A white-clad Oswal banker from Ajmir , his sins of usury new wiped out , asked him what he did . ' I am chela to Teshoo Lama , an Holy One from Bhotiyal -- within there . He bade me come . I wait . Tell him . ' ` Do not forget the child , ' cried the importunate Jat over his shoulder , and then bellowed in Punjabi ; ' O Holy One -- O disciple of the Holy One -- O Gods above all the Worlds -- behold affliction sitting at the gate ! ' That cry is so common in Benares that the passers never turned their heads . The Oswal , at peace with mankind , carried the message into the darkness behind him , and the easy , uncounted Eastern minutes slid by ; for the lama was asleep in his cell , and no priest would wake him . When the click of his rosary again broke the hush of the inner court where the calm images of the Arhats stand , a novice whispered , ` Thy chela is here , ' and the old man strode forth , forgetting the end of that prayer . Hardly had the tall figure shown in the doorway than the Jat ran before him , and , lifting up the child , cried : ` Look upon this , Holy One ; and if the Gods will , he lives -- he lives ! ' He fumbled in his waist-belt and drew out a small silver coin . ` What is now ? ' The lama 's eyes turned to Kim . It was noticeable he spoke far clearer Urdu than long ago , under ZamZammah ; but father would allow no private talk . ` It is no more than a fever , ' said Kim . ` The child is not well fed . ' ` He sickens at everything , and his mother is not here . ' ` If it be permitted , I may cure , Holy One . ' ` What ! Have they made thee a healer ?
Wait here , ' said the XXXXX , and he sat down by the Jat upon the lowest step of the temple , while Kim , looking out of the corner of his eyes , slowly opened the little betel-box .
Arhats Kim Punjabi Urdu Worlds ZamZammah lama passers rosary waist-belt