"Beshak," he said, philosophically. "Lekin darwaza band hai. (Without doubt,
but the door is shut.) I have heard of this remembering of previous existences
among my people. It is of course an old tale with us, but, to happen to an
Englishman--a cow-fed Malechk--an outcast. By Jove, that is most peculiar!"
"Outcast yourself, Grish Chunder! You eat cow-beef every day. Let's think the
thing over. The boy remembers his incarnations."
"Does he know that?" said Grish Chunder, quietly, swinging his legs as he sat
on my table. He was speaking in English now.
"He does not know anything. Would I speak to you if he did? Go on!"
"There is no going on at all. If you tell that to your friends they will say
you are mad and put it in the papers. Suppose, now, you prosecute for libel."
"Let's leave that out of the question entirely. Is there any chance of his
being made to speak?"
"There is a chance. Oah, yess! But if he spoke it would mean that all this
world would end now--instanto--fall down on your head. These things are not
allowed, you know. As I said, the door is shut."
"Not a ghost of a chance?"
"How can there be? You are a Christian, and it is forbidden to eat, in your
books, of the Tree of Life, or else you would never die.
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