CHAPTER XII
'Who hath desired the Sea--the sight of salt-water unbounded? The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded? The sleek-barrelled swell before storm--gray, foamless, enormous, and growing? Stark calm on the lap of the Line--or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing? His Sea in no showing the same--his Sea and the same 'neath all showing-- His Sea that his being fulfils? So and no otherwise--so and no otherwise Hill-men desire their Hills!'
'I HAVE found my heart again,' said E.23, under cover of the platform'stumult. 'Hunger and fear make men dazed, or I might have thought of thisescape before. I was right. They come to hunt for me. Thou hast saved myhead.'
A group of yellow-trousered Punjab policemen, headed by a hot andperspiring young Englishman, parted the crowd about the carriages.Behind them, inconspicuous as a cat, ambled a small fat person wholooked like a lawyer's tout.
'See the young Sahib reading from a paper. My description is in hishand,' said E.23. 'They go carriage by carriage, like fisher-folknetting a pool.'
When the procession reached their compartment, E.23 was counting hisbeads with a steady jerk of the wrist; while Kim jeered at him for beingso drugged as to have lost the ringed fire-tongs which are the Saddhu'sdistinguishing mark. The lama, deep in meditation, stared straightbefore him; and the farmer, glancing furtively, gathered up hisbelongings.
'Nothing here but a parcel of holy-bolies,' said the Englishman aloud,and passed on amid a ripple of uneasiness; for native police meanextortion to the native all India over.
'The trouble now,' whispered E.23, 'lies in sending a wire as to theplace where I hid that letter I was sent to find. I cannot go to thetar-office in this guise.'
'Is it not enough I have saved thy neck?'
'Not if the work be left unfinished. Did never the healer of sick pearlstell thee so? Comes another Sahib! Ah!'
This was a tallish, sallowish District Superintendent of Police,--belt,helmet, polished spurs and all,--strutting and twirling his darkmoustache.
'What fools are these Police Sahibs!' said Kim genially.
E.23 glanced up under his eyelids. 'It is well said,' he muttered in achanged voice. 'I go to drink water. Keep my place.'
He blundered out almost into the Englishman's arms, and was bad-wordedin clumsy Urdu.
'Tum-mut? You drunk? You mustn't bang about as though Delhi stationbelonged to you, my friend.'
E.23, not moving a muscle of his countenance, answered with a stream ofthe filthiest abuse, at which Kim naturally rejoiced. It reminded him ofthe drummer-boys and the barrack-sweepers at Umballa in the terribletime of his first schooling.
'My good fool,' the Englishman drawled. 'Nickle-jao! Go back to yourcarriage.'
Step by step, withdrawing deferentially, and dropping his voice, theyellow Saddhu clomb back to the carriage, cursing the D. S. P. toremotest posterity by--here Kim almost jumped--by the curse of theQueen's Stone, by the writing under the Queen's Stone, and by anassortment of Gods with wholly new names.
'I don't know what you're saying,'--the Englishman flushedangrily,--'but it's some piece of blasted impertinence. Come out ofthat!'
E.23, affecting to misunderstand, gravely produced his ticket, which theEnglishman wrenched angrily from his hand.
'Oh zoolum! What oppression!' growled the Jat from his corner. 'All forthe sake of a jest too.' He had been grinning at the freedom of theSaddhu's tongue. 'Thy charms do not work well to-day, Holy One!'
The Saddhu followed the policeman, fawning and supplicating. The ruck ofpassengers, busy with their babies and their bundles, had not noticedthe affair. Kim slipped out behind him; for it flashed through his headthat he had heard this angry, stupid Sahib discoursing loudpersonalities to an old lady near Umballa three years ago.
'It is well,' the Saddhu whispered, jammed in the calling, shouting,bewildered press--a Persian greyhound between his feet and a cadgeful ofyelling hawks under charge of a Rajput falconer in the small of hisback. 'He has gone now to send word of the letter which I hid. They toldme he was in Peshawur. I might have known that he is like thecrocodile--always at the other ford. He has saved me from presentcalamity, but I owe my life to thee.'
'Is he also one of Us?' Kim ducked under a Mewar camel-driver's greasyarmpit and cannoned off a covey of jabbering Sikh matrons.
'Not less than the greatest. We are both fortunate! I will make reportto him of what thou hast done. I am safe under his protection.'
He bored through the edge of the crowd besieging the carriages, andsquatted by the bench near the telegraph-office.
'Return, or they take thy place! Have no fear for the work, brother--ormy life. Thou hast given me breathing-space, and Strickland Sahib haspulled me to land. We may work together at the Game yet. Farewell!'
Kim hurried to his carriage: elated, bewildered, but a little nettled inthat he had no key to the secrets about him.
'I am only a beginner at the Game, that is sure. I could not have leapedinto safety as did the Saddhu. He knew it was darkest under the lamp. Icould not have thought to tell news under pretence of cursing . . . andhow clever was the Sahib! No matter, I saved the life of one. . . . Whereis the Kamboh gone, Holy One?' he whispered, as he took his seat in thenow crowded compartment.
'A fear gripped him,' the lama replied, with a touch of tender malice.'He saw thee change the Mahratta to a Saddhu in the twinkling of aneye, as a protection against evil. That shook him. Then he saw theSaddhu fall sheer into the hands of the polis--all the effect of thyart. Then he gathered up his son and fled; for he said that thou didstchange a quiet trader into an impudent bandier of words with the Sahibs,and he feared a like fate. Where is the Saddhu?'
'With the polis,' said Kim. . . . 'Yet I saved the Kamboh's child.'
The lama snuffed blandly.
'Ah, chela, see how thou art overtaken! Thou didst cure the Kamboh'schild solely to acquire merit. But thou didst put a spell on theMahratta with prideful workings--I watched thee--and with side-longglances to bewilder an old old man and a foolish farmer: whence calamityand suspicion.'
Kim controlled himself with an effort beyond his years. Not more thanany other youngster did he like to eat dirt or to be misjudged, but hesaw himself in a cleft stick. The train rolled out of Delhi into thenight.
'It is true,' he murmured. 'Where I have offended thee I have donewrong.'
'It is more, chela. Thou hast loosed an Act upon the world, and as astone thrown into a pool so spread the consequences thou canst not tellhow far.'
This ignorance was well both for Kim's vanity and for the lama's peaceof mind, when we think that there was then being handed in at Simla acode-wire reporting the arrival of E.23 at Delhi, and, more important,the whereabouts of a letter he had been commissioned to--abstract.Incidentally, an over-zealous policeman had arrested, on charge ofmurder done in a far southern State, a horribly indignant Ajmircotton-broker, who was explaining himself to a Mr. Strickland on Delhiplatform, while E.23 was paddling through by-ways into the locked heartof Delhi city. In two hours several telegrams had reached the angryminister of a southern State reporting that all trace of a somewhatbruised Mahratta had been lost; and by the time the leisurely trainhalted at Saharunpore the last ripple of the stone Kim had helped toheave was lapping against the steps of a mosque in far-away Roum--whereit disturbed a pious man at prayers.
The lama made his in ample form near the dewy bougainvillea-trellis nearthe platform, cheered by the clear sunshine and the presence of hisdisciple. 'We will put these things behind us,' he said, indicating thebrazen engine and the gleaming track. 'The jolting of thete-rain--though a wonderful thing--has turned my bones to water. We willuse clean air henceforward.'
'Let us go to the Kulu woman's house,' said Kim, and stepped forthcheerily under the bundles. Early morning Saharunpore-way is clean andwell scented. He thought of the other mornings at St. Xavier's, and ittopped his already thri
ce-heaped contentment.
'Where is this new haste born from? Wise men do not run about likechickens in the sun. We have come hundreds upon hundreds of kos already,and, till now, I have scarcely been alone with thee an instant. Howcanst thou receive instruction all jostled of crowds? How can I, whelmedby a flux of talk, meditate upon the Way?'
'Her tongue grows no shorter with the years, then?' The disciple smiled.
'Nor her desire for charms. I remember once when I spoke of the Wheel ofLife'--the lama fumbled in his bosom for his latest copy--'she was onlycurious about the devils that besiege children. She shall acquire meritby entertaining us--in a little while--at an after-occasion--softly,softly. Now we will wander loose-foot, waiting upon the Chain of Things.The Search is sure.'
So they travelled very easily across and among the broad bloomfulfruit-gardens--by way of Aminabad, Sahaigunge, Akrola of the Ford, andlittle Phulesa--the line of the Sewaliks always to the north, and behindthem again the snows. After long, sweet sleep under the dry stars camethe lordly, leisurely passage through a waking village--begging-bowlheld forth in silence, but eyes roving in defiance of the Law from sky'sedge to sky's edge. Then would Kim return soft-footed through the softdust to his master under the shadow of a mango tree or the thinner shadeof a white Doon siris, to eat and drink at ease. At mid-day, after talkand a little wayfaring, they slept; meeting the world refreshed when theair was cooler. Night found them adventuring into new territory--somechosen village spied three hours before across the fat land, and muchdiscussed upon the road.
There they told their tale,--a new one each evening so far as Kim wasconcerned,--and there were they made welcome, either by priest orheadman, after the custom of the kindly East.
When the shadows shortened and the lama leaned more heavily upon Kim,there was always the Wheel of Life to draw forth, to hold flat underwiped stones, and with a long straw to expound cycle by cycle. Here satthe Gods on high--and they were dreams of dreams. Here was our Heavenand the world of the demi-Gods--horsemen fighting among the hills. Herewere the agonies done upon the beasts, souls ascending or descendingthe ladder and therefore not to be interfered with. Here were the Hells,hot and cold, and the abodes of tormented ghosts. Let the chela studythe troubles that come from over-eating--bloated stomach and burningbowels. Obediently then, with bowed head and brown finger alert tofollow the pointer, did the chela study; but when they came to the HumanWorld, busy and profitless, that is just above the Hells, his mind wasdistracted; for by the roadside trundled the very Wheel itself, eating,drinking, trading, marrying, and quarrelling--all warmly alive. Oftenthe lama made the living pictures the matter of his text, bidding,Kim--too ready--note how the flesh takes a thousand thousand shapes,desirable or detestable as men reckon; but in truth of no account eitherway; and how the stupid spirit, bond-slave to the Hog, the Dove, and theSerpent--lusting after betel-nut, a new yoke of oxen, women, or thefavour of kings--is bound to follow the body through all the Heavens andall the Hells, and strictly round again. Sometimes a woman or a poorman, watching the ritual--it was nothing less--when the great yellowchart was unfolded, would throw a few flowers or a handful of cowriesupon its edge. It sufficed these humble ones that they had met a HolyOne who might be moved to remember them in his prayers.
'Cure them if they are sick,' said the lama, when Kim's sportinginstincts woke. 'Cure them if they have fever, but by no means workcharms. Remember what befell the Mahratta.'
'Then all Doing is evil?' Kim replied, lying out under a big tree at thefork of the Doon road, watching the little ants run over his hand.
'To abstain from action is well--except to acquire merit.'
'At the Gates of Learning we were taught that to abstain from action wasunbefitting a Sahib. And I am a Sahib.'
'Friend of all the World,'--the lama looked directly at Kim,--'I am anold man--pleased with shows as are children. To those who follow the Waythere is neither black nor white, Hind nor Bhotiyal. We be all soulsseeking escape. No matter what thy wisdom learned among Sahibs, when wecome to my River thou wilt be freed from all illusion--at my side. Hai!my bones ache for that River, as they ached in the te-rain; but myspirit sits above my bones, waiting. The Search is sure!'
'I am answered. Is it permitted to ask a question?'
The lama inclined his stately head.
'I ate thy bread for three years--as thou knowest. Holy One, whencecame--?'
'There is much wealth, as men count it, in Bhotiyal,' the lama returnedwith composure. 'In my own place I have the illusion of honour. I askfor that I need. I am not concerned with the account. That is for mymonastery. Ai! The black high seats in the monastery, and the novicesall in order!'
And he told stories, tracing with a finger in the dust, of the immenseand sumptuous ritual of avalanche-guarded cathedrals; of processions anddevil-dances; of the changing of monks and nuns into swine; of holycities fifteen thousand feet in the air; of intrigue between monasteryand monastery; of voices among the hills, and of that mysterious miragethat dances on dry snow. He spoke even of Lhassa and of the Dalai Lama,whom he had seen and adored.
Each long, perfect day rose behind Kim for a barrier to cut him off fromhis race and his mother-tongue. He slipped back to thinking and dreamingin the vernacular, and mechanically followed the lama's ceremonialobservances at eating, drinking, and the like. The old man's mind turnedmore and more to his monastery as his eyes turned to the steadfastsnows. His River troubled him nothing. Now and again, indeed, he wouldgaze long and long at a tuft or a twig, expecting, he said, the earth tocleave and deliver its blessing; but he was content to be with hisdisciple, at ease in the temperate wind that comes down from the Doon.This was not Ceylon, nor Buddh Gaya, nor Bombay, nor some grass-tangledruins that he seemed to have stumbled upon two years ago. He spoke ofthose places as a scholar removed from vanity, as a Seeker walking inhumility, as an old man, wise and temperate, illumining knowledge withbrilliant insight. Bit by bit, disconnectedly, each tale called up bysome wayside thing, he spoke of all his wanderings up and down Hind;till Kim, who had loved him without reason, now loved him for fifty goodreasons. So they enjoyed themselves in high felicity, abstaining, as theRule demands, from evil words, covetous desires; not over-eating, notlying on high beds, nor wearing rich clothes. Their stomachs told themthe time, and the people brought them their food, as the saying is. Theywere lords of the villages of Aminabad, Sahaigunge, Akrola of the Ford,and little Phulesa, where Kim gave the soulless woman a blessing.
But news travels fast in India, and too soon shuffled across thecrop-land, bearing a basket of fruits with a box of Cabul grapes andgilt oranges, a white-whiskered servitor--a lean, dry Oorya--beggingthem to bring the honour of their presence to his mistress, distressedin her mind that the lama had neglected her so long.
'Now do I remember'--the lama spoke as though it were a wholly newproposition. 'She is virtuous, but an inordinate talker.'
Kim was sitting on the edge of a cow's manger, telling stories to avillage smith's children.
'She will only ask for another son for her daughter. I have notforgotten her,' he said. 'Let her acquire merit. Send word that we willcome.'
They covered eleven miles through the fields in two days, and wereoverwhelmed with attentions at the end; for the old lady held a finetradition of hospitality; to which she forced her son-in-law, who wasunder the thumb of his women-folk and bought peace by borrowing of themoney-lender. Age had not weakened her tongue or her memory, and from adiscreetly barred upper window, in the hearing of not less than a dozenservants, she paid Kim compliments that would have flung Europeanaudiences into unclean dismay.
'But thou art still the shameless beggar-brat of the parao,' sheshrilled. 'I have not forgotten thee. Wash ye and eat. The father of mydaughter's son is gone away awhile. So we poor women are dumb anduseless.'
For proof, she harangued the entire household unsparingly till food anddrink were brought; and in the evening--the smoke-scented evening,copper-dun and turquoise across the fields--it p
leased her to order herpalanquin to be set down in the untidy forecourt by smoky torch-light;and there, behind not too closely drawn curtains, she gossiped.
'Had the Holy One come alone, I should have received him otherwise; butwith this rogue, who can be too careful?'
'Maharanee,' said Kim, choosing as always the amplest title, 'is it myfault that none other than a Sahib--a polis-sahib--called the Maharaneewhose face he--'
'Chitt! That was on the pilgrimage. When we travel--thou knowest theproverb.'
'Called the Maharanee a Breaker of Hearts and a Dispenser of Delights?'
'To remember that! It was true. So he did. That was in the time of thebloom of my beauty.' She chuckled like a contented parrot above thesugar lump. 'Now tell me of thy goings and comings--as much as may bewithout shame. How many maids, and whose wives, hang upon thy eyelashes?Ye hail from Benares? I would have gone there again this year, but mydaughter--we have only two sons. Phaii! Such is the effect of these lowplains. Now in Kulu men are elephants. But I would ask thy HolyOne--stand aside, rogue--a charm against most lamentable windy colicsthat in mango-time overtake my daughter's eldest. Two years back he gaveme a powerful spell.'
'Oh, Holy One!' said Kim, bubbling with mirth at the lama's rueful face.
'It is true. I gave her one against wind.'
'Teeth--teeth--teeth,' snapped the old woman.
'Cure them when they are sick,' Kim quoted relishingly, 'but by no meanswork charms. Remember what befell the Mahratta.'
'That was two Rains ago; she wearied me with her continual importunity.'The lama groaned as the Unjust Judge had groaned before him. 'Thus itcomes--take note, my chela--that even those who would follow the Wayare thrust aside by idle women. Three days through, when the child wassick, she talked to me.'
'Arre! and to whom else should I talk? The boy's mother knew nothing,and the father--in the nights of the cold weather it was--"Pray to theGods," said he, forsooth, and turning over, snored!'
'I gave her the charm. What is an old man to do?'
'"To abstain from action is well--except when we acquire merit."'
'Ah, chela, if thou desertest me, I am all alone.'
'He found his milk-teeth easily at any rate,' said the old lady. 'Butall priests are alike.'
Kim coughed severely. Being young, he did not approve of her flippancy.'To importune the wise out of season is to invite calamity.'
'There is a talking mynah'--the thrust came back with thewell-remembered snap of the jewelled forefinger--'over the stables whichhas picked up the very tone of the family-priest. Maybe I forget honourto my guests, but if ye had seen him double his fists into his belly,which was like a half-grown gourd, and cry: "Here is the pain!" ye wouldforgive. I am half minded to take the hakim's medicine. He sells itcheap, and certainly it makes him fat as Shiv's own bull. He does notdeny remedies, but I doubted for the child because of the inauspiciouscolour of the bottles.'
The lama, under cover of the monologue, had faded out into the darknesstowards the room prepared.
'Thou hast angered him, belike,' said Kim.
'Not he. He is wearied, and I forgot, being a grandmother. (None but agrandmother should ever oversee a child. Mothers are only fit forbearing.) To-morrow, when he sees how my daughter's son is grown, hewill write the charm. Then, too, he can judge of the new hakim'sdrugs.'
'Who is the hakim, Maharanee?'
'A wanderer, as thou art, but a most sober Bengali from Dacca--a masterof medicine. He relieved me of an oppression after meat by means of asmall pill that wrought like a devil unchained. He travels about now,vending preparations of great value. He has even papers, printed inAngrezi, telling what things he has done for weak-backed men and slackwomen. He has been here four days; but hearing ye were coming (hakimsand priests are snake and tiger the world over) he has, as I take it,gone to cover.'
While she drew breath after this volley, the ancient servant, sittingunrebuked on the edge of the torch-light, muttered: 'This house is acattle-pound, as it were, for all charlatans and--priests. Let the boystop eating mangoes . . . but who can argue with a grandmother?' Heraised his voice respectfully: 'Sahiba, the hakim sleeps after his meat.He is in the quarters behind the dovecot.'
Kim bristled like an expectant terrier. To outface and down-talk aCalcutta-taught Bengali, a voluble Dacca drug-vendor, would be a goodgame. It was not seemly that the lama, and incidentally himself, shouldbe thrown aside for such an one. He knew those curious bastard Englishadvertisements at the backs of native newspapers. St. Xavier's boyssometimes brought them in by stealth to snigger over among their mates;for the language of the grateful patient recounting his symptoms is mostsimple and revealing. The Oorya, not unanxious to play off one parasiteagainst the other, slunk away towards the dovecot.
'Yes,' said Kim, with measured scorn. 'Their stock-in-trade is a littlecoloured water and a very great shamelessness. Their prey arebroken-down kings and overfed Bengalis. Their profit is in children--whoare not born.'
The old lady chuckled. 'Do not be envious. Charms are better, eh? Inever gainsaid it. See that thy Holy One writes me a good amulet by themorning.'
'None but the ignorant deny'--a thick, heavy voice boomed through thedarkness, as a figure came to rest squatting--'None but the ignorantdeny the value of charms. None but the ignorant deny the value ofmedicines.'
'A rat found a piece of turmeric. Said he: "I will open a grocer'sshop,"' Kim retorted.
Battle was fairly joined now, and they heard the old lady stiffen toattention.
'The priest's son knows the names of his nurse and three Gods. Says he:"Hear me, or I will curse you by the three million Great Ones."'Decidedly this invisible had an arrow or two in his quiver. He went on:'I am but a teacher of the alphabet. I have learned all the wisdom ofthe Sahibs.'
'The Sahibs never grow old. They dance and they play like children whenthey are grandfathers. A strong-backed breed,' piped the voice insidethe palanquin.
'I have, too, our drugs which loosen humours of the head in hot andangry men. Sina well compounded when the moon stands in the properHouse; yellow earths I have--arplan from China that makes a man to renewhis youth and astonish his household; saffron from Kashmir, and the bestsalep of Cabul. Many people have died before--'
'That I surely believe,' said Kim.
'They knew the value of my drugs. I do not give my sick the mere ink inwhich a charm is written, but hot and rending drugs which descend andwrestle with the evil.'
'Very mightily they do so,' sighed the old lady.
The voice launched into an immense tale of misfortune and bankruptcy,studded with plentiful petitions to the Government. 'But for my fate,which overrules all, I had been now in Government employ. I bear adegree from the great school at Calcutta--whither, maybe, the son ofthis house shall go.'
'He shall indeed. If our neighbour's brat can in a few years be made anF. A.' (First Arts--she used the English word, of which she had heard sooften), 'how much more shall children clever as some that I know bearaway prizes at rich Calcutta.'
'Never,' said the voice, 'have I seen such a child! Born in anauspicious hour, and--but for that colic which, alas! turning into blackcholers, may carry him off like a pigeon--destined to many years, he isenviable.'
'Hai mai!' said the old lady. 'To praise children is inauspicious, or Icould listen to this talk. But the back of the house is unguarded, andeven in this soft air men think themselves to be men and women weknow. . . . The child's father is away too, and I must be chowkedar(watchman) in my old age. Up! Up! Take up the palanquin. Let the hakimand the young priest settle between them whether charms or medicine mostavail. Ho! worthless people, fetch tobacco for the guests, and--roundthe homestead go I!'
The palanquin reeled off, followed by straggling torches and a horde ofdogs. Twenty villages knew the Sahiba--her failings, her tongue, andher large charity. Twenty villages cheated her after immemorial custom,but no man would have stolen or robbed within her jurisdiction for anygift under Heaven. None the le
ss, she made great parade of her formalinspections, the riot of which could be heard half-way to Mussoorie.
Kim relaxed, as one augur must when he meets another. The hakim, stillsquatting, slid over his hookah with a friendly foot, and Kim pulled atthe good weed. The hangers-on expected grave professional debate, andperhaps a little free doctoring.
'To discuss medicine before the ignorant is of one piece with teachingthe peacock to sing,' said the hakim.
'True courtesy,' Kim echoed, 'is very often inattention.'
These, be it understood, were company-manners, designed to impress.
'Hi! I have an ulcer on my leg,' cried a scullion. 'Look at it!'
'Get hence! Remove!' said the hakim. 'Is it the habit of the place topester honoured guests? Ye crowd in like buffaloes.'
'If the Sahiba knew--' Kim began.
'Ai! Ai! Come away. They are meat for our mistress. When her youngShaitan's colics are cured perhaps we poor people may be suffered to--'
'The mistress fed thy wife when thou wast in jail for breaking themoney-lender's head. Who speaks against her?' The old servitor curledhis white moustaches savagely in the young moonlight. 'I am responsiblefor the honour of this house. Go!' and he drove the underlings beforehim.
Said the hakim, hardly more than shaping the words with his lips: 'Howdo you do, Mr. O'Hara? I am jolly glad to see you again.'
Kim's hand clenched about the pipe-stem. Anywhere on the open road,perhaps, he would not have been astonished; but here, in this quietbackwater of life, he was not prepared for Hurree Babu. It annoyed him,too, that he had been hoodwinked.
'Ah ha! I told you at Lucknow--resurgam--I shall rise again and youshall not know me. How much did you bet--eh?'
He chewed leisurely upon a few cardamom seeds, but he breathed uneasily.
'But why come here, Babuji?'
'Ah! Thatt is the question, as Shakespeare hath said. I come tocongratulate you on your extraordinary effeecient performance at Delhi.Oah! I tell you we are all proud of you. It was verree neat and handy.Our mutual friend, he is old friend of mine. He has been in somedam-tight places. Now he will be in some more. He told me; I tell Mr.Lurgan; and he is pleased you graduate so nicely. All the Department ispleased.'
For the first time in his life, Kim thrilled to the clean pride (it canbe a deadly pitfall, none the less) of Departmental praise--ensnaringpraise from an equal of work appreciated by fellow-workers. Earth hasnothing on the same plane to compare with it. But, cried the Oriental inhim, Babus do not travel far to retail compliments.
'Tell thy tale, Babu,' he said authoritatively.
'Oah, it is nothing. Onlee I was at Simla when the wire came in aboutwhat our mutual friend said he had hidden, and old Creighton--' Helooked to see how Kim would take this piece of audacity.
'The Colonel Sahib,' the boy from St. Xavier's corrected.
'Of course. He found me at a loose string, and I had to go down toChitor to find that beastly letter. I do not like the South--too muchrailway travel; but I drew good travelling allowance. Ha! Ha! I meet ourmutual at Delhi on the way back. He lies quiett just now, and saysSaddhu-disguise suits him to the ground. Well, there I hear what youhave done so well, so quickly, upon the instantaneous spur of themoment. I tell our mutual friend you take the bally bun, by Jove! It wassplendid. I come to tell you so.'
'Umm!'
The frogs were busy in the ditches, and the moon slid to her setting.Some happy servant had gone out to commune with the night and to beatupon a drum Kim's next sentence was in the vernacular.
'How didst thou follow us?'
'Oah. Thatt was nothing. I know from our mutual friend you go toSaharunpore. So I come on. Red lamas are not inconspicuous persons. Ibuy myself my drug-box, and I am very good doctor really. I go to Akrolaby the Ford, and hear all about you, and I talk here and talk there. Allthe common people know what you do. I know when the hospitable old ladysent the dooli. They have great recollections of the old lama's visitshere. I know old ladies cannot keep their hands from medicines. So I ama doctor, and--you hear my talk? I think it is verree good. My word,Mister O'Hara, they know about you and the lama for fifty miles--thecommon people. So I come. Do you mind?'
'Babuji,' said Kim, looking up at the broad, grinning face, 'I am aSahib.'
'My dear Mister O'Hara--'
'And I hope to play the Great Game.'
'You are subordinate to me departmentally at present.'
'Then why talk like an ape up in a tree? Men do not come after one fromSimla and change their dress, for the sake of a few sweet words. I amnot a child. Talk Hindi and let us get to the yolk of the egg. Thou arthere--speaking not one word of truth in ten. Why art thou here? Give astraight answer.'
'That is so verree disconcerting of the European, Mister O'Hara. Youshould know a heap better at your time of life.'
'But I want to know,' said Kim, laughing. 'If it is the Game, I mayhelp. How can I do anything if you bukh (babble) all round the shop.'
Hurree Babu reached for the pipe, and sucked it till it guggled again.
'Now I will speak vernacular. You sit tight, Mister O'Hara. . . . Itconcerns the pedigree of a white stallion.'
'Still? That was finished long ago.'
'When every one is dead the Great Game is finished. Not before. Listento me till the end. There were Five Kings who prepared a sudden warthree years ago, when thou wast given the stallion's pedigree by MahbubAli. Upon them, because of that news, and ere they were ready, fell ourArmy.'
'Ay--eight thousand men with guns. I remember that night.'
'But the war was not pushed. That is the Government custom. The troopswere recalled because the Government believed the Five Kings were cowed;and it is not cheap to feed men among the high Passes. Hilas andBunar--Rajahs with guns--undertook for a price to guard the passesagainst all coming from the North. They protested both fear andfriendship.' He broke off with a giggle into English: 'Of course, I tellyou this unoffeecially to elucidate political situation, Mister O'Hara.Offeecially, I am debarred from criticising any action of superior. NowI go on.--This pleased the Government, anxious to avoid expense, and abond was made for so many rupees a month that Hilas and Bunar shouldguard the Passes as soon as the State's troops were withdrawn. At thattime--it was after we two met--I, who had been selling tea in Leh,became a clerk of accounts in the Army. When the troops were withdrawn,I was left behind to pay the coolies who made new roads in the Hills.This road-making was part of the bond between Bunar, Hilas, and theGovernment.'
'So; and then?'
'I tell you, it was jolly beastly cold up there too, after summer,' saidHurree Babu confidentially. 'I was afraid these Bunar men would cut mythroat every night for thee pay-chest. My native sepoy-guard, theylaughed at me! By Jove! I was such a fearful man! Nevar mind thatt. I goon colloquially. . . . I send word many times that these two Kings weresold to the North; and Mahbub Ali, who was yet farther north, amplyconfirmed it. Nothing was done. Only my feet were frozen, and a toedropped off. I sent word that the roads for which I was paying money tothe diggers were being made for the feet of strangers and enemies.'
'For?'
'For the Russians. The thing was an open jest among the coolies. Then Iwas called down to tell what I knew by speech of tongue. Mahbub cameSouth too. See the end! Over the Passes this year aftersnow-melting'--he shivered afresh--'come two strangers under cover ofshooting wild goats. They bear guns, but they bear also chains andlevels and compasses.'
'Oho! The thing gets clearer.'
'They are well received by Hilas and Bunar. They make great promises;they speak as the mouthpiece of a Kaisar with gifts. Up the valleys,down the valleys go they, saying, "Here is a place to build abreastwork; here can ye pitch a fort. Here can ye hold the road againstan army"--the very roads for which I paid out the rupees monthly. TheGovernment knows, but does nothing. The three other Kings, who were notpaid for guarding the passes, tell them by runner of the bad faith ofBunar and Hilas. When all the evil is done, look you--when th
ese twostrangers with the levels and the compasses make the Five Kings tobelieve that a great army will sweep the Passes to-morrow or the nextday--Hill-people are all fools--comes the order to me, Hurree Babu, "GoNorth and see what those strangers do." I say to Creighton Sahib, "Thisis not a lawsuit, that we go about to collect evidence."' Hurreereturned to his English with a jerk: '"By Jove," I said, "why the doocedo you not issue demi-offeecial orders to some brave man to poison them,for an example? It is, if you permit the observation, most reprehensiblelaxity on your part." And Colonel Creighton, he laughed at me! It is allyour beastly English pride. You think no one dare conspire! That is alltommy-rott.'
Kim smoked slowly, revolving the business, so far as he understood it,in his quick mind.
'Then thou goest forth to follow the strangers?'
'No; to meet them. They are coming in to Simla to send down their hornsand heads to be dressed at Calcutta. They are exclusively sportinggentlemen, and they are allowed special faceelities by the Government.Of course, we always do that. It is our British pride.'
'Then what is to fear from them?'
'By Jove, they are not black people. I can do all sorts of things withblack people, of course. They are Russians, and highly unscrupulouspeople. I--I do not want to consort with them without a witness.'
'Will they kill thee?'
'Oah, thatt is nothing. I am good enough Herbert Spencerian, I trust, tomeet little thing like death, which is all in my fate, you know.But--but they may beat me.'
'Why?'
Hurree Babu snapped his fingers with irritation. 'Of course I shallaffeeliate myself to their camp in supernumerary capacity as perhapsinterpreter, or person mentally impotent and hungree, or some suchthing. And then I must pick up what I can, I suppose. That is as easyfor me as playing Mister Doctor to the old lady. Onlee--onlee--you see,Mister O'Hara, I am unfortunately Asiatic, which is serious detriment insome respects. And all-so I am Bengali--a fearful man.'
'God made the Hare and the Bengali. What shame?' said Kim, quoting theproverb.
'It was process of Evolution, I think, from Primal Necessity, but thefact remains in all its cui bono. I am, oh, awfully fearful!--I rememberonce they wanted to cut off my head on the road to Lhassa. (No, I havenever reached to Lhassa.) I sat down and cried, Mister O'Hara,anticipating Chinese tortures. I do not suppose these two gentlemen willtorture me, but I like to provide for possible contingency with Europeanassistance in emergency.' He coughed and spat out his cardamoms. 'It ispurely unoffeecial indent, to which you can say, "No, Babu." If you haveno pressing engagement with your old man--perhaps you might divert him;perhaps I can seduce his fancies--I should like you to keep inDepartmental touch with me till I find those sporting coves. I havegreat opeenion of you since I met my friend at Delhi. And also I willembody your name in my offeecial report when matter is finallyadjudicated. It will be a great feather in your cap. That is why I comereally.'
'Humph! The end of the tale, I think, is true; but what of thefore-part?'
'About the Five Kings? Oah! there is ever so much truth in it. A lotsmore than you would suppose,' said Hurree earnestly. 'You come--eh? I gofrom here straight into the Doon. It is verree verdant and paintedmeads. I shall go to Mussoorie--to good old Mussoorie Pahar, as thegentlemen and ladies say. Then by Rampur into Chini. That is the onlyway they can come. I do not like waiting in the cold, but we must waitfor them. I want to walk with them to Simla. You see, one Russian is aFrenchman, and I know my French pretty well. I have friends inChandernagore.'
'He would certainly rejoice to see the Hills again,' said Kimmeditatively. 'All his speech these ten days past has been of littleelse. If we go together--'
'Oah! We can be quite strangers on the road, if your lama prefers. Ishall just be four or five miles ahead. There is no hurry forHurree--that is an Europe pun, ha! ha!--and you come after. There isplenty of time; they will plot and survey and map of course. I shall goto-morrow, and you the next day, if you choose. Eh? You go think on ittill morning. By Jove, it is near morning now.' He yawned ponderously,and with never a civil word lumbered off to his sleeping-place. But Kimslept little, and his thoughts ran in Hindustanee:
'Well is the Game called great! I was four days a scullion at Quetta,waiting on the wife of the man whose book I stole. And that was part ofthe Great Game! From the South--God knows how far--came up the Mahratta,playing the Great Game in fear of his life. Now I shall go far and farinto the North playing the Great Game. Truly, it runs like a shuttlethroughout all Hind. And my share and my joy'--he smiled to thedarkness--'I owe to the lama here. Also to Mahbub Ali--also to CreightonSahib, but chiefly to the Holy One. He is right--a great and a wonderfulworld--and I am Kim--Kim--Kim--alone--one person--in the middle of itall. But I will see these strangers with their levels and chains . . .'
'What was the upshot of last night's babble?' said the lama, after hisorisons.
'There came a strolling seller of drugs--a hanger-on of the Sahiba's.Him I abolished by arguments and prayers, proving that our charms areworthier than his coloured waters.'
'Alas! my charms. Is the virtuous woman still bent upon a new one?'
'Very strictly.'
'Then it must be written, or she will deafen me with her clamour.' Hefumbled at his pencase.
'In the Plains,' said Kim, 'are always too many people. In the Hills, asI understand, there are fewer.'
'Oh! the Hills, and the snow upon the Hills.' The lama tore off a tinysquare of paper fit to go in an amulet. 'But what dost thou know of theHills?'
'They are very close.' Kim thrust open the door and looked at the long,peaceful line of the Himalayas flushed in morning-gold. 'Except in thedress of a Sahib, I have never set foot among them.'
The lama snuffed the wind wistfully.
'If we go north,'--Kim put the question to the waking sunrise,--'wouldnot much mid-day heat be avoided by walking among the lower hills atleast? . . . Is the charm made, Holy One?'
'I have written the names of seven silly devils--not one of whom isworth a grain of dust in the eye. Thus do foolish women drag us from theWay!'
Hurree Babu come out from behind the dovecot, washing his teeth withostentatious ritual. Full-fleshed, heavy-haunched, bull-necked, anddeep-voiced, he did not look like 'a fearful man.' Kim signed almostimperceptibly that matters were in good train, and when the morningtoilet was over Hurree Babu, in flowery speech, came to do honour to thelama. They ate, of course, apart, and afterwards the old lady, more orless veiled behind a window, returned to the vital business ofgreen-mango colics in the young. The lama's knowledge of medicine was ofcourse sympathetic only. He believed that the dung of a black horse,mixed with sulphur, and carried in a snake-skin, was a sound remedy forcholera; but the symbolism interested him far more than the science.Hurree Babu deferred to these views with enchanting politeness, so thatthe lama called him a courteous physician. Hurree Babu replied that hewas no more than an inexpert dabbler in the mysteries; but at least--hethanked the Gods therefor--he knew when he sat in the presence of amaster. He himself had been taught by the Sahibs, who do not considerexpense, in the lordly halls of Calcutta; but, as he was ever first toacknowledge, there lay a wisdom behind earthly wisdom--the high andlonely lore of meditation. Kim looked on with envy. The Hurree Babu ofhis knowledge--oily, effusive, and nervous--was gone; gone too was thebrazen drug-vendor of overnight. There remained--polished, polite,attentive--a sober, learned son of experience and adversity, gatheringwisdom from the lama's lips. The old lady confided to Kim that theserare levels were beyond her. She liked charms with plenty of ink thatone could wash off in water, swallow, and be done with. Else what wasthe use of the Gods? She liked men and women, and she spoke of them--ofkinglets she had known in the past; of her own youth and beauty; of thedepredations of leopards and the eccentricities of love Asiatic; of theincidence of taxation, rack-renting, funeral ceremonies, her son-in-law(this by allusion, easy to be followed), the care of the young, and theage's lack of decency. And Kim, as interested in the life of th
is worldas she soon to leave it, squatted with his feet under the hem of hisrobe, drinking all in, while the lama demolished one after another everytheory of body-curing put forward by Hurree Babu.
At noon the Babu strapped up his brass-bound drug-box, took hispatent-leather shoes of ceremony in one hand, a gay blue and whiteumbrella in the other, and set off northwards to the Doon, where, hesaid, he was in demand among the lesser kings of those parts.
'We will go in the cool of the evening, chela,' said the lama. 'Thatdoctor, learned in physic and courtesy, affirms that the people amongthese lower hills are devout, generous, and much in need of a teacher.In a very short time--so says the hakim--we come to cool air and thesmell of pines.'
'Ye go to the Hills. And by Kulu-road? Oh, thrice happy!' shrilled theold lady. 'But that I am a little pressed with the care of the homesteadI would take palanquin . . . but that would be shameless, and myreputation would be cracked. Ho! Ho! I know the road--every march of theroad I know. Ye will find charity throughout--it is not denied to thewell-looking. I will give orders for provision. A servant to set youforth upon your journey? No. . . . Then I will at least cook ye goodfood.'
'What a woman is the Sahiba!' said the white-bearded Oorya, when atumult rose by the kitchen quarters. 'She has never forgotten a friend:she has never forgotten an enemy in all her years. And hercookery--wah!' He rubbed his slim stomach.
There were cakes, there were sweetmeats, there was cold fowl stewed torags with rice and prunes--enough to burden Kim like a mule.
'I am old and useless,' she said. 'None now love me--and nonerespect--but there are few to compare with me when I call on the Godsand squat to my cooking-pots. Come again, O people of good will! HolyOne and disciple, come again! The room is always prepared; the welcomeis always ready. . . . See the women do not follow thy chela too openly.I know the women of Kulu. Take heed, chela, lest he run away when hesmells his Hills again. . . . Hai! Do not tilt the rice-bag upsidedown. . . . Bless the household, Holy One, and forgive thy servant herstupidities.'
She wiped her red old eyes on a corner of her veil, and cluckedthroatily.
'Women talk,' said the lama at last, 'but that is a woman's infirmity. Igave her a charm. She is upon the Wheel and wholly given over to theshows of this life, but none the less, chela, she is virtuous, kindly,hospitable--of a whole and zealous heart. Who shall say she does notacquire merit?'
'Not I, Holy One,' said Kim, reslinging the bountiful provision on hisshoulders. 'In my mind--behind my eyes--I have tried to picture such anone altogether freed from the Wheel--desiring nothing, causingnothing--a nun, as it were.'
'And, O imp?' The lama almost laughed aloud.
'I cannot make the picture.'
'Nor I. But there are many, many millions of lives before her. She willget wisdom a little, it may be, in each one.'
'And will she forget how to make stews with saffron upon that road?'
'Thy mind is set on things unworthy. But she has skill. I am refreshedall over. When we reach the lower hills I shall be yet stronger. Thehakim spoke truly to me this morn when he said a breath from the snowsblows away twenty years from the life of a man. We will go, up into theHills--the high hills--up to the sound of snow-water and the sound ofthe trees--for a little while. The hakim said that at any time we mayreturn to the Plains, for we do no more than skirt the pleasant places.The hakim is full of learning; but he is in no way proud. I spoke tohim--when thou wast talking to the Sahiba--of a certain dizziness thatlays hold upon the back of my neck in the night, and he said it rosefrom excessive heat--to be cured by cool air. Upon consideration, Imarvelled that I had not thought of such a simple remedy.'
'Didst thou tell him of thy Search?' said Kim, a little jealously. Hepreferred to sway the lama by his own speech--not through the wiles ofHurree Babu.
'Assuredly. I told him of my dream, and of the manner by which I hadacquired merit by causing thee to be taught wisdom.'
'Thou didst not say I was a Sahib?'
'What need? I have told thee many times we be but two souls seekingescape. He said--and he is just herein--that the River of Healing willbreak forth even as I dreamed--at my feet if need be. Having found theWay, seest thou, that shall free me from the Wheel, need I trouble tofind a way about the mere fields of earth--which are illusion? That weresenseless. I have my dreams, night upon night repeated; I have the"Jataka"; and I have thee, Friend of all the World. It was written inthy horoscope that a Red Bull on a green field--I have notforgotten--should bring thee to honour. Who but I saw that prophecyaccomplished? Indeed, I was the instrument. Thou shalt find me my River,being in return the instrument. The Search is sure!'
He set his ivory-yellow face, serene and untroubled, towards thebeckoning Hills; his shadow shouldering far before him in the dust.