Roads were meant to be walked upon , houses to be lived in , cattle to be driven , fields to be tilled , and men and women to be talked to . They were all real and true -- solidly planted upon the feet -- perfectly comprehensible -- clay of his clay , neither more nor less . He shook himself like a dog with a flea in his ear , and rambled out of the gate . Said the Sahiba , to whom watchful eyes reported this move : ` Let him go . I have done my share . Mother Earth must do the rest . When the Holy One comes back from meditation , tell him . ' There stood an empty bullock-cart on a little knoll half a mile away , with a young banyan tree behind -- a look-out , as it were , above some new-ploughed levels ; and his eyelids , bathed in soft air , grew heavy as he neared it . The ground was good clean dust -- no new herbage that , living , is half-way to death already , but the hopeful dust that holds the seeds of all life . He felt it between his toes , patted it with his palms , and joint by joint , sighing luxuriously , laid him down full length along in the shadow of the wooden-pinned cart . And Mother Earth was as faithful as the Sahiba . She breathed through him to restore the poise he had lost lying so long on a cot cut off from her good currents . His head lay powerless upon her breast , and his opened hands surrendered to her strength . The many-rooted tree above him , and even the dead manhandled wood beside , knew what he sought , as he himself did not know . Hour upon hour he lay deeper than sleep . Towards evening , when the dust of returning kine made all the horizons smoke , came the lama and Mahbub Ali , both afoot , walking cautiously , for the house had told them where he had gone . ` Allah ! What a fool 's trick to play in open country ! ' muttered the horse-dealer . ` He could be shot a hundred times -- but this is not the Border . '
` And , ' said the XXXXX , repeating a many-times-told tale , ` never was such a chela .
Ali Mother Sahiba banyan bullock-cart cot herbage horse-dealer hour lama