less, but he will have the qualities
she needs. Be on the watch for him, and when you think you have found
him, put him to many tests.’
“So, as I told you, I took my _chela_ into India, recovering the piece
of jade, and making use of my mistakes for the testing of San-fun-ho,
since even a man’s mistakes are useful, if he has the will to conquer
false pride. And you have seen, my son, that my _chela’s_ head was not
turned, even though we traveled with great evidence of secret influence,
which is a very subtle agent of corruption. You have seen how women
broke the rules of caste to approach her; how men of high position
trembled in her presence; how the crowd shouted to see more of her; how
her voice stilled anger and turned violence into peace. Yet she was
always my patient and obedient _chela_, was she not? And you shall
see—at dawn to-morrow you shall see whether all that glamour of success
has or has not dimmed her character by as much as the mist of a man’s
breath on a mirror.”
The Lama looked at Ommony for a long time, repeatedly almost closing his
eyes and then opening them suddenly, as if to catch some fleeting
expression unawares.
“And when you came, my son, hiding in Chutter Chand’s shop. When I knew
the piece of the jade had reached your hands. When Benjamin sent word
that you were spying on me. Then, it seemed to me that in spite of many
faults you might be the man whom I must test. I have tested you in more
ways than you guess, and I have seen all your faults, not least of which
is a certain pride of righteousness. But San-fun-ho knows how to deal
with that. Now think. Answer without self-seeking and without fear,
truly. For I offer you my place, as San-fun-ho’s protector and servant,
to guard her that she may serve the world. My time has come to die.”
A man is what he is. He starts from where he is. He may
progress, or he may retrogress. All effort in his own behalf is
dead weight in the scale against him. All effort in behalf of
others is a profit to himself; notwithstanding which, unless he
first improve himself he can do nothing except harm to others.
There is no power in the universe, nor any form of intercession
that can separate a cause from its effect, action from reaction,
or a man from retribution for his deeds.
From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup.