"That he is— the son of my father's sister," said Rustam Iniattir. Most of the leaders of his caravans were his relatives, either by blood or by marriage; it was one of the few ways he could ensure honesty in his distant transactions.
"A good man," said the pilgrim, "as far as the world goes."
"That he is," said Rustam Iniattir, not wanting to debate with this stranger the merits of worldly ambitions and success, for he knew from experience with his aunt's husband that such discussions led nowhere, serving only to frustrate all who participated in them. As he reached the corner of a broad central street, he asked the pilgrim, "Do you have a name, pilgrim? What shall I call you?"
"I am from Kua-chou in Shensi, and I am called Lum." He spoke flatly, as if he did not like imparting so much.
"Lum is your family name, or your personal name?" asked Rustam Iniattir, who had had dealings with the Chinese before and took pride in knowing some of their traditions.
"Lum is my personal name. I no longer have a family name," said the pilgrim, and did not elaborate.
"Lum from Kua-chou in Shensi it is, then," said Rustam Iniattir as he stood aside for three vile-smelling camels to pass; he made sure Lum was right behind him. "Why should you come into Delhi, Lum?"
"To see the shrines to the Buddha; I have vowed to visit all the places holy to the Buddha that I can before I cast off this body, for the sake of my soul and the protection of my family. Delhi has a shrine I wish to see. I had learned that the Mui were here," he went on, using the Chinese word for Muslims, "but I know them from before. We see many of them, as we see the Black-Haired, in Kua-chou. We have been there longer than any of them, though we are few and they are vast in their numbers." He held his staff more tightly.
"Good enough," said Rustam Iniattir, resuming his slow pace now the camels were by them, their bells tinkling as they stalked through the market-square at the other end of the street. "It isn't far to the house we seek, and the man who will help you; you will soon see for yourself how much skill he has in treating injuries," he went on. "He, too, is a foreigner, and must live in this quarter of the city."
Lum nodded. "It is the way." He was managing to walk fairly easily now, his pace steady for all its sluggishness; behind them Josha Dar slipped along from door to door, never taking his eyes from the two. He grinned in anticipation of what he would report that evening, for surely he would deserve a reward for his diligence.
At the entrance to the Street of the Brass Lanterns, Rustam Iniattir paused once again so that Lum could rest. "Almost there," he said, still perplexed with himself for the help he was extending to this unlikely pilgrim from China. Perhaps, he told himself, Sanat Ji Mani would understand his actions and explain them to him.
"Your acquaintance is wealthy," said Lum with suspicion as he peered down the street, his eyes narrowed to slits at the finery he saw around him. "These are very fine houses."
"It seems he is," Rustam Iniattir agreed carefully.
"Yet he will tend to a pilgrim?" Lum was dubious and reluctant to go on.
"That you will learn when you speak to him," said Rustam Iniattir, making this a challenge. "He has tended to others before you."
"If he receives me at all, he may send me away," said Lum. "But I will go with you to his house."
Rustam Iniattir did not know what to say in response to this. He folded his arms and very nearly left Lum where he stood. Then he mastered his annoyance and led the pilgrim forward again.
Garuda opened the door to the urgent summons of the clapper; he peered out at the Parsi and sighed. "My master is in his library. He is busy today." Little as he wanted to admit Rustam Iniattir and his companion, Garuda did not have the authority to refuse them entry; he opened the door with an air of condescension that would have earned him a rebuke had Sanat Ji Mani or Rojire seen him; he was a native of Delhi, he reminded himself, and this was his city where foreigners had to be tolerated.
"Then go tell him Rustam Iniattir is come with a pilgrim in need of his help," was the crisp response.
"If you insist," said Garuda. "But he may not wish to be disturbed."
"He will decide that for himself when you inform him," said Rustam Iniattir patiently, used to the attitude of Indian servants with foreign masters.
"You will wait here," said Garuda, and vanished into the interior of the splendid house.
"This is not the abode of a humble man," said Lum.
"It is the home of a wealthy one, in any case," said Rustam Iniattir. The small courtyard where Rustam Iniattir and Lum waited was dec
orated with potted plants and a number of small statues, some of familiar gods, some of unknown ones. Lum noticed a Teaching Buddha set in the shade of a flowering bush, and touched his hands together as he bowed to it; Rustam Iniattir turned away, knowing it was rude to watch a man at worship.
"My master," said Garuda as he returned, "will see you in his study. If you will follow me?"
Knowing it was useless to remind Garuda that he knew the way, Rustam Iniattir touched Lum on the shoulder. "We will go with this servant."
Lum only nodded and moved along behind Garuda. He kept his gaze steadily ahead, so that he would not be caught up in the elegance around him, a sign of worldliness that would compromise his dedication to asceticism and the Buddha. He almost stumbled going down a shallow flight of stairs; he gave a little cry of pain and dismay, saying immediately, "It is nothing."
"I think perhaps you have come here just in time," said Rustam Iniattir, who, aware now of how feverish Lum was, made no attempt at concealing his alarm. He stopped at the door where Garuda paused; Rustam Iniattir scratched on the wood and was relieved when he heard the foreigner call, "Enter," from within.
"When you are leaving, summon me," said Garuda as he withdrew farther along the hall.
"That I will," said Rustam Iniattir as he opened the door and stood aside for Lum to precede him.
Sanat Ji Mani, in a Persian kandys of fine black linen and loose Persian trousers of heavy dark-red cotton, was seated at a rosewood table, four antique scrolls lying open before him. A shaded window let in the perfume of blossoms, and the subdued light was pleasant for the eyes. He rose as he took stock of the pilgrim, then turned to Rustam Iniattir. "You have brought someone to me?"
"I have. He was begging in front of my house. He is injured. I thought it would be best to put him in your care," said Rustam Iniattir, his tone uncertain as he stayed in the doorway. "I could not ignore him. It is not our way." He said this last pointedly, for the custom of the worshipers of Shiva and the rest of the pantheon of Brahmin gods were disinclined to take an active part in the lives of any strangers.
"You have done well, Rustam Iniattir, and I thank you," said Sanat Ji Mani with a sincerity that took the Parsi aback.
"How can you be grateful?" Rustam Iniattir inquired, more baffled than ever.
"Do you wish to treat me?" Lum asked at the same moment, incredulously.
Nodding, Sanat Ji Mani approached Lum. "You will need treatment if you are to continue your journey. You are a pilgrim, I see from your staff and gourd, and by the look of you, you come from the western reaches of China."
Lum blinked in surprise. "I am from Shensi, the fortress-town of Kua-chou."
"Near the end of the Great Wall, is it not," Sanat Ji Mani said, looking intently at the newcomer. "I was there once, many years ago." He did not mention that those years were reckoned in centuries, or that, when he was there, the world was in disarray and Kua-chou was under siege and in the grip of famine.
"Yes," said Lum, making an effort not to be astonished.
"Not many there are dedicated to the Buddha," said Sanat Ji Mani conversationally. "You must have come by your faith in an unusual way."
Lum went silent at once; he turned away from Sanat Ji Mani, dismay and rebuke in his weathered visage. "How can you treat my foot?" His blank face made it plain he would say nothing more about himself.
"It depends on what is wrong with it," said Sanat Ji Mani as if unaware of the state of the pilgrim's mind.
"Is there any reason I should remain?" Rustam Iniattir asked abruptly.
"Not on my account," said Sanat Ji Mani. "If there is something more you would like to discuss with Lum, it might be best to come back before sundown. He should be feeling better by then."
"Well?" Rustam Iniattir said to Lum. "Shall I return?"
"If you want to know more of your kinsman who told me to seek you out," said Lum, the tone of his voice revealing much more than the words he spoke. "Otherwise, you need not concern yourself with me."
"I think it would be a solace to you and to Lum if you see him improved," said Sanat Ji Mani, aware of how much curiosity the Parsi possessed, and how alone the Chinese pilgrim felt.
"Solace. Yes," said Rustam Iniattir, seizing on this acceptable excuse and looking over at Lum. "I will come again, when I go to pray."
"It is as you wish," said Lum with studied indifference.
Rustam Iniattir made a formal gesture of departure and stepped out of the study, to find Garuda waiting for him. "Well, I might have anticipated this: you are named for a mighty bird, and you perch everywhere, and you seek to see everything," he said to the understeward, careful not to make his observation too comminatory.
"My father was devoted to Vishnu," said Garuda. "He named me to honor the god's mount." He pointed his finger at Rustam Iniattir, something he would not do had the Parsi been of his own people. "You do not honor the gods."
"We honor Zarathustra's teachings," said Rustam Iniattir, and began to stride down the corridor. "You have your gods, I have mine. And your master has his." This last reminder was intended to remind Garuda of his position in the household, and it succeeded.
"I meant nothing against you, O Guest of My Master," Garuda said, lowering his eyes and assuming a self-effacing manner. As they reached the garden-courtyard, Garuda went directly to the outer door and held it open for Rustam Iniattir. "May you go in safety."
"May your gods show you favor," said Rustam Iniattir, giving more attention to this servant than he would have done any member of his own household. With a slight inclination of his head, he departed, stepping out into the street with a frown of displeasure marring his features; he still wondered if his concern for the pilgrim Lum had sprung from the altruism of Zarathustra's teaching, or from some less worthy impulse. He would have to return to his shrine to appeal to Ormazd to reveal to him what had caused him to extend his help to so unlikely a man as Lum. He was so preoccupied that he was unaware of Josha Dar as he joined the people in the street.
In the house of Sanat Ji Mani, Lum was not yet at his ease. He clung to his staff and listened skeptically to what the black-clad foreigner was saying. "It is not right that I should rid myself of suffering
while the world suffers so much," he declared, interrupting Sanat Ji Mani's explanation of what might be done for him.
Sanat Ji Mani shook his head once. "You do not think that the Buddha expects you to embrace your ailments; that would be inappropriate, and self-indulgent. Did not the Buddha teach that to refuse the antidote to poison is an embracing of ignorance and suffering? You have been poisoned by your wound and now you have the opportunity to recover. The Buddha would not encourage you to forgo it."
"You cannnot know the Holy Texts." Lum was apprehensive now, as if he had to prevent Sanat Ji Mani from examining him; better not to know what injury he had sustained than to be helped by this foreign man.
"I know more Holy Texts than you can imagine," said Sanat Ji Mani with a note of weariness in his voice that caught Lum's attention. "So, yes: I know the Buddha did not encourage his followers to seek suffering, or to—"
"Do not preach my faith to me," said Lum sharply.
Sanat Ji Mani shook his head. "You are afraid, and fear is born of illusion, according to your Holy Texts. I believe the Buddha taught that a man's inner mind is more his enemy than any external foe; you have allied yourself against your body's health, and that is not a sign of virtue, but of irresponsibility."
Lum stared down at his foot as if he wanted to be able to disown it. "It should not impose so much."
"Bodies are like that; they impose," said Sanat Ji Mani as gently as he could. "Come with me, and we will deal with this as quickly as possible."
"Are you certain you can heal me?" Lum wanted to know before he moved.
"I am certain I can treat you. Your healing is as much up to you as to my medicaments," Sanat Ji Mani replied. "It may be that you can improve on your own, but I doubt it."
"Why do you say that?" Lum asked, remaining where he stood.
"Because your flesh smells of inner decay; it is not strong yet, so you may still be able to recover from it," said Sanat Ji Mani in a level
