We be all souls seeking escape . No matter what thy wisdom learned among Sahibs , when we come to my River thou wilt be freed from all illusion -- at my side . Hai ! My bones ache for that River , as they ached in the te-rain ; but my spirit sits above my bones , waiting . The Search is sure ! ' ' I am answered . Is it permitted to ask a question ? ' The lama inclined his stately head . ' I ate thy bread for three years -- as thou knowest . Holy One , whence came -- ? ' ` There is much wealth , as men count it , in Bhotiyal , ' the lama returned with composure . ` In my own place I have the illusion of honour . I ask for that I need . I am not concerned with the account . That is for my monastery . Ai ! The black high seats in the monastery , and novices all in order ! ' And he told stories , tracing with a finger in the dust , of the immense and sumptuous ritual of avalanche-guarded cathedrals ; of processions and devil-dances ; of the changing of monks and nuns into swine ; of holy cities fifteen thousand feet in the air ; of intrigue between monastery and monastery ; of voices among the hills , and of that mysterious mirage that dances on dry snow . He spoke even of Lhassa and of the Dalai Lama , whom he had seen and adored . Each long , perfect day rose behind Kim for a barrier to cut him off from his race and his mother-tongue .
He slipped back to thinking and dreaming in the vernacular , and mechanically followed the XXXXX 's ceremonial observances at eating , drinking , and the like .
Bhotiyal Hai Kim Lhassa Sahibs escape lama mirage novices processions