Vedantic Tales : The Wayfarer

The dacoit struggled to his feet. Untie my hands, you fool!

With repugnance Buckshee picked up a third knife, bloodstained, long, and vicious, that had fallen from the dacoit's belt. Until that young woman reaches the village, we will remain as we are, he said.

The dacoit glared at Buckshee with hatred and fear, his teeth bared in a grimace, his eyes bloodshot. Here comes someone, he snarled in a low, grating voice, looking over Banshee's shoulder. Untie me! Give me my knife; I'll rob him and share with you all he has. Quick!

Buckshee laughed and threw the third knife into the brush after the other two. But he turned his head, keeping half an eye on the dacoit. There was indeed a young man walking toward them; his wearing clothes were white, his head shaven. Drawing near, he held out a bowl.

Does this belong to either of you gentlemen? he asked. It was Banshee's bowl, dropped when he had run toward the woman's cry.

It is mine, Buckshee said.

A Brahmacharya! the dacoit spat out in disgust.

The young man handed the bowl to Buckshee. By the markings on that bowl I know that it at one time belonged to my master. It is you, then, whom he has sent me for. Please come with me; my master wishes to see you.

Buckshee cried joyously and. then looked at the dacoit. I can't leave this wretch tied up like this. He will be prey to wild beasts.

Untie me, then! the dacoit shouted.

So you can go about robbing and killing? Buckshee asked.

No, no! I'll never harm another soul. I swear it! Untie me!

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