Nor can I now tell in which I followed. One
day it will call me across the River of Death, and I shall ford
it or sink in the immeasurable depths and either will be well.
But immediately I was at the other side of the river, standing by
the stone Bull of Shiva where he kneels before the Symbol, and
looking steadfastly upon me a few paces away was a man in the
dress of a Buddhist monk. He wore the yellow robe that leaves one
shoulder bare; his head was bare also and he held in one hand a
small bowl like a stemless chalice. I knew I was seeing a very
strange inexplicable sight - one that in Kashmir should be
incredible, but I put wonder aside for I knew now that I was
moving in the sphere where the incredible may well be the actual.
His expression was of the most unbroken calm. If I compare it to
the passionless gaze of the Sphinx I misrepresent, for the Riddle
of the Sphinx still awaits solution, but in this face was a noble
acquiescence and a content that had it vibrated must have passed
into joy.
Words or their equivalent passed between us. I felt his voice.
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