The Omaha morning bee., 1925-04-07
CHAPTER X.
The Eyes Of the God.

IN the beginning, then, you must
know that the region where we met
in India-my home-is a region Wis
tied but little by Europeans. You've
often spoken about the unprovoked
hostility with which my people met
you. That was just after you crossed
the high range of the Mimalayas that
separates our country from the rest
of India.
THAT hostility was not unprovoked,
but was just hate-if hate Is ever
justified-of a people who had been
betrayed, and Of a people who in con
sequence had struggled in vain to
appease the wrath of an angry god.
''You may have been told by your
father the story of this god of the
Himalayas and his high, sacred
shrine, though | doubt II.
"Just when the worship of him
began. I do not know, for when our
earliest records begin. centuries ago
his shrine was already the center OF
worship. Our religion. In this noun
tain fastness, Is a religion for men
Each man OF the tribe worships al
the shrine once, and ever after he
worshfps the god In his own heart
The shrine Is cavern OF ice, hidden
far away in the heart OF the Hima-
| layas. many days of agonizing travel
from the place where you and I met.
Snow and ice block the trail to the
shrine In all the months OF the year
but one. At the time of the greatest
heat, the trail clears sufficiently SO
that with coutrage and the favor of
the god it may be attempted.
IN that season of each year, the
youths OF the tribe who are entering
manhood make their preparations and
-separately-set forth on the pill
grimage TO the god
Ghopais eyes, sunken with suffer
ing, met the gaze of Chslfonte stead
lily. Your western civilization has
done much to give me sophistication,
and has taught me TO smile at many
! beliefs as naive and childish. But
somehow IL has never been able to
eface the imprint OF my journey TO
the shrine. Even now. In this place.
1t comes hack over me--the first ter
rife climb to dizzying heights, and
then the trail to the cavern, a trail
that winds around the sides Of stu.
pendous precipices. the depths OF
which lie yelled In cloud and mist
a trail a handsbreath wide and COW
cred with ice. The crashing of ava.
lanches In that teTific silence. the
silence Of eternity. the cold, the ex.
hanstlon, the hunger-all these have
never yet failed TO claim each year
at least one youth of the tribe. There
were nights when sudden snowstorms
roared down the mountainsides, and
/ wondered IL the warm season had
not yet really opened. There were
dawns when ! woke To still splendors
Of color such as the plainsman never
dreams Of
And there came the place where
the trail ends. and | knew only the
general direction in which ] was T.
20. Only that far did the work oi
men who had gone before me. hell
me on. The last and hardest part oI
the way TO ones God. suppose. one
must find alone. But I found it-ai
last ] found it--when Il seemed that
The cold and the white splendor oI
eternity had become the very color
of my soul. with all the iinpurity and
weakness driven out. In such state
| reached tho cavern. where for cen
turtles the youth OF our tribe have
found the image OF our god, an image
OF stone. squat, hunched. drab--as
existence In. But in its emerald eyes
| glowed a wonder Of green and lam
bent flames. the color Of life that
springs up forever new, tranforming
| the world.
Ito Ne GoutiuueA Tomovvov1