Now , a Hill-man makes nothing of a few hundred feet up or down , and as soon as the villagers saw the smoke in the deserted shrine , the village priest climbed up the terraced hillside to welcome the stranger . When he met Purun Bhagat 's eyes -- the eyes of a man used to control thousands -- he bowed to the earth , took the begging-bowl without a word , and returned to the village , saying , `` We have at last a holy man . Never have I seen such a man . He is of the Plains -- but pale-coloured -- a Brahmin of the Brahmins . '' Then all the housewives of the village said , `` Think you he will stay with us ? '' and each did her best to cook the most savoury meal for the Bhagat . Hill-food is very simple , but with buckwheat and Indian corn , and rice and red pepper , and little fish out of the stream in the valley , and honey from the flue-like hives built in the stone walls , and dried apricots , and turmeric , and wild ginger , and bannocks of flour , a devout woman can make good things , and it was a full bowl that the priest carried to the Bhagat . Was he going to stay ? asked the priest . Would he need a chela -- a disciple -- to beg for him ? Had he a blanket against the cold weather ? Was the food good ? Purun Bhagat ate , and thanked the giver . It was in his mind to stay . That was sufficient , said the priest . Let the begging-bowl be placed outside the shrine , in the hollow made by those two twisted roots , and daily should the Bhagat be fed ; for the village felt honoured that such a man -- he looked timidly into the Bhagat 's face -- should tarry among them . That day saw the end of Purun Bhagat 's wanderings . He had come to the place appointed for him -- the silence and the space . After this , time stopped , and he , sitting at the mouth of the shrine , could not tell whether he were alive or dead ; a man with control of his limbs , or a part of the hills , and the clouds , and the shifting rain and sunlight . He would repeat a Name softly to himself a hundred hundred times , till , at each repetition , he seemed to move more and more out of his body , sweeping up to the doors of some tremendous discovery ; but , just as the door was opening , his body would drag him back , and , with grief , he felt he was locked up again in the flesh and bones of Purun Bhagat .
Every morning the filled XXXXX was laid silently in the crutch of the roots outside the shrine .
Bhagat Brahmin Brahmins Hill-food Indian bannocks begging-bowl daily hives turmeric