Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated), page 77
‘Can I tell you?’ puffed Father Victor. ‘You’ll be the one man that could help me in my quandaries. Tell you! Powers o’ Darkness, I’m bursting to tell some one who knows something o’ the native!’
A groom came round the corner. Colonel Creighton raised his voice, speaking in Urdu. ‘Very good, Mahbub Ali, but what is the use of telling me all those stories about the pony. Not one pie more than three hundred and fifty rupees will I give.’
‘The Sahib is a little hot and angry after riding,’ the horse-dealer returned, with the leer of a privileged jester. ‘Presently, he will see my horse’s points more clearly. I will wait till he has finished his talk with the padre. I will wait under that tree.’
‘Confound you!’ The Colonel laughed. ‘That comes of looking at one of Mahbub’s horses. He’s a regular old leech, Padre. Wait then, if thou hast so much time to spare, Mahbub. Now I’m at your service, Padre. Where is the boy? Oh, he’s gone off to collogue with Mahbub. Queer sort of boy. Might I ask you to send my mare round under cover?’
He dropped into a chair which commanded a clear view of Kim and Mahbub Ali in conference beneath the tree. The padre went indoors for cheroots.
Creighton heard Kim say bitterly: ‘Trust a Brahmin before a snake, and a snake before a harlot, and a harlot before an Afghan, Mahbub Ali.’
‘That is all one,’ the great red beard wagged solemnly. ‘Children should not see a carpet on the loom till the pattern is made plain. Believe me, Friend of all the World, I do thee great service. They will not make a soldier of thee.’
‘You crafty old sinner,’ thought Creighton. ‘But you’re not far wrong. That boy mustn’t be wasted if he is as advertised.’
‘Excuse me half a minute,’ cried the padre from within, ‘but I’m gettin’ the documents of the case.’
‘If through me the favour of this bold and wise Colonel Sahib comes to thee, and thou art raised to honour, what thanks wilt thou give Mahbub Ali when thou art a man?’
‘Nay, nay; I begged thee to let me take the road again, where I should have been safe; and thou hast sold me back to the English. What will they give thee for blood-money?’
‘A cheerful young demon!’ The Colonel bit his cigar, and turned politely to Father Victor.
‘What are the letters that the fat priest is waving before the Colonel? Stand behind the stallion as though looking at my bridle!’ said Mahbub Ali.
‘A letter from my lama which he wrote from Jagadhir Road, saying that he will pay three hundred rupees by the year for my schooling.’
‘Oho! Is old Red Hat of that sort? At which school?’
‘God knows. I think in Nucklao.’
‘Yes. There is a big school there for the sons of Sahibs — and half-Sahibs. I have seen it when I sell horses there. So the lama also loved the Friend of all the World?’
‘Ay; and he did not tell lies, or return me to captivity.’
‘Small wonder the padre does not know how to unravel the thread. How fast he talks to the Colonel Sahib.’ Mahbub Ali chuckled. ‘By Allah!’ — the keen eyes swept the veranda for an instant — ’thy lama has sent what to me looks like a note of hand. I have had some small dealings in hoondies. The Colonel Sahib is looking at it.’
‘What good is all this to me?’ said Kim wearily. ‘Thou wilt go away, and they will return me to those empty rooms where there is no good place to sleep and where the boys beat me.’
‘I do not think that. Have patience, child. All Pathans are not faithless — except in horseflesh.’
Five — ten — fifteen minutes passed, Father Victor talking energetically or asking questions which the Colonel answered.
‘Now I’ve told you everything that I know about the boy from beginnin’ to end; and it’s a blessed relief to me. Did ye ever hear the like?’
‘At any rate, the old man has sent the money. Gobind Sahai’s notes of hand are good from here to China,’ said the Colonel. ‘The more one knows about natives the less can one say what they will or won’t do.’
‘That’s consolin’ — from the head of the Ethnological Survey. It’s this mixture of Red Bulls and Rivers of Healing (poor heathen, God help him!) an’ notes of hand and Masonic certificates. Are you a Mason, by any chance?’
‘By Jove, I am, now I come to think of it. That’s an additional reason,’ said the Colonel absently.
‘I’m glad ye see a reason in it. But as I said, it’s the mixture o’ things that’s beyond me. An’ his prophesyin’ to our Colonel sitting on my bed with his little shimmy torn open showing his white skin; an’ the prophecy comin’ true! They’ll cure all that nonsense at St. Xavier’s, eh?’
‘Sprinkle him with holy water,’ the Colonel laughed.
‘On my word, I fancy I ought to sometimes. But I’m hoping he’ll be brought up as a good Catholic. All that troubles me is what’ll happen if the old beggarman — ’
‘Lama, lama, my dear sir; and some of them are gentlemen in their own country.’
‘The lama, then, fails to pay next year. He’s a fine business head to plan on the spur of the moment, but he’s bound to die some day. An’ takin’ a heathen’s money to give a child a Christian education — ’
‘But he said explicitly what he wanted. As soon as he knew the boy was white he seems to have made his arrangements accordingly. I’d give a month’s pay to hear how he explained it all at the Tirthankers’ Temple at Benares. Look here, Padre, I don’t pretend to know much about natives, but if he says he’ll pay, he’ll pay — dead or alive. I mean his heirs will assume the debt. My advice to you is, send the boy down to Lucknow. If your Anglican chaplain thinks you’ve stolen a march on him — ’
‘Bad luck to Bennett! He was sent to the front instead o’ me. Doughty certified me medically unfit. I’ll excommunicate Doughty if he comes back alive! Surely Bennett ought to be content with — ’
‘Glory, leaving you the religion. Quite so! As a matter of fact I don’t think Bennett will mind. Put the blame on me. I — er — strongly recommend sending the boy to St. Xavier’s. He can go down on pass as a soldier’s orphan, so the railway fare will be saved. You can buy him an outfit from the regimental subscription. The Lodge will be saved the expense of his education, and that will put the Lodge in a good temper. It’s perfectly easy. I’ve got to go down to Lucknow next week. I’ll look after the boy on the way — give him in charge of my servants, and so on.’
‘You’re a good man.’
‘Not in the least. Don’t make that mistake. The lama has sent us money for a definite end. We can’t very well return it. We shall have to do as he says. Well, that’s settled, isn’t it? Shall we say that, Tuesday next, you’ll hand him over to me at the night train south? That’s only three days. He can’t do much harm in three days.’
‘It’s a weight off my mind, but — this thing here?’ — he waved the note of hand — ’I don’t know Gobind Sahai: or his bank, which may be a hole in a wall.’
‘You’ve never been a subaltern in debt. I’ll cash it if you like, and send you the vouchers in proper order.’
‘But with all your own work too! It’s askin’ — ’
‘It’s not the least trouble indeed. You see, as an ethnologist, the thing’s very interesting to me. I’d like to make a note of it for some Government work that I’m doing. The transformation of a regimental badge like your Red Bull into a sort of fetish that the boy follows is very interesting.’
‘But I can’t thank you enough.’
‘There’s one thing you can do. All we Ethnological men are as jealous as jackdaws of one another’s discoveries. They’re of no interest to any one but ourselves, of course, but you know what book-collectors are like. Well, don’t say a word, directly or indirectly, about the Asiatic side of the boy’s character — his adventures and his prophecy, and so on. I’ll worm them out of the boy later on and — you see?’
‘I do. Ye’ll make a wonderful account of it. Never a word will I say to any one till I see it in print.’
‘Thank you. That goes straight to an ethnologist’s heart. Well, I must be getting back to my breakfast. Good heavens! Old Mahbub here still?’ He raised his voice, and the horse-dealer came out from under the shadow of the tree. ‘Well, what is it?’
‘As regards that young horse,’ said Mahbub, ‘I say that when a colt is born to be a polo-pony, closely following the ball without teaching — when such a colt knows the game by divination — then I say it is a great wrong to break that colt to a heavy cart, Sahib!’
‘So do I say also, Mahbub. The colt will be entered for polo only. (These fellows think of nothing in the world but horses, Padre.) I’ll see you to-morrow, Mahbub, if you’ve anything likely for sale.’
The dealer saluted, horseman fashion, with a sweep of the off hand. ‘Be patient a little, Friend of all the World,’ he whispered to the agonised Kim. ‘Thy fortune is made. In a little while thou goest to Nucklao and — here is something to pay the letter-writer. I shall see thee again, I think, many times,’ and he cantered off down the road.
‘Listen to me,’ said the Colonel from the veranda, speaking in the vernacular. ‘In three days thou wilt go with me to Lucknow, seeing and hearing new things all the while. Therefore sit still for three days and do not run away. Thou wilt go to school at Lucknow.’
‘Shall I meet my Holy One there?’ Kim whimpered.
‘At least Lucknow is nearer to Benares than Umballa. It may be thou wilt go under my protection. Mahbub Ali knows this, and he will be angry if thou returnest to the road now. Remember — much has been told to me which I do not forget.’
‘I will wait,’ said Kim, ‘but the boys will beat me.’
Then the bugles blew for dinner.
‘. . . Pathans are not faithless — except in horse-flesh.’
CHAPTER VII
Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised
With idiot moons and stars retracting stars?
Creep thou betweene — thy coming’s all unnoised.
Heaven hath her high, as earth her baser, wars.
Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray
(By Adam’s, fathers’, own, sin bound alway);
Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say
Which planet mends thy threadbare fate or mars!
Sir John Christie.
IN the afternoon the red-faced schoolmaster told Kim that he had been ‘struck off the strength,’ which conveyed no meaning to him till he was ordered to go away and play. Then he ran to the bazar, and found the young letter-writer to whom he owed a stamp.
‘Now I pay,’ said Kim royally, ‘and now I need another letter to be written.’
‘Mahbub Ali is in Umballa,’ said the writer jauntily. He was, by virtue of his office, a bureau of general misinformation.
‘This is not to Mahbub, but to a priest. Take thy pen and write quickly. “To Teshoo Lama, the holy one from Bhotiyal seeking for a River, who is now in the Temple of the Tirthankers at Benares.” Take more ink! “In three days I am to go down to Nucklao to the school at Nucklao. The name of the school is Xavier. I do not know where that school is, but it is at Nucklao.”
‘But I know Nucklao,’ the writer interrupted. ‘I know the school.’
‘Tell him where it is, and I give half an anna.’
The reed pen scratched busily. ‘He cannot mistake.’ The man lifted his head. ‘Who watches us across the street?’
Kim looked up hurriedly and saw Colonel Creighton in tennis-flannels.
‘Oh, that is some Sahib who knows the fat priest in the barracks. He is beckoning me.’
‘What dost thou?’ said the Colonel, when Kim trotted up.
‘I — I am not running away. I send a letter to my Holy One at Benares.’
‘I had not thought of that. Hast thou said that I take thee to Lucknow?’
‘Nay, I have not. Read the letter, if there be a doubt.’
‘Then why hast thou left out my name in writing to that Holy One?’ The Colonel smiled a queer smile. Kim took his courage in both hands.
‘It was said once to me that it is inexpedient to write the names of strangers concerned in any matter, because by the naming of names many good plans are brought to confusion.’
‘Thou hast been well taught,’ the Colonel replied, and Kim flushed. ‘I have left my cheroot-case in the padre’s veranda. Bring it to my house this even.’
‘Where is the house?’ said Kim. His quick wit told him that he was being tested in some fashion or another, and he stood on guard.
‘Ask any one in the big bazar.’ The Colonel walked on.
‘He has forgotten his cheroot-case,’ said Kim, returning. ‘I must bring it to him this evening. That is all my letter except, thrice over, “Come to me! Come to me! Come to me!” Now I will pay for a stamp and put it in the post.’ He rose to go, and as an afterthought asked, ‘Who is that angry-faced Sahib who lost the cheroot-case?’
‘Oh, he is only Creighton Sahib — a very foolish Sahib, who is a Colonel Sahib without a regiment.’
‘What is his business?’
‘God knows. He is always buying horses which he cannot ride, and asking riddles about the works of God — such as plants and stones and the customs of people. The dealers call him the father of fools, because he is so easily cheated about a horse. Mahbub Ali says he is madder than all other Sahibs.’
‘Oh!’ said Kim, and departed. His training had given him some small knowledge of character, and he argued that fools are not given information which leads to calling out eight thousand men, besides guns. The Commander-in-Chief of all India does not talk, as Kim had heard him talk, to fools. Nor would Mahbub Ali’s tone have changed, as it did every time he mentioned the Colonel’s name, if the Colonel had been a fool. Consequently — and this set Kim to skipping — there was a mystery somewhere, and Mahbub Ali probably spied for the Colonel much as Kim had spied for Mahbub. And, like the horse-dealer, the Colonel evidently respected people who did not show themselves to be too clever.
He rejoiced that he had not betrayed his knowledge of the Colonel’s house; and when, on his return to barracks, he discovered that no cheroot-case had been left behind, he beamed with delight. Here was a man after his own heart — a tortuous and indirect person playing a hidden game. Well, if he could be a fool, so could Kim.
He showed nothing of his mind when Father Victor, for three long mornings, discoursed to him of an entirely new set of gods and godlings — notably of a goddess called Mary, who, he gathered, was one with Bibi Miriam of Mahbub Ali’s theology. He betrayed no emotion when, after the lecture, Father Victor dragged him from shop to shop buying articles of outfit, nor when envious drummer-boys kicked him because he was going to a superior school did he complain, but awaited the play of circumstances with an interested soul. Father Victor, good man, took him to the station, put him into an empty second-class next to Colonel Creighton’s first, and bade him farewell with genuine feeling.
‘They’ll make a man o’ you, O’Hara, at St. Xavier’s — a white man, an’, I hope, a good man. They know all about your comin’, an’ the Colonel will see that ye’re not lost or mislaid anywhere on the road. I’ve given you a notion of religious matters, — at least I hope so, — and you’ll remember, when they ask you your religion, that you’re a Cath’lic. Better say Roman Cath’lic, tho’ I’m not fond of the word.’
Kim lit a rank cigarette — he had been careful to buy a stock in the bazar — and lay down to think. This solitary passage was very different from that joyful down-journey in the third-class with the lama. ‘Sahibs get little pleasure of travel,’ he reflected. ‘Hai mai! I go from one place to another as it might be a kick-ball. It is my kismet. No man can escape his kismet. But I am to pray to Bibi Miriam and I am a Sahib’ — he looked at his boots ruefully. ‘No; I am Kim. This is the great world, and I am only Kim. Who is Kim?’ He considered his own identity, a thing he had never done before, till his head swam. He was one insignificant person in all this roaring whirl of India, going southward to he knew not what fate.
Presently the Colonel sent for him, and talked for a long time. So far as Kim could gather, he was to be diligent and enter the Survey of India as a chain-man. If he were very good, and passed the proper examinations, he would be earning thirty rupees a month at seventeen years old, and Colonel Creighton would see that he found a suitable employment.
Kim pretended at first to understand perhaps one word in three of this talk. Then the Colonel, seeing his mistake, turned to fluent and picturesque Urdu and Kim was contented. No man could be a fool who knew the language so intimately, who moved so gently and silently, and whose eyes were so different from the dull fat eyes of other Sahibs.
‘Yes, and thou must learn how to make pictures of roads and mountains and rivers — to carry these pictures in thy eye till a suitable time comes to set them upon paper. Perhaps some day, when thou art a chain-man, I may say to thee when we are working together: “Go across those hills and see what lies beyond.” Then one will say: “There are bad people living in those hills who will slay the chain-man if he be seen to look like a Sahib.” What then?’
Kim thought. Would it be safe to return the Colonel’s lead?
‘I would tell what that other man had said.’
‘But if I answered: “I will give thee a hundred rupees for knowledge of what is behind those hills — for a picture of a river and a little news of what the people say in the villages there”?’
‘How can I tell? I am only a boy. Wait till I am a man.’ Then, seeing the Colonel’s brow clouded, he went on: ‘But I think I should in a few days earn the hundred rupees.’
‘By what road?’
Kim shook his head resolutely. ‘If I said how I would earn them, another man might hear and forestall me. It is no good to sell knowledge for nothing.’
