'We have Gunga,' returned the banker, when the little titter had
subsided.

'What others?'

'What other than Gunga?'

'Nay, but in my mind was the thought of a certain River of
healing.'

'That is Gunga. Who bathes in her is made clean and goes to the
Gods. Thrice have I made pilgrimage to Gunga.' He looked round
proudly.

'There was need,' said the young sepoy drily, and the travellers'
laugh turned against the banker.

'Clean - to return again to the Gods,' the lama muttered. 'And to
go forth on the round of lives anew - still tied to the Wheel.'
He shook his head testily. 'But maybe there is a mistake. Who,
then, made Gunga in the beginning?'

'The Gods. Of what known faith art thou?' the banker said,
appalled.

'I follow the Law - the Most Excellent Law. So it was the Gods
that made Gunga. What like of Gods were they?'

The carriage looked at him in amazement. It was inconceivable
that anyone should be ignorant of Gunga.