CHAPTER XV
I'd not give room for an Emperor-- I'd hold my road for a King. To the Triple Crown I'd not bow down-- But this is a different thing! I'll not fight with the Powers of Air-- Sentries pass him through! Drawbridge let fall--He's the Lord of us all-- The Dreamer whose dream came true! 'The Siege of the Fairies.'
TWO hundred miles north of Chini, on the blue shale of Ladakh, liesYankling Sahib, the merry-minded man, spy-glassing wrathfully across theridges for some sign of his pet tracker--a man from Ao-chung. But thatrenegade, with a new Mannlicher rifle and two hundred cartridges, iselsewhere, shooting musk-deer for the market, and Yankling Sahib willlearn next season how very ill he has been.
Up the valleys of Bushahr--the far-beholding eagles of the Himalayasswerve at his new blue-and-white gored umbrella--hurries a Bengali, oncefat and well-looking, now lean and weather-worn. He has received thethanks of two foreigners of distinction, piloted not unskillfully toMashobra tunnel which leads to the great and gay capital of India. Itwas not his fault that, blanketed by wet mists, he conveyed them pastthe telegraph-station and European colony of Kotgarh. It was not hisfault, but that of the Gods, of whom he discoursed so engagingly, thathe led them into the borders of Nahan, where the Rajah of that statemistook them for deserting British soldiery. Hurree Babu explained thegreatness and glory, in their own country, of his companions, till thedrowsy kinglet smiled. He explained it to every one who asked--manytimes--aloud--variously. He begged food, arranged accommodation, proveda skilful leech for an injury of the groin--such a blow as one mayreceive rolling down a rock-covered hillside in the dark--and in allthings indispensable. The reason of his friendliness did him credit.With millions of fellow-serfs, he had learned to look upon Russia as thegreat deliverer from the North. He was a fearful man. He had been afraidthat he could not save his illustrious employers from the anger of anexcited peasantry. He himself would just as lief hit a holy man as not,but. . . . He was deeply grateful and sincerely rejoiced that he haddone his 'little possible' towards bringing their venture to--barringthe lost baggage--a successful issue. He had forgotten the blows; deniedthat any blows had been dealt that unseemly first night under the pines.He asked neither pension nor retaining fee, but, if they deemed himworthy, would they write him a testimonial? It might be useful to himlater, if others, their friends, came over the Passes. He begged them toremember him in their future greatnesses, for he 'opined subtly' thathe, even he, Mohendro Lal Dutt, M. A. of Calcutta, had 'done the statesome service.'
They gave him a certificate praising his courtesy, helpfulness, andunerring skill as a guide. He put it in his waist-belt and sobbed withemotion; they had endured so many dangers together. He led them at highnoon along crowded Simla Mall to the Alliance Bank of Simla, where theywished to establish their identity. Thence he vanished like a dawn-cloudon Jakko.
Behold him, too fine drawn to sweat, too pressed to vaunt the drugs inhis little brass-bound box, ascending Shamlegh slope, a just man madeperfect. Watch him, all Babudom laid aside, smoking at noon on a cot,while a woman with turquoise-studded head-gear points south-easterlyacross the bare grass. Litters, she says, do not travel as fast assingle men, but his birds should now be in the Plains. The holy manwould not stay though Lispeth pressed him. The Babu groans heavily,girds up his huge loins, and is off again. He does not care to travelafter dusk; but his days' marches--there is none to enter them in abook--would astonish folk who mock at his race. Kindly villagers,remembering the Dacca drug-vendor of two months ago, give him shelteragainst evil spirits of the wood. He dreams of Bengali Gods, Universitytext-books of education, and the Royal Society, London, England. Nextdawn the bobbing blue-and-white umbrella goes forward.
On the edge of the Doon, Mussoorie well behind them and the Plainsspread out in golden dust before, rests a worn litter in which--all theHills know it--lies a sick lama who seeks a River for his healing.Villages have almost come to blows over the honour of bearing it, fornot only has the lama given them blessings, but his disciple goodmoney--full one-third Sahibs' prices. Twelve miles a day has the doolitravelled, as the greasy, rubbed pole-ends show, and by roads that fewSahibs use. Over the Nilang Pass in storm when the driven snow-dustfilled every fold of the impassive lama's drapery; between the blackhorns of Raieng where they heard the whistle of the wild goats throughthe clouds; pitching and strained on the shale below; hard-held betweenshoulder and clenched jaw when they rounded the hideous curves of theCut Road under Bhagirati; swinging and creaking to the steady jog-trotof the descent into the Valley of the Waters; pressed along the steamylevels of that locked valley; up, up and out again, to meet the roaringgusts off Kedarnath; set down of mid-days in the dun gloom of kindlyoak-forests; passed from village to village in dawn-chill, when evendevotees may be forgiven for swearing at impatient holy men; or bytorchlight, when the least fearful think of ghosts--the dooli hasreached her last stage. The little hill-folk sweat in the modified heatof the lower Sewaliks, and gather round the priests for their blessingand their wage.
'Ye have acquired merit,' says the lama. 'Merit greater than yourknowing. And ye will return to the Hills,' he sighs.
'Surely. The high hills as soon as may be.' The bearer rubs hisshoulder, drinks water, spits it out again, and readjusts his grasssandal. Kim--his face is drawn and tired--pays very small silver fromhis belt, heaves out the food-bag, crams an oilskin packet--they areholy writings--into his bosom, and helps the lama to his feet. The peacehas come again into the old man's eyes, and he does not look for thehills to fall down and crush him as he did that terrible night when theywere delayed by the flooded river.
The men pick up the dooli and swing out of sight between the scrubclumps.
The lama raises a hand toward the rampart of the Himalayas. 'Not withyou, O blessed among all hills, fell the Arrow of Our Lord! And nevershall I breathe your air again!'
'But thou art ten times the stronger man in this good air,' says Kim,for to his wearied soul appeal the well-cropped, kindly plains. 'Here,or hereabouts, fell the Arrow, yes. We will go very softly, perhaps akos a day, for the Search is sure. But the bag weighs heavy.'
'Ay, our Search is sure. I have come out of great temptation.'
* * * * *
It was never more than a couple of miles a day now, and Kim's shouldersbore all the weight of it--the burden of an old man, the burden of theheavy food-bag with the locked books, the load of the writings on hisheart, and the details of the daily routine. He begged in the dawn, setblankets for the lama's meditation, held the weary head on his lapthrough the noon-day heats, fanning away the flies till his wrist ached,begged again in the evenings, and rubbed the lama's feet, who rewardedhim with promise of Freedom--to-day, to-morrow, or, at furthest, thenext day.
'Never was such a chela. I doubt at times whether Ananda more faithfullynursed Our Lord. And thou art a Sahib? When I was a man--a long timeago--I forgot that. Now I look upon thee often, and every time Iremember that thou art a Sahib. It is strange.'
'Thou hast said there is neither black nor white. Why plague me withthis talk, Holy One? Let me rub the other foot. It vexes me. I am not aSahib. I am thy chela, and my head is heavy on my shoulders.'
'Patience a little! We reach Freedom together. Then thou and I, uponthe far bank of the River, will look back upon our lives as in the Hillswe saw our days' marches laid out behind us. Perhaps I was once aSahib.'
''Was never a Sahib like thee, I swear it.'
'I am certain the Keeper of the Images in the Wonder House was in pastlife a very wise abbot. But even his spectacles do not make my eyes see.There fall shadows when I would look steadily. No matter--we know thetricks of the poor stupid carcass--shadow changing to another shadow. Iam bound by the illusion of Time and Space. How far came we to-day inthe flesh?'
'Perhaps half a kos.' Three-quarters of a mile, and it was a wearymarch.
&nbs
p; 'Half a kos. Ha! I went ten thousand thousand in the spirit. How we areall lapped and swathed and swaddled in these senseless things.' Helooked at his thin blue-veined hand that found the beads so heavy.'Chela, hast thou never a wish to leave me?'
Kim thought of the oilskin packet and the books in the food-bag. If someone duly authorised would only take delivery of them the Great Gamemight play itself for aught he then cared. He was tired and hot in hishead, and a cough that came from the stomach worried him.
'No,' he said almost sternly. 'I am not a dog or a snake to bite when Ihave learned to love.'
'Thou art too tender for me.'
'Not that either. I have moved in one matter without consulting thee. Ihave sent a message to the Kulu woman by that woman who gave us thegoat's milk this morn, saying that thou wast a little feeble and wouldneed a litter. I beat myself in my mind that I did not do it when weentered the Doon. We stay in this place till the litter returns.'
'I am content. She is a woman with a heart of gold, as thou sayest, buta talker--something of a talker.'
'She will not weary thee. I have looked to that also. Holy One, my heartis very heavy for my many carelessnesses towards thee.' An hystericalcatch rose in his throat. 'I have walked thee too far; I have not pickedgood food always for thee; I have not considered the heat; I have talkedto people on the road and left thee alone. . . . I have--I have . . .Hai mai! But I love thee . . . and it is all too late. . . . I was achild. . . . Oh why was I not a man! . . .' Overborne by strain,fatigue, and the weight beyond his years, Kim broke down and sobbed atthe lama's feet.
'What a to-do is here,' said the old man gently. 'Thou hast neverstepped a hair's breadth from the Way of Obedience. Neglect me? Child, Ihave lived on thy strength as an old tree lives on the lime of a newwall. Day by day since Shamlegh down, I have stolen strength from thee.Therefore, not through any sin of thine art thou weakened. It is theBody--the silly, stupid Body--that speaks now. Not the assured Soul. Becomforted! Know at least the devils that thou fightest. They areearth-born--children of illusion. We will go to the woman from Kulu. Sheshall acquire merit in housing us, and specially in tending me. Thoushalt run free till strength returns. I had forgotten the stupid Body.If there be any blame, I bear it. But we are too close to the Gates ofDeliverance to weigh blame. I could praise thee, but what need? In alittle--in a very little--we shall sit beyond all needs.'
And so he petted and comforted Kim with wise saws and grave texts onthat little-understood beast, our Body, who, being but a delusion,insists on posing as the Soul, to the darkening of the Way, and theimmense multiplication of unnecessary devils.
'Hai! hai! Let us talk of the woman from Kulu. Think you she will askanother charm for her grandsons? When I was a young man, a very longtime ago, I was plagued with these vapours--and some others--and I wentto an abbot--a very holy man and a seeker after truth, though then Iknew it not. Sit up and listen, child of my soul! My tale was told. Saidhe to me, "Chela, know this. There are many lies in the world, and not afew liars, but there are no liars like our bodies, except it be thesensations of our bodies." Considering this I was comforted, and of hisgreat favour he suffered me to drink tea in his presence. Suffer me nowto drink tea, for I am thirsty.'
With a laugh above his tears, Kim kissed the lama's feet, and went abouttea-making.
'Thou leanest on me in the body, Holy One, but I lean on thee for someother things. Dost know it?'
'I have guessed maybe,' and the lama's eyes twinkled. 'We must changethat.'
So, when with scufflings and scrapings and a hot air of importance,paddled up nothing less than the Sahiba's pet palanquin sent twentymiles, with that same grizzled old Oorya servant in charge, and whenthey reached the disorderly order of the long white rambling housebehind Saharunpore, the lama took his own measures.
Said the Sahiba cheerily from an upper window, after compliments: 'Whatis the good of an old woman's advice to an old man? I told thee--I toldthee, Holy One, to keep an eye upon the chela. How didst thou do it?Never answer me! I know. He has been running among the women. Look athis eyes--hollow and sunk--and the Betraying Line from the nose down! Hehas been sifted out! Fie! Fie! And a priest, too!'
Kim looked up over-weary to smile, shaking his head in denial.
'Do not jest,' said the lama. 'That time is done. We are here upon greatmatters. A sickness of soul took me in the Hills, and him a sickness ofthe body. Since then I have lived upon his strength--eating him.'
'Children together--young and old,' she sniffed, but forbore to make anynew jokes. 'May this present hospitality restore ye. Hold awhile and Iwill come to gossip of the high good hills.'
At evening time--her son-in-law was returned, so she did not need to goon inspection round the farm--she won to the meat of the matter,explained low-voicedly by the lama. The two old heads nodded wiselytogether. Kim had reeled to a room with a cot in it, and was dozingsoddenly. The lama had forbidden him to set blankets or get food.
'I know--I know. Who but I?' she cackled. 'We who go down to theburning-ghats clutch at the hands of those coming up from the River ofLife with full water-jars--yes, brimming water-jars. I did the boywrong. He lent thee his strength? It is true that the old eat the youngdaily. 'Stands now we must restore him.'
'Thou hast many times acquired merit--'
'My merit. What is it? Old bag of bones making curries for men who donot ask "Who cooked this?" Now if it were stored up for my grandson--'
'He that had the belly-pain?'
'To think the Holy One remembers that! I must tell his mother. It ismost singular honour! "He that had the belly-pain"--straightway the HolyOne remembered. She will be proud.'
'My chela is to me as a son to the unenlightened.'
'Say grandson, rather. Mothers have not the wisdom of our years. If achild cries they say the heavens are falling. Now a grandmother is farenough separated from the pain of bearing and the pleasure of giving thebreast to consider whether a cry is wickedness pure or the wind. Andsince thou speakest once again of wind, when last the Holy One was here,maybe I offended in pressing for charms.'
'Sister,' said the lama, using that form of address a Buddhist monk maysometimes employ towards a nun, 'if charms comfort thee--'
'They are better than ten thousand doctors.'
'I say, if they comfort thee, I who was Abbot of Suchzen will make asmany as thou mayest desire. I have never seen thy face--'
'That even the monkeys who steal our loquats count for a gain. Hee!hee!'
'But as he who sleeps there said,' he nodded at the shut door of theguest-chamber across the forecourt, 'thou hast a heart of gold. . . .And he is in the spirit my very "grandson" to me.'
'Good! I am the Holy One's cow.' This was pure Hinduism, but the lamanever heeded. 'I am old. I have borne sons in the body. Oh, once I couldplease men! Now I can cure them.' He heard her armlets tinkle as thoughshe bared arms for action. 'I will take over the boy and dose him, andstuff him, and make him all whole. Hai! hai! We old people knowsomething yet.'
Wherefore when Kim, aching in every bone, opened his eyes, and would goto the cook-house to get his master's food, he found strong coercionabout him, and a veiled old figure at the door, flanked by the grizzledmanservant, who told him precisely the very things that he was on noaccount to do.
'Thou must have? Thou shalt have nothing. What? A locked box in which tokeep holy books? Oh, that is another matter. Heavens forbid I shouldcome between a priest and his prayers! It shall be brought, and thoushalt keep the key.'
They pushed the coffer under his cot, and Kim shut away Mahbub's pistol,the oilskin packet of letters, and the locked books and diaries, with agroan of relief. For some absurd reason their weight on his shoulderswas nothing to their weight on his poor mind. His neck ached under it ofnights.
'Thine is a sickness uncommon in youth these days: since young folk havegiven up tending their betters. The remedy is sleep, and certain drugs,'said the Sahiba; and he was glad to give himself up to the blanknessthat half me
naced and half soothed him.
She brewed drinks, in some mysterious Asiatic equivalent to thestill-room--drenches that smelt pestilently and tasted worse. She stoodover Kim till they went down, and inquired exhaustively after they hadcome up. She laid a taboo upon the forecourt, and enforced it by meansof an armed man. It is true he was seventy odd, that his scabbardedsword ceased at the hilt; but he represented the authority of theSahiba, and loaded wains, chattering servants, calves, dogs, hens, andthe like, fetched a wide compass by those parts. Best of all, when thebody was cleared, she cut out from the mass of poor relations thatcrowded the back of the buildings--household dogs, we name them--acousin's widow, skilled in what Europeans, who know nothing about it,call massage. And the two of them, laying him east and west, that themysterious earth-currents which thrill the clay of our bodies might helpand not hinder, took him to pieces all one long afternoon--bone by bone,muscle by muscle, ligament by ligament, and lastly, nerve by nerve.Kneaded to irresponsible pulp, half hypnotised by the perpetual flickand readjustment of the uneasy chudders that veiled their eyes, Kim slidten thousand miles into slumber--thirty-six hours of it--sleep thatsoaked like rain after drought.
Then she fed him, and the house spun to her clamour. She caused fowls tobe slain; she sent for vegetables, and the sober, slow-thinkinggardener, nigh as old as she, sweated for it; she took spices, and milk,and onion, with little fish from the brooks--anon limes for sherbets,fat quails of the pit, then chicken-livers upon a skewer, with slicedginger between.
'I have seen something of this world,' she said over the crowded trays,'and there are but two sorts of women in it--those who take the strengthout of a man and those who put it back. Once I was that one, and now Iam this. Nay--do not play the priestling with me. Mine was but a jest.If it does not hold good now, it will when thou takest the road again.Cousin'--this to the poor relation, never wearied of extolling herpatroness's charity--'he is getting a bloom on the skin of a new-curriedhorse. Our work is like polishing jewels to be thrown to adance-girl--eh?'
Kim sat up and smiled. The terrible weakness had dropped from him likean old shoe. His tongue itched for free speech again, and but a weekback the lightest word clogged it like ashes. The pain in his neck (hemust have caught it from the lama) had gone with the heavy dengue-achesand the evil taste in the mouth. The two old women, a little, but notmuch, more careful about their veils now, clucked as merrily as the hensthat had entered pecking through the open door.
'Where is my Holy One?' he demanded.
'Hear him! Thy Holy One is well,' she snapped viciously. 'Though that isnone of his merit. Knew I a charm to make him wise, I'd sell my jewelsand buy it. To refuse good food that I cooked myself--and go roving intothe fields for two nights on an empty belly--and to tumble into a brookat the end of it--call you that holiness? Then, when he has nearlybroken what thou hast left of my heart with anxiety, he tells me that hehas acquired merit. Oh, how like are all men! No, that was not it--hetells me that he is freed from all sin. I could have told him thatbefore he wetted himself all over. He is well now--this happened a weekago--but burn me such holiness! A babe of three would do better! Do notfret thyself for the Holy One. He keeps both eyes on thee when he is notwading our brooks.'
'I do not remember to have seen him. I remember that the days and nightspassed like bars of white and black, opening and shutting. I was notsick: I was only tired.'
'A lethargy that comes by right some few score years later. But it isall done now.'
'Maharanee,' Kim began, but led by the look in her eye, changed it tothe title of plain love--'Mother, I owe my life to thee. How shall Imake thanks? Ten thousand blessings upon thy house and--'
'The house be unblessed.' (It is impossible to give exactly the oldlady's word.) 'Thank the Gods as a priest if thou wilt, but thank me ifthou carest as a son. Heavens above! Have I shifted thee and lifted theeand slapped and twisted thy ten toes to find texts flung at my head?Somewhere a mother must have borne thee to break her heart. What usedthou to her--son?'
'I had no mother, my mother,' said Kim. 'She died, they tell me, when Iwas young.'
'Hai mai! Then none can say I have robbed her of any right if--when thoutakest the road again and this house is but one of a thousand used forshelter and forgotten, after an easy-flung blessing. No matter. I needno blessings, but--but--' She stamped her foot at the poor relation:'Take up the trays to the house. What is the good of stale food in theroom, oh woman of ill-omen?'
'I ha--have borne a son in my time too, but he died,' whimpered thebowed sister-figure behind the chudder. 'Thou knowest he died! I onlywaited for the order to take away the tray.'
'It is I that am the woman of ill-omen,' cried the old lady penitently.'We that go down to the chattris (the big umbrellas above theburning-ghats where the priests take their last dues) clutch hard at thebearers of the chattis (water-jars--young folk full of the pride oflife, she meant; but the pun is clumsy). When one cannot dance in thefestival one must e'en look out of the window, and grandmothering takesall a woman's time. Thy master gives me all the charms I now desire formy daughter's eldest, by reason--is it?--that he is wholly free fromsin. The hakim is brought very low these days. He goes about poisoningmy servants for lack of their betters.'
'What hakim, mother?'
'That very Dacca man who gave me the pill which rent me in three pieces.He cast up like a strayed camel a week ago, vowing that he and thou hadbeen blood-brothers together up Kulu-way, and feigning great anxiety forthy health. He was very thin and hungry, so I gave orders to have himstuffed too--him and his anxiety!'
'I would see him if he is here.'
'He eats five times a day, and lances boils for my hinds to save himselffrom an apoplexy. He is so full of anxiety for thy health that he sticksto the cook-house door and stays himself with scraps. He will keep. Weshall never get rid of him.'
'Send him here, mother'--the twinkle returned to Kim's eye for aflash--'and I will try.'
'I'll send him, but to chase him off is an ill turn. At least he had thesense to fish the Holy One out of the brook; thus, as the Holy One didnot say, acquiring merit.'
'He is a very wise hakim. Send him, mother.'
'Priest praising priest? A miracle! If he is any friend of thine (yesquabbled at your last meeting) I'll hale him here with horse-ropesand--and give him a caste-dinner afterwards, my son. . . . Get up andsee the world! This lying abed is the mother of seventy devils . . . myson! my son!'
She trotted forth to raise a typhoon off the cook-house, and almost onher shadow rolled in the Babu, robed as to the shoulders like a Romanemperor, jowled like Titus, bareheaded, with new patent-leather shoes,in highest condition of fat, exuding joy and salutations.
'By Jove, Mister O'Hara, but I am jolly glad to see you. I will kindlyshut the door. It is a pity you are sick. Are you very sick?'
'The papers--the papers from the kilta. The maps and the murasla!' Heheld out the key impatiently; for the present need on his soul was toget rid of the loot.
'You are quite right. That is correct departmental view to take. Youhave got everything?'
'All that was handwritten in the kilta I took. The rest I threw down thehill.' He could hear the key's grate in the lock, the sticky pull of theslow-rending oilcloth, and a quick shuffling of papers. He had beenannoyed out of all reason by the knowledge that they lay below himthrough the sick idle days--a burden incommunicable. For that reason theblood tingled through his body, when Hurree, skipping elephantinely,shook hands again.
'This is fine! This is finest! Mister O'Hara! You have--ha! ha!--swipedthe whole bag of tricks--locks, stocks, and barrels. They told me it waseight months' work gone up the spouts! By Jove, how they beat me! . . .Look, here is the letter from Hilas!' He intoned a line or two of CourtPersian, which is the language of authorised and unauthorised diplomacy.'Mister Rajah Sahib has just about put his foot in the holes. He willhave to explain offeecially how the deuce-an'-all he is writinglove-letters to the Czar. And they are very clever map
s . . . and thereis three or four Prime Ministers of these parts implicated by thecorrespondence. By Gad, Sar! The British Government will change thesuccession in Hilas and Bunar, and nominate new heirs to the throne."Treason most base" . . . but you do not understand? Eh?'
'Are they in thy hands?' said Kim. It was all he cared for.
'Just you jolly well bet yourself they are.' He stowed the entire troveabout his body, as only Orientals can. 'They are going up to the office,too. The old lady thinks I am permanent fixture here, but I shall goaway with these straight off--immediately. Mr. Lurgan will be proud man.You are offeecially subordinate to me, but I shall embody your name inmy verbal report. It is a pity we are not allowed written reports. WeBengalis excel in thee exact science.' He tossed back the key and showedthe box empty.
'Good. That is good. I was very tired. My Holy One was sick, too. Anddid he fall into--'
'Oah yess. I am his good friend, I tell you. He was behaving verystrange when I came down after you, and I thought perhaps he might havethe papers. I followed him on his meditations, and to discussethnological points also. You see, I am verree small person herenowadays in comparison with all his charms. By Jove, O'Hara, do youknow, he is afflicted with infirmity of fits. Yess, I tell you.Cataleptic, too, if not also epileptic. I found him in such a stateunder a tree in articulo mortem, and he jumped up and walked into abrook and he was nearly drowned but for me. I pulled him out.'
'Because I was not there!' said Kim. 'He might have died.'
'Yes, he might have died, but he is dry now, and asserts he hasundergone transfiguration.' The Babu tapped his forehead knowingly. 'Itook notes of his statements for Royal Society--in posse. You must makehaste and be quite well and come back to Simla, and I will tell you allmy tale at Lurgan's. It was splendid. The bottoms of their trousers werequite torn, and old Nahan Rajah, he thought they were European soldiersdeserting.'
'Oh, the Russians? How long were they with thee?'
'One was a Frenchman. Oh, days and days and days! Now all thehill-people believe all Russians are all beggars. By Jove! they had notone dam-thing that I did not get them. And I told the commonpeople--oah, such tales and anecdotes! I will tell you at old Lurgan'swhen you come up. We will have--ah--a night out! It is feather in bothour caps! Yess, and they gave me a certificate. That is creaming joke.You should have seen them at the Alliance Bank identifying themselves!And thank Almighty God you got their papers so well! You do not laughverree much, but you shall laugh when you are well. Now I will gostraight to the railway and get out. You shall have all sorts of creditsfor your game. When do you come along? We are very proud of you, thoughyou gave us great frights. And especially Mahbub.'
'Ay, Mahbub. And where is he?'
'Selling horses in this vi-cinity, of course.'
'Here! Why? Speak slowly. There is a thickness in my head still.'
The Babu looked shyly down his nose. 'Well, you see, I am fearful man,and I do not like responsibility. You were sick, you see, and I did notknow where deuce-an'-all the papers were, and if so, how many. So when Ihad come down here I slipped in private wire to Mahbub--he was atMeerut for races--and I tell him how case stands. He comes up with hismen and he consorts with the lama, and then he calls me a fool, and isvery rude--'
'But wherefore--wherefore?'
'That is what I ask. I only suggest that if any one steals the papers Ishould like some good strong, brave men to rob them back again. You seethey are vitally important, and Mahbub Ali he did not know where youwere.'
'Mahbub Ali to rob the Sahiba's house? Thou art mad, Babu,' said Kimwith indignation.
'I wanted the papers. Suppose she had stole them? It was only practicalsuggestion, I think. You are not pleased, eh?'
A native proverb--unquotable--showed the blackness of Kim's disapproval.
'Well,'--Hurree shrugged his shoulders,--'there is no accounting forthee taste. Mahbub was angry too. He has sold horses all about here, andhe says old lady is pukka (thorough) old lady and would not condescendto such ungentlemanly things. I do not care. I have got the papers, andI was very glad of moral support from Mahbub. I tell you I am fearfulman, but, somehow or other, the more fearful I am the more dam-tightplaces I get into. So I was glad you came with me to Chini, and I amglad Mahbub was close by. The old lady she is sometimes very rude to meand my beautiful pills.'
'Allah be merciful,' said Kim on his elbow, rejoicing. 'What a beast ofwonder is a Babu! And that man walked alone--if he did walk--with robbedand angry foreigners!'
'Oah, thatt was nothing, after they had done beating me; but if I lostthe papers it was pretty jolly serious. Mahbub he nearly beat me too,and he went and consorted with the lama no end. I shall stick toethnological investigations henceforwards. Now good-bye, Mister O'Hara.I can catch 4.25 p. m. to Umballa if I am quick. It will be good timeswhen we all tell thee tale up at Mister Lurgan's. I shall report youoffeecially better. Good-bye, my dear fallow, and when next you areunder thee emotions please do not use the Mohammedan terms with theTibetan dress.'
He shook hands twice--a Babu to his boot-heels--and opened the door.With the fall of the sunlight upon his still triumphant face he returnedto the humble Dacca quack.
'He robbed them,' thought Kim, forgetting his own share in the game. 'Hetricked them. He lied to them like a Bengali. They give him a chit (atestimonial). He makes them a mock at the risk of his life--I neverwould have gone down to them after the pistol-shots--and then he says heis a fearful man. . . . And he is a fearful man. I must get into the worldagain.'
At first his legs bent like bad pipe-stems, and the flood and rush ofthe sunlit air dazzled him. He squatted by the white wall, the mindrummaging among the incidents of the long dooli journey, the lama'sweaknesses, and, now that the stimulus of talk was removed, his ownself-pity, of which, like the sick, he had great store. The unnervedbrain edged away from all the outside, as a raw horse, once rowelled,sidles from the spur. It was enough, amply enough, that the spoil of thekilta was away--off his hands--out of his possession. He tried to thinkof the lama,--to wonder why he had tumbled into a brook,--but thebigness of the world, seen between the forecourt gates, swept linkedthought aside. Then he looked upon the trees and the broad fields, withthe thatched huts hidden among crops--looked with strange eyes unable totake up the size and proportion and use of things--stared for a stillhalf-hour. All that while he felt, though he could not put it intowords, that his soul was out of gear with its surroundings--a cog-wheelunconnected with any machinery, just like the idle cog-wheel of a cheapBeheea sugar-crusher laid by in a corner. The breezes fanned over him,the parrots shrieked at him, the noises of the populated housebehind--squabbles, orders, and reproofs--hit on dead ears.
'I am Kim. I am Kim. And what is Kim?' His soul repeated it again andagain.
He did not want to cry,--had never felt less like crying in hislife,--but of a sudden easy, stupid tears trickled down his nose, andwith an almost audible click he felt the wheels of his being lock upanew on the world without. Things that rode meaningless on the eyeballan instant before slid into proper proportion. Roads were meant to bewalked upon, houses to be lived in, cattle to be driven, fields to betilled, and men and women to be talked to. They were all real andtrue--solidly planted upon the feet--perfectly comprehensible--clay ofhis clay, neither more nor less. He shook himself like a dog with a fleain his ear, and rambled out of the gate. Said the Sahiba, to whomwatchful eyes reported this move: 'Let him go. I have done my share.Mother Earth must do the rest. When the Holy One comes back frommeditation, tell him.'
There stood an empty bullock-cart on a little knoll half a mile away,with a young banian tree behind--a look-out, as it were, above somenew-ploughed levels; and his eyelids, bathed in soft air, grew heavy ashe neared it. The ground was good clean dust--no new herbage that,living, is half-way to death already, but the hopeful dust that holdsthe seed of all life. He felt it between his toes, patted it with hispalms, and joint by joint, sighing luxuriously, laid him down fulllength along in the shadow o
f the wooden-pinned cart. And Mother Earthwas as faithful as the Sahiba. She breathed through him to restore thepoise he had lost lying so long on a cot cut off from her good currents.His head lay powerless upon her breast, and his opened hands surrenderedto her strength. The many-rooted tree above him, and even the deadman-handled wood beside, knew what he sought, as he himself did notknow. Hour upon hour he lay deeper than sleep.
Towards evening, when the dust of returning kine made all the horizonssmoke, came the lama and Mahbub Ali, both afoot, walking cautiously, forthe house had told them where he had gone.
'Allah! What a fool's trick to play in open country,' muttered thehorse-dealer. 'He could be shot a hundred times--but this is not theBorder.'
'And,' said the lama, repeating a many-times-told tale, 'never was sucha chela. Temperate, kindly, wise, of ungrudging disposition, a merryheart upon the road, never forgetting, learned, truthful, courteous.Great is his reward!'
'I know the boy--as I have said.'
'And he was all those things?'
'Some of them--but I have not yet found a Red Hat's charm for making himoverly truthful. He has certainly been well nursed.'
'The Sahiba is a heart of gold,' said the lama earnestly. 'She looksupon him as her son.'
'Hmph! Half Hind seems that-way disposed. I only wished to see that theboy had come to no harm and was a free agent. As thou knowest, he and Iwere old friends in the first days of your pilgrimage together.'
'That is a bond between us.' The lama sat down. 'We are at the end ofthe pilgrimage.'
'No thanks to thee thine was not cut off for good and all a week back. Iheard what the Sahiba said to thee when we bore thee up on the cot.'Mahbub laughed, and tugged his newly-dyed beard.
'I was meditating upon other matters that tide. It was the hakim fromDacca broke my meditations.'
'Otherwise'--this was in Pashtu for decency's sake--'thou wouldst haveended thy meditations upon the sultry side of Hell--being an unbelieverand an idolater for all thy child's simplicity. But now, Red Hat, whatis to be done?'
'This very night,'--the words came slowly, vibrating withtriumph,--'this very night he will be as free as I am from all taint ofsin--assured as I am when he quits this body of Freedom from the Wheelof Things. I have a sign,' he laid his hand above the torn chart in hisbosom, 'that my time is short; but I shall have safeguarded himthroughout the years. Remember, I have reached Knowledge, as I told theeonly three nights back.'
'It must be true, as the Tirah priest said when I stole his cousin'swife, that I am a sufi (a freethinker); for here I sit,' said Mahbub tohimself, 'drinking in blasphemy unthinkable. . . . I remember the tale.On that, then, he goes to Jannatu l'Adn (the Gardens of Eden). But how?Wilt thou slay him or drown him in that wonderful river from which theBabu dragged thee?'
'I was dragged from no river,' said the lama simply. 'Thou hastforgotten what befell. I found it by knowledge.'
'Oh, aye. True,' stammered Mahbub, divided between high indignation andenormous mirth. 'I had forgotten the exact run of what happened. Thoudidst find it knowingly.'
'And to say that I would take life is---not a sin, but a madness simple.My chela aided me to the River. It is his right to be cleansed fromsin--with me.'
'Ay, he needs cleansing. But afterwards, old man--afterwards?'
'What matter under all the heavens? He is sure ofNibban--enlightened--as I am.'
'Well said. I had a fear he might mount Mohammed's Horse and fly away.'
'Nay--he must go forth as a teacher.'
'Aha! Now I see! That is the right gait for the colt. Certainly he mustgo forth as a teacher. He is somewhat urgently needed as a scribe by theState, for instance.'
'To that end he was prepared. I acquired merit in that I gave alms forhis sake. A good deed does not die. He aided me in my Search. I aidedhim in his. Just is the Wheel, O horse-seller from the North. Let him bea teacher; let him be a scribe--what matter? He will have attainedFreedom at the end. The rest is illusion.'
'What matter? When I must have him with me beyond Balkh in six months! Icome up with ten lame horses and three strong-backed men--thanks tothat chicken of a Babu--to break a sick boy by force out of an oldtrot's house. It seems that I stand by while a young Sahib is hoistedinto Allah knows what of an idolater's heaven by means of old Red Hat.And I am reckoned something of a player of the Game myself! But themadman is fond of the boy; and I must be very reasonably mad too.'
'What is the prayer?' said the lama, as the rough Pashtu rumbled intothe red beard.
'No matter at all; but now I understand that the boy, sure of Paradise,can yet enter Government service, my mind is easier. I must get to myhorses. It grows dark. Do not wake him. I have no wish to hear him callthee master.'
'But he is my disciple. What else?'
'He has told me.' Mahbub choked down his touch of spleen and roselaughing. 'I am not altogether of thy faith, Red Hat--if so small amatter concern thee.'
'It is nothing,' said the lama.
'I thought not. Therefore it will not move thee sinless, new-washed andthree parts drowned to boot, when I call thee a good man--a very goodman. We have talked together some four or five evenings now, and for allI am a horse-coper I can still, as the saying is, see holiness beyondthe legs of a horse. Yea, can see, too, how our Friend of all the Worldput his hand in thine at the first. Use him well, and suffer him toreturn to the world as a teacher, when thou hast--bathed his legs, ifthat be the proper medicine for the colt.'
'Why not follow the Way thyself, and so accompany the boy?'
Mahbub stared stupefied at the magnificent insolence of the demand,which across the Border he would have paid with more than a blow. Thenthe humour of it touched his worldly soul.
'Softly--softly--one foot at a time, as the lame gelding went over theUmballa jumps. I may come to Paradise later--I have workings thatway--great motions--and I owe them to thy simplicity. Thou hast neverlied?'
'What need?'
'O Allah, hear him! "What need" in this Thy world! Nor ever harmed aman?'
'Once--with a pencase--before I was wise.'
'So? I think the better of thee. Thy teachings are good. Thou hastturned one man that I know from the path of strife.' He laughedimmensely. 'He came here open-minded to commit a dacoity (ahouse-robbery with violence). Yes, to cut, rob, kill, and carry off whathe desired.'
'A great foolishness!'
'Oh! black shame too. So he thought after he had seen thee--and a fewothers, male and female. So he abandoned it; and now he goes to beat abig fat Babu man.'
'I do not understand.'
'Allah forbid it! Some men are strong in knowledge, Red Hat. Thystrength is stronger still. Keep it--I think thou wilt. If the boy benot a good servant, pull his ears off.'
With a hitch of his broad Bokhariot belt the Pathan swaggered off intothe gloaming, and the lama came down from his clouds so far as to lookat the broad back.
'That person lacks courtesy, and is deceived by the shadow ofappearances. But he spoke well of my chela, who now enters upon hisreward. Let me make the prayer! . . . Wake, O fortunate above all bornof women. Wake! It is found!'
Kim came up from those deep wells, and the lama attended his yawningpleasure; duly snapping fingers to head off evil spirits.
'I have slept a hundred years. Where--? Holy One, hast thou been herelong? I went out to look for thee, but'--he laughed drowsily--'I sleptby the way. I am all well now. Hast thou eaten? Let us go to the house.It is many days since I tended thee. And the Sahiba fed thee well? Whoshampooed thy legs? What of the weaknesses--the belly and the neck, andthe beating in the ears?'
'Gone--all gone. Dost thou not know?'
'I know nothing, but that I have not seen thee in a monkey's age. Knowwhat?'
'Strange the knowledge did not reach out to thee, when all my thoughtswere theeward.'
'I cannot see the face, but the voice is like a gong. Has the Sahibamade a young man of thee by her cookery?'
He peered at the cross-legge
d figure, outlined jet-black against thelemon-coloured drift of light. So does the stone Bodhisat sit who looksdown upon the patent self-registering turnstiles of the Lahore Museum.
The lama held his peace. Except for the click of the rosary and a faint'clop-clop' of Mahbub's retreating feet, the soft, smoky silence ofevening in India wrapped them close.
'Hear me! I bring news.'
'But let us--'
Out shot the long yellow hand compelling silence. Kim tucked his feetunder his robe-edge obediently.
'Hear me! I bring news! The Search is finished. Comes now theReward. . . . Thus. When we were among the Hills, I lived on thystrength till the young branch bowed and nigh broke. When we came out ofthe Hills, I was troubled for thee and for other matters which I held inmy heart. The boat of my soul lacked direction; I could not see into theCause of Things. So I gave thee over to the virtuous woman altogether. Itook no food. I drank no water. Still I saw not the Way. They pressedfood upon me and cried at my shut door. So I removed myself to a hollowunder a tree. I took no food. I took no water. I sat in meditation twodays and two nights, abstracting my mind; inbreathing and outbreathingin the required manner. . . . Upon the second night--so great was myreward--the wise Soul loosed itself from the silly Body and went free.This I have never before attained, though I have stood on the thresholdof it. Consider, for it is a marvel!'
'A marvel indeed. Two days and two nights without food! Where was theSahiba?' said Kim under his breath.
'Yea, my Soul went free, and, wheeling like an eagle, saw indeed thatthere was no Teshoo Lama nor any other soul. As a drop draws to water,so my soul drew near to the Great Soul which is beyond all things. Atthat point, exalted in contemplation, I saw all Hind, from Ceylon in thesea to the Hills, and my own Painted Rocks at Suchzen; I saw every campand village, to the least, where we have ever rested. I saw them at onetime and in one place; for they were within the Soul. By this I knew theSoul had passed beyond the illusion of Time and Space and of Things. Bythis I knew that I was free. I saw thee lying in thy cot, and I sawthee falling down hill under the idolater--at one time, in one place, inmy Soul, which, as I say, had touched the Great Soul. Also I saw thestupid body of Teshoo Lama lying down, and the hakim from Dacca kneeledbeside, shouting in its ear. Then my Soul was all alone, and I sawnothing, for I was all things, having reached the Great Soul. And Imeditated a thousand thousand years, passionless, well aware of theCauses of all Things. Then a voice cried: "What shall come to the boy ifthou art dead?" and I was shaken back and forth in myself with pity forthee; and I said: "I will return to my chela, lest he miss the Way."Upon this my Soul, which is the soul of Teshoo Lama, withdrew itselffrom the Great Soul with strivings and yearnings and retchings andagonies not to be told. As the egg from the fish, as the fish from thewater, as the water from the cloud, as the cloud from the thick air; soput forth, so leaped out, so drew away, so fumed up the soul of TeshooLama from the Great Soul. Then a voice cried: "The River! Take heed tothe River!" and I looked down upon all the world, which was as I hadseen it before--one in time, one in place--and I saw plainly the Riverof the Arrow at my feet. At that hour my Soul was hampered by some evilor other whereof I was not wholly cleansed, and it lay upon my arms andcoiled round my waist; but I put it aside, and I cast forth as an eaglein my flight for the very place of the River. I pushed aside world uponworld for thy sake. I saw the River below me--the River of theArrow--and, descending, the waters of it closed over me; and behold Iwas again in the body of Teshoo Lama, but free from sin, and the hakimfrom Dacca bore up my head in the waters of the River. It is here! Itis behind the mango-tope here--even here!'
'Allah Karim! Oh, well that the Babu was by! Wast thou very wet?'
'Why should I regard? I remember the hakim was concerned for the body ofTeshoo Lama. He haled it out of the holy water in his hands, and therecame afterwards thy horse-seller from the North with a cot and men, andthey put the body on the cot and bore it up to the Sahiba's house.'
'What said the Sahiba?'
'I was meditating in that body, and did not hear. So thus the Search isended. For the merit that I have acquired, the River of the Arrow ishere. It broke forth at our feet, as I have said. I have found it. Sonof my Soul, I have wrenched my Soul back from the Threshold of Freedomto free thee from all sin--as I am free, and sinless. Just is the Wheel!Certain is our deliverance. Come!'
He crossed his hands on his lap and smiled, as a man may who has wonSalvation for himself and his beloved.
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Due to being unable to discern which spelling idiosyncracies Kiplingwould have preferred to keep as displaying dialect and which weretypesetting errors, all were retained except the one listed below. Thisincludes, for example, the two uses of "quiett" on page 118.
Only the most obvious punctuation errors were repaired. This includessuch things as a closing double-quotation mark in place of a single one,missing periods at the end of sentences, etc.
Page 139, "Mahbud" changed to "Mahbub" to match rest of usage. (Umballarace-course, Mahbub Ali)
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