Kim

by Rudyard Kipling

  CHAPTER IV

  Good Luck, she is never a lady, But the cursedest quean alive. Tricksy, wincing, and jady-- Kittle to lead or drive. Greet her--she's hailing a stranger! Meet her--she's busking to leave! Let her alone for a shrew to the bone And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve! Largesse! Largesse, O Fortune! Give or hold at your will If I've no care for Fortune, Fortune must follow me still! 'The Wishing Caps.'

  THEN, lowering their voices, they spoke together. Kim came to rest undera tree, but the lama tugged impatiently at his elbow.

  'Let us go on. The River is not here.'

  'Hai mai? Have we not walked enough for a little? Our River will not runaway. Patience, and he will give us a dole.'

  'That,' said the old soldier suddenly, 'is the Friend of the Stars. Hebrought me the news yesterday. Having seen the very man Himself, in avision, giving orders for the war.'

  'Hm!' said his son, all deep in his broad chest. 'He came by abazar-rumour and made profit of it.'

  His father laughed. 'At least he did not ride to me begging for a newcharger and the gods know how many rupees. Are thy brothers' regimentsalso under orders?'

  'I do not know. I took leave and came swiftly to thee in case--'

  'In case they ran before thee to beg. O gamblers and spendthrifts all!But thou hast never yet ridden in a charge. A good horse is neededthere, truly. A good follower and a good pony also for the marching. Letus see--let us see.' He thrummed on the pommel.

  'This is no place to cast accounts in, my father. Let us go to thyhouse.'

  'At least pay the boy then: I have no pice with me, and he broughtauspicious news. Ho! Friend of all the World, a war is toward as thouhast said.'

  'Nay, as I know, the war,' returned Kim composedly.

  'Eh?' said the lama, fingering his beads, all eager for the road.

  'My master does not trouble the Stars for hire. We brought thenews--bear witness we brought the news, and now we go.' Kim half-crookedhis hand at his side.

  The son tossed a silver coin through the sunlight, grumbling somethingabout beggars and jugglers. It was a four-anna piece, and would feedthem well for some days. The lama, seeing the flash of the metal, droneda blessing.

  'Go thy way, Friend of all the World,' piped the old soldier, wheelinghis scrawny mount. 'For once in all my days I have met a trueprophet--who was not in the Army.'

  Father and son swung round together: the old man sitting as erect as theyounger.

  A Punjabi constable in yellow linen trousers slouched across the road.He had seen the money pass.

  'Halt!' he cried in impressive English. 'Know ye not that there is atakkus of two annas a head, which is four annas, on those who enter theroad from this side-road. It is the order of the Sirkar, and the moneyis spent for the planting of trees and the beautification of the ways.'

  'And the bellies of the police,' said Kim, skipping out of arm's reach.'Consider for a while, man with a mud head. Think you we came from thenearest pond like the frog, thy father-in-law. Hast thou ever heard thename of thy brother?'

  'And who was he? Leave the boy alone,' cried a senior constable,immensely delighted, as he squatted down to smoke his pipe in theveranda.

  'He took a label from a bottle of belaitee-pani (soda-water), and,affixing it to a bridge, collected taxes for a month from those whopassed, saying that it was the Sirkar's order. Then came an Englishmanand broke his head. Ah, brother, I am a town-crow, not a village-crow!'

  The policeman drew back abashed, and Kim hooted at him all down theroad.

  'Was there ever such a disciple as I?' he cried merrily to the lama.'All earth would have picked thy bones within ten mile of Lahore city ifI had not guarded thee.'

  'I consider in my own mind whether thou art a spirit, sometimes, orsometimes an evil imp,' said the lama, smiling slowly.

  'I am thy chela.' Kim dropped into step at his side--that indescribablegait of the long-distance tramp all the world over.

  'Now let us walk,' muttered the lama, and to the click of his rosarythey walked in silence mile upon mile. The lama, as usual, was deep inmeditation, but Kim's bright eyes were open wide. This broad, smilingriver of life, he considered, was a vast improvement on the cramped andcrowded Lahore streets. There were new people and new sights at everystride--castes he knew and castes that were altogether out of hisexperience.

  They met a troop of long-haired, strong-scented Sansis with baskets oflizards and other unclean food on their backs, their lean dogs sniffingat their heels. These people kept their own side of the road, moving ata quick, furtive jog-trot, and all other castes gave them ample room;for the Sansi is deep pollution. Behind them, walking wide and stifflyacross the strong shadows, the memory of his leg-irons still on him,strode one newly released from the jail; his full stomach and shiny skinto prove that the Government fed its prisoners better than most honestmen could feed themselves. Kim knew that walk well, and made broad jestof it as they passed. Then an Akali, a wild-eyed, wild-haired Sikhdevotee in the blue-checked clothes of his faith, with polished-steelquoits glistening on the cone of his tall blue turban, stalked past,returning from a visit to one of the independent Sikh States, where hehad been singing the ancient glories of the Khalsa to College-trainedprincelings in top-boots and white-cord breeches. Kim was careful not toirritate that man; for the Akali's temper is short and his arm quick.Here and there they met or were overtaken by the gaily dressed crowds ofwhole villages turning out to some local fair; the women, with theirbabes on their hips, walking behind the men, the older boys prancing onsticks of sugar-cane, dragging rude brass models of locomotives such asthey sell for a halfpenny, or flashing the sun into the eyes of theirbetters from cheap toy mirrors. One could see at a glance what each hadbought; and if there were any doubt it needed only to watch the wivescomparing, brown arm against brown arm, the newly purchased dull glassbracelets that come from the North-West. These merry-makers steppedslowly, calling one to the other and stopping to haggle withsweetmeat-sellers, or to make a prayer before one of the waysideshrines--sometimes Hindu, sometimes Mussalman--which the low caste ofboth creeds share with beautiful impartiality. A solid line of blue,rising and falling like the back of a caterpillar in haste, would swingup through the quivering dust and trot past to a chorus of quickcackling. That was a gang of changars--the women who have taken all theembankments of all the Northern railways under their charge--aflat-footed, big-bosomed, strong-limbed, blue-petticoated clan ofearth-carriers, hurrying north on news of a job, and wasting no time bythe road. They belong to the caste whose men do not count, and theywalked with squared elbows, swinging hips, and heads on high, as suitswomen who carry heavy weights. A little later a marriage processionwould strike into the Grand Trunk with music and shoutings, and a smellof marigold and jasmine stronger even than the reek of the dust. Onecould see the bride's litter, a blur of red and tinsel, staggeringthrough the haze, while the bridegroom's bewreathed pony turned aside tosnatch a mouthful from a passing fodder-cart. Then Kim would join theKentish-fire of good wishes and bad jokes, wishing the couple a hundredsons and no daughters, as the saying is. Still more interesting andmore to be shouted over it was when a strolling juggler with somehalf-trained monkeys, or a panting, feeble bear, or a woman who tiedgoats' horns to her feet, and with these danced on a slack-rope, set thehorses to shying and the women to shrill, long-drawn quavers ofamazement.

  The lama never raised his eyes. He did not note the money-lender on hisgoose-rumped pony, hastening along to collect the cruel interest; or thelong-shouting, deep-voiced little mob--still in military formation--ofnative soldiers on leave, rejoicing to be rid of their breeches andputtees, and saying the most outrageous things to the most respectablewomen in sight. Even the seller of Ganges-water he did not see, and Kimexpected that he would at least buy a bottle of that precious stuff. Helooked steadily at the ground, and strode as steadily hour after h
our,his soul busied elsewhere. But Kim was in the seventh heaven of joy. TheGrand Trunk at this point was built on an embankment to guard againstwinter floods from the foothills, so that one walked, as it were, alittle above the country, along a stately corridor, seeing all Indiaspread out to left and right. It was beautiful to behold the many-yokedgrain and cotton waggons crawling over the country-roads: one could heartheir axles, complaining a mile away, coming nearer, till with shoutsand yells and bad words they climbed up the steep incline and plunged onto the hard main road, carter reviling carter. It was equally beautifulto watch the people, little clumps of red and blue and pink and whiteand saffron, turning aside to go to their own villages, dispersing andgrowing small by twos and threes across the level plain. Kim felt thesethings, though he could not give tongue to his feelings, and socontented himself with buying peeled sugar-cane and spitting the pithgenerously about his path. From time to time the lama took snuff, and atlast Kim could endure the silence no longer.

  'This is a good land--the land of the South!' said he. 'The air is good;the water is good. Eh?'

  'And they are all bound upon the Wheel,' said the lama. 'Bound from lifeafter life. To none of these has the Way been shown.' He shook himselfback to this world.

  'And now we have walked a weary way,' said Kim. 'Surely we shall sooncome to a parao (a resting-place). Shall we stay there? Look, the sun issloping.'

  'Who will receive us this evening?'

  'That is all one. This country is full of good folk. Besides,'--he sunkhis voice beneath a whisper,--'we have money.'

  The crowd thickened as they neared the resting-place which marked theend of their day's journey. A line of stalls selling very simple foodand tobacco, a stack of firewood, a police-station, a well, ahorse-trough, a few trees, and, under them, some trampled ground dottedwith the black ashes of old fires, are all that mark a parao on theGrand Trunk; if you except the beggars and the crows--both hungry.

  By this time the sun was driving broad golden spokes through the lowerbranches of the mango trees; the parakeets and doves were coming home intheir hundreds; the chattering, gray-backed Seven Sisters, talking overthe day's adventures, walked back and forth in twos and threes almostunder the feet of the travellers; and shufflings and scufflings in thebranches showed that the bats were ready to go out on the night-picket.Swiftly the light gathered itself together, painted for an instant thefaces and the cart-wheels and the bullocks' horns as red as blood. Thenthe night fell, changing the touch of the air, drawing a low, even haze,like a gossamer veil of blue, across the face of the country, andbringing out, keen and distinct, the smell of wood-smoke and cattle andthe good scent of wheaten cakes cooked on ashes. The evening patrolhurried out of the police-station with important coughings andreiterated orders; and a live charcoal ball in the cup of a waysidecarter's hookah glowed red while Kim's eye mechanically watched the lastflicker of the sun on the brass tweezers.

  The Lama and Kim walked a little to one side; Kim chewinghis stick of sugar-cane, and making way for no one under the status of apriest.]

  The life of the parao was very like that of the Kashmir Serai on a smallscale. Kim dived into the happy Asiatic disorder which, if you onlyallow time, will bring you everything that a simple man needs.

  His wants were few, because, since the lama had no caste scruples,cooked food from the nearest stall would serve; but, for luxury's sake,Kim bought a handful of dung-cakes to build a fire. All about, comingand going round the little flames, men cried for oil, or grain, orsweetmeats, or tobacco, jostling one another while they waited theirturn at the well; and under the men's voices you heard from halted,shuttered carts the high squeals and giggles of women whose faces shouldnot be seen in public.

  Nowadays, well-educated natives are of opinion that when their womenfolktravel--and they visit a good deal--it is better to take them quickly byrail in a properly screened compartment; and that custom is spreading.But there are always those of the old rock who hold by the use of theirforefathers; and, above all, there are always the old women,--moreconservative than the men,--who toward the end of their days go apilgrimage. They, being withered and undesirable, do not, under certaincircumstances, object to unveiling. After their long seclusion, duringwhich they have always been in business touch with a thousand outsideinterests, they love the bustle and stir of the open road, thegatherings at the shrines, and the infinite possibilities of gossip withlike-minded dowagers. Very often it suits a long-suffering family that astrong-tongued, iron-willed old lady should disport herself about Indiain this fashion; for certainly pilgrimage is grateful to the Gods. Soall about India, in the most remote places, as in the most public, youfind some knot of grizzled servitors in nominal charge of an old ladywho is more or less curtained and hid away in a bullock-cart. Such menare staid and discreet, and when a European or a high-caste native isnear will net their charge with most elaborate precautions; but in theordinary haphazard chances of pilgrimage the precautions are not taken.The old lady is, after all, intensely human, and lives to look uponlife.

  Kim marked down a gaily ornamented ruth or family bullock-cart, with abroidered canopy of two domes, like a double-humped camel, which hadjust been drawn into the parao. Eight men made its retinue, and two ofthe eight were armed with rusty sabres--sure signs that they followed aperson of distinction, for the common folk do not bear arms. Anincreasing cackle of complaints, orders, and jests, and what to aEuropean would have been bad language, came from behind the curtains.Here was evidently a woman used to command.

  Kim looked over the retinue critically. Half of them were thin-legged,gray-bearded Ooryas from down country. The other half were duffle-clad,felt-hatted hillmen of the North: and that mixture told its own tale,even if he had not overheard the incessant sparring between the twodivisions. The old lady was going south on a visit--probably to a richrelative, most probably to a son-in-law, who had sent up an escort as amark of respect. The hillmen would be of her own people--Kulu or Kangrafolk. It was quite clear that she was not taking her daughter down to bewedded, or the curtains would have been laced home and the guard wouldhave allowed no one near the car. A merry and a high-spirited dame,thought Kim, balancing the dung-cake in one hand, the cooked food in theother, and piloting the lama with a nudging shoulder. Something might bemade out of the meeting. The lama would give him no help, but, as aconscientious chela, Kim was delighted to beg for two.

  He built his fire as close to the cart as he dared, waiting for one ofthe escort to order him away. The lama dropped wearily to the ground,much as a heavy fruit-eating bat cowers, and returned to his rosary.

  'Stand farther off, beggar!' The order was shouted in broken Hindustaneeby one of the hillmen.

  'Huh! It is only a pahari' (a hillman), said Kim over his shoulder.'Since when have the hill-asses owned all Hindustan?'

  The retort was a swift and brilliant sketch of Kim's pedigree for threegenerations.

  'Ah!' Kim's voice was sweeter than ever, as he broke the dung-cake intofit pieces. 'In my country we call that the beginning of love-talk.'

  A harsh, thin cackle behind the curtains put the hillman on his mettlefor a second shot.

  'Not so bad--not so bad,' said Kim with calm. 'But have a care, mybrother, lest we--we, I say--be minded to give a curse or so in return.And our curses have the knack of biting home.'

  The Ooryas laughed; the hillman sprang forward threateningly; the lamasuddenly raised his head, bringing his huge tam-o'-shanter cap into thefull light of Kim's new-started fire.

  'What is it?' said he.

  The man halted as though struck to stone. 'I--I--am saved from a greatsin,' he stammered.

  'The foreigner has found him a priest at last,' whispered one of theOoryas.

  'Hai! Why is that beggar-brat not well beaten?' the old woman cried.

  The hillman drew back to the cart and whispered something to thecurtain. There was dead silence, then a muttering.

  'This goes well,' thought Kim, pretending neither to see nor hear.

&
nbsp; 'When--when--he has eaten,'--the hillman fawned on Kim--'it--it isrequested that the Holy One will do the honour to talk to one who wouldspeak to him.'

  'After he has eaten he will sleep,' Kim returned loftily. He could notquite see what new turn the game had taken, but stood resolute to profitby it. 'Now, I will get him his food.' The last sentence, spoken loudly,ended with a sigh as of faintness.

  'I--I myself and the others of my people will look to that--if it ispermitted.'

  'It is permitted,' said Kim, more loftily than ever. 'Holy One, thesepeople will bring us food.'

  'The land is good. All the country of the South is good--a great and aterrible world,', mumbled the lama drowsily.

  'Let him sleep,' said Kim, 'but look to it that we are well fed when hewakes. He is a very holy man.'

  Again one of the Ooryas said something contemptuously.

  'He is not a faquir. He is not a down-country beggar,' Kim went onseverely, addressing the stars. 'He is the most holy of holy men. He isabove all castes. I am his chela.'

  'Come here!' said the flat thin voice behind the curtain; and Kim came,conscious that eyes he could not see were staring at him. One skinnybrown finger heavy with rings lay on the edge of the cart, and the talkwent this way:

  'Who is that one?'

  'An exceedingly holy one. He comes from far off. He comes from Tibet.'

  'Where in Tibet?'

  'From behind the snows--from a very far place. He knows the stars; hemakes horoscopes; he reads nativities. But he does not do this formoney. He does it for kindness and great charity. I am his disciple. Iam called also the Friend of the Stars.'

  'Thou art no hillman.'

  'Ask him. He will tell thee I was sent to him from the stars to show himan end to his pilgrimage.'

  'Humph! Consider, brat, that I am an old woman and not altogether afool. Lamas I know, and to these I give reverence, but thou art no morea lawful chela than this my finger is the pole of this waggon. Thou arta casteless Hindu--a bold and unblushing beggar, attached, belike, tothe Holy One for the sake of gain.'

  'Do we not all work for gain?' Kim changed his tone promptly to matchthat altered voice. 'I have heard'--this was a bow drawn at aventure--'I have heard--'

  'What hast thou heard?' she snapped, rapping with the finger.

  'Nothing that I well remember, but some talk in the bazars, which isdoubtless a lie, that even Rajahs--small hill Rajahs--'

  'But none the less of good Rajput blood.'

  'Assuredly of good blood. That these even sell the more comely of theirwomenfolk for gain. Down south they sell them--to zemindars and such-allof Oudh.'

  If there be one thing in the world that the small hill Rajahs deny it isjust this charge; but it happens to be one thing that the bazarsbelieve, when they discuss the mysterious slave-traffics of India. Theold lady explained to Kim, in a tense, indignant whisper, precisely whatmanner and fashion of malignant liar he was. Had Kim hinted this whenshe was a girl, he would have been pommelled to death that same eveningby an elephant. This was perfectly true.

  'Ahai! I am only a beggar's brat, as the Eye of Beauty has said,' hewailed in extravagant terror.

  'Eye of Beauty, forsooth! Who am I that thou shouldst flingbeggar-endearments at me?' And yet she laughed at the long-forgottenword. 'Forty years ago that might have been said, and not without truth.Ay, thirty years ago. But it is the fault of this gadding up and downHind that a king's widow must jostle all the scum of the land, and bemade a mock by beggars.'

  'Great Queen,' said Kim promptly, for he heard her shaking withindignation, 'I am even what the Great Queen says I am; but none theless is my master holy. He has not yet heard the Great Queen's orderthat--'

  'Order? I order a Holy One--a Teacher of the Law--to come and speak to awoman? Never!'

  'Pity my stupidity. I thought it was given as an order--'

  'It was not. It was a petition. Does this make all clear?'

  A silver coin clicked on the edge of the cart. Kim took it and salaamedprofoundly. The old lady recognised that, as the eyes and the ears ofthe lama, he was to be propitiated.

  'I am but the Holy One's disciple. When he has eaten perhaps he willcome.'

  'Oh, villain and shameless rogue!' The jewelled forefinger shook itselfat him reprovingly; but he could hear the old lady's chuckle.

  'Nay, what is it?' he said, dropping into his most caressing andconfidential tone--the one, he well knew, that few could resist. 'Is--isthere any need of a son in thy family? Speak freely, for we priests--'That last was a direct plagiarism from a faquir by the Taksali Gate.

  'We priests! Thou art not yet old enough to--' She checked the joke withanother laugh. 'Believe me, now and again, we women, O priest, think ofother matters than sons. Moreover, my daughter has borne her man-child.'

  'Two arrows in the quiver are better than one; and three are betterstill.' Kim quoted the proverb with a meditative cough, lookingdiscreetly earthward.

  'True--oh, true. But perhaps that will come. Certainly thosedown-country Brahmins are utterly useless. I sent gifts and monies andgifts again to them and they prophesied.'

  'Ah,' drawled Kim, with infinite contempt, 'they prophesied!' Aprofessional could have done no better.

  'And it was not till I remembered my own Gods that my prayers wereheard. I chose an auspicious hour, and--perhaps thy Holy One has heardof the Abbot of the Lung-Cho lamassery. It was to him I put the matter,and behold in the due time all came about as I desired. The Brahmin inthe house of the father of my daughter's son has since said that it wasthrough his prayers--which is a little error that I will explain to himwhen we reach our journey's end. And so afterwards I go to Buddh Gaya,to make shraddha for the father of my children.'

  'Thither go we.'

  'Doubly auspicious,' chirruped the old lady. 'A second son at least!'

  'O Friend of all the World!' The lama had waked, and, simply as a childbewildered in a strange bed, called for Kim.

  'I come! I come, Holy One!' He dashed to the fire, where he found thelama already surrounded by dishes of food, the hillmen visibly adoringhim and the Southerners looking sourly.

  'Go back! Withdraw!' Kim cried. 'Do we eat publicly like dogs?' Theyfinished the meal in silence, each turned a little from the other, andKim topped it with a native-made cigarette.

  'Have I not said an hundred times that the South is a good land? Here isa virtuous and high-born widow of a Hill Rajah on pilgrimage, she says,to Buddh Gaya. She it is sends us those dishes; and when thou art wellrested she would speak to thee.'

  'Is this also thy work?' The lama dipped deep into his snuff-gourd.

  'Who else watched over thee since our wonderful journey began?' Kim'seyes danced in his head as he blew the rank smoke through his nostrilsand stretched him on the dusty ground. 'Have I failed to oversee thycomforts, Holy One?'

  'A blessing on thee.' The lama inclined his solemn head. 'I have knownmany men in my so long life, and disciples not a few. But to none amongmen, if so be thou art woman-born, has my heart gone out as it has tothee--thoughtful, wise, and courteous, but something of a small imp.'

  'And I have never seen such a priest as thou.' Kim considered thebenevolent yellow face wrinkle by wrinkle. 'It is less than three dayssince we took road together, and it is as though it were a hundredyears.'

  'Perhaps in a former life it was permitted that I should have renderedthee some service. May be'--he smiled--'I freed thee from a trap; or,having caught thee on a hook in the days when I was not enlightened,cast thee back into the river.'

  'May be,' said Kim quietly. He had heard this sort of speculation againand again, from the mouths of many whom the English would not considerimaginative. 'Now, as regards that woman in the bullock-cart, I thinkshe needs a second son for her daughter.'

  'That is no part of the Way,' sighed the lama. 'But at least she is fromthe Hills. Ah, the Hills, and the snow of the Hills!'

  He rose and stalked to the cart. Kim would have given his ears to cometoo, but the lama
did not invite him; and the few words he caught werein an unknown tongue, for they spoke some common speech of themountains. The woman seemed to ask questions which the lama turned overin his mind before answering. Now and again he heard the sing-songcadence of a Chinese quotation. It was a strange picture that Kimwatched between drooped eyelids. The lama, very straight and erect, thedeep folds of his yellow clothing slashed with black in the light of theparao fires precisely as a knotted tree-trunk is slashed with the shadowof the long sun, addressed a tinsel and lacquered ruth which burned likea many-coloured jewel in the same uncertain light. The patterns on thegold-worked curtains ran up and down, melting and re-forming as thefolds shook and quivered to the night wind; and when the talk grew moreearnest the jewelled forefinger snapped out little sparks of lightbetween the embroideries. Behind the cart was a wall of uncertaindarkness speckled with little flames and alive with half-caught formsand faces and shadows. The voices of early evening had settled down toone soothing hum whose deepest note was the steady chumping of thebullocks above their chopped straw, and whose highest was the tinkle ofa Bengali dancing-girl's sitar. Most men had eaten and pulled deep attheir gurgling, grunting hookahs, which in full blast sound likebull-frogs.

  At last the lama returned. A hillman walked behind him with a waddedcotton-quilt and spread it carefully by the fire.

  'She deserves ten thousand grandchildren,' thought Kim. 'None the less,but for me, these gifts would not have come.'

  'A virtuous woman--and a wise one.' The lama slackened off, joint byjoint, like a slow camel. 'The world is full of charity to those whofollow the Way.' He flung a fair half of the quilt over Kim.

  'And what said she?' Kim rolled up in his share of it.

  'She asked me many questions and propounded many problems--the most ofwhich were idle tales which she had heard from devil-serving priests whopretend to follow the Way. Some I answered, and some I said werefoolish. Many wear the Robe, but few keep the Way.'

  'True. That is true.' Kim used the thoughtful, conciliatory tone ofthose who wish to draw confidences.

  'But by her lights she is most right-minded. She desires greatly that weshould go with her to Buddh Gaya; her road being ours, as I understand,for many days' journey to the southward.'

  'And?'

  'Patience a little. To this I said that my Search came before allthings. She had heard many foolish legends, but this great truth of myRiver she had never heard. Such are the priests of the lower hills! Sheknew the Abbot of Lung-Cho, but she did not know of my River--nor thetale of the Arrow.'

  'And?'

  'I spoke therefore of the Search, and of the Way, and of matters thatwere profitable; she desiring only that I should accompany her and makeprayer for a second son.'

  'Aha! "We women" do not think of anything save children,' said Kimsleepily.

  'Now, since our roads run together for a while, I do not see that we inany way depart from our Search if so be we accompany her--at least asfar as--I have forgotten the name of the city.'

  'Ohe!' said Kim, turning and speaking in a sharp whisper to one of theOoryas a few yards away. 'Where is your master's house?'

  'A little behind Saharunpore, among the fruit gardens.' He named thevillage.

  'That was the place,' said the lama. 'So far, at least, we can go withher.'

  'Flies go to carrion,' said the Oorya, in an abstracted voice.

  'For the sick cow a crow; for the sick man a Brahmin.' Kim breathed theproverb impersonally to the shadow-tops of the trees overhead.

  The Oorya grunted and held his peace.

  'So then we go with her, Holy One?'

  'Is there any reason against? I can still step aside and try all therivers that the road overpasses. She desires that I should come. Shevery greatly desires it.'

  Kim stifled a laugh in the quilt. When once that imperious old lady hadrecovered from her natural awe of a lama he thought it probable that shewould be worth listening to.

  He was nearly asleep when the lama suddenly quoted a proverb: 'Thehusbands of the talkative have a great reward hereafter.' Then Kim heardhim snuff thrice, and dozed off, still laughing.

  The diamond-bright dawn woke men and crows and bullocks together. Kimsat up and yawned, shook himself, and thrilled with delight. This wasseeing the world in real truth; this was life as he would haveit--bustling and shouting, the buckling of belts, and beating ofbullocks and creaking of wheels, lighting of fires and cooking of food,and new sights at every turn of the approving eye. The morning mistswept off in a whorl of silver, the parrots shot away to some distantriver in shrieking green hosts: all the well-wheels within earshot wentto work. India was awake, and Kim was in the middle of it, more awakeand more excited than any one, chewing on a twig that he would presentlyuse as a toothbrush; for he borrowed right- and left-handedly from allthe customs of the country he knew and loved. There was no need to worryabout food--no need to spend a cowrie at the crowded stalls. He was thedisciple of a holy man annexed by a strong-willed old lady. All thingswould be prepared for them, and when they were respectfully invited soto do they would sit and eat. For the rest,--Kim giggled here as hecleaned his teeth,--his hostess would rather heighten the enjoyment ofthe road. He inspected her bullocks critically, as they came up gruntingand blowing under the yokes. If they went too fast--it was notlikely--there would be a pleasant seat for himself along the pole; thelama would sit beside the driver. The escort, of course, would walk. Theold lady, equally of course, would talk a great deal, and by what he hadheard that conversation would not lack salt. She was already ordering,haranguing, rebuking, and, it must be said, cursing her servants fordelays.

  'Get her her pipe. In the name of the Gods, get her her pipe and stopher ill-omened mouth,' cried an Oorya, tying up his shapeless bundles ofbedding. 'She and the parrots are alike. They screech in the dawn.'

  'The lead-bullocks! Hai! Look to the lead-bullocks!' They were backingand wheeling as a grain-cart's axle caught them by the horns. 'Son of anowl, where dost thou go?' This to the grinning carter.

  'Ai! Yai! Yai! That within there is the Queen of Delhi going to prayfor a son,' the man called back over his high load. 'Room for the Queenof Delhi and her prime minister the gray monkey climbing up his ownsword!' Another cart loaded with bark for a down-country tanneryfollowed close behind, and its driver added a few compliments as theruth-bullocks backed and backed again.

  From behind the shaking curtains came one volley of invective. It didnot last long, but in kind and quality, in blistering, bitingappropriateness, it was beyond anything that even Kim had heard. Hecould see the carter's bare chest collapse with amazement, as the mansalaamed reverently to the voice, leaped from the pole, and helped theescort haul their volcano on to the main road. Here the voice told himtruthfully what sort of wife he had wedded, and what she was doing inhis absence.

  'Oh, shabash!' murmured Kim, unable to contain himself, as the man slunkaway.

  'Well done, indeed? It is a shame and a scandal that a poor woman maynot go to make prayer to her gods except she be jostled and insulted byall the refuse of Hindustan--that she must eat gali (abuse) as men eatghi. But I have yet a wag left to my tongue--a word or two well spokenthat serves the occasion. And still am I without my tobacco! Who is theone-eyed and luckless son of shame that has not yet prepared my pipe?'

  It was hastily thrust in by a hillman, and a trickle of thick smoke fromeach corner of the curtains showed that peace was restored.

  If Kim had walked proudly the day before, disciple of a holy man, to-dayhe paced with tenfold pride in the train of a semi-royal procession,with a recognised place under the patronage of an old lady of charmingmanners and infinite resource. The escort, their heads tied up nativefashion, fell in on either side the cart, shuffling enormous clouds ofdust.

  The lama and Kim walked a little to one side; Kim chewing his stick ofsugar-cane, and making way for no one under the status of a priest. Theycould hear the old lady's tongue clack as steadily as a rice-husker. Shebade the escort tell her wh
at was going on on the road; and so soon asthey were clear of the parao she flung back the curtains and peered out,her veil a third across her face. Her men did not eye her directly whenshe addressed them, and thus the proprieties were more or less observed.

  A dark, sallowish District Superintendent of Police, faultlesslyuniformed, an Englishman, trotted by on a tired horse, and, seeing fromher retinue what manner of person she was, chaffed her.

  'O mother,' he cried, 'do they do this in the zenanas? Suppose anEnglishman came by and saw that thou hadst no nose?'

  'What?' she shrilled back. 'Thy own mother has no nose? Why say so,then, on the open road?'

  It was a fair counter. The Englishman threw up his hand with the gestureof a man hit at sword-play. She laughed and nodded.

  'Is this a face to tempt virtue aside?' She withdrew all her veil andstared at him.

  It was by no means lovely, but as the man gathered up his reins hecalled it a Moon of Paradise, a Disturber of Integrity, and a few otherfantastic epithets which doubled her up with mirth.

  'That is a nut-cut' (rogue), she said. 'All police-constables arenut-cuts; but the police-wallahs are the worst. Hai, my son, thou hastnever learned all that since thou camest from Belait (Europe). Whosuckled thee?'

  'A pahareen--a hillwoman of Dalhousie, my mother. Keep thy beauty undera shade--O Dispenser of Delights,' and he was gone.

  'These be the sort'--she took a fine judicial tone, and stuffed hermouth with pan. 'These be the sort to oversee justice. They know theland and the customs of the land. The others, all new from Europe,suckled by white women and learning our tongues from books, are worsethan the pestilence. They do harm to Kings.' Then she told a long, longtale to the world at large, of an ignorant young policeman who haddisturbed some small Hill Rajah, a ninth cousin of her own, in thematter of a trivial land-case, winding up with a quotation from a workby no means devotional.

  Then her mood changed, and she bade one of the escort ask whether thelama would walk alongside and discuss matters of religion. So Kimdropped back into the dust and returned to his sugar-cane. For an houror more the lama's tam-o'-shanter showed like a moon through the haze;and, from all he heard, Kim gathered that the old woman wept. One of theOoryas half apologised for his rudeness overnight, saying that he hadnever known his mistress of so bland a temper, and he ascribed it to thepresence of the strange priest. Personally, he believed in Brahmins,though, like all natives, he was acutely aware of their cunning andtheir greed. Still, when Brahmins but irritated with begging demands themother of his master's wife, and when she sent them away so angry thatthey cursed the whole retinue (which was the real reason of the secondoff-side bullock going lame, and of the pole breaking the night before),he was prepared to accept any priest of any other denomination in or outof India. To this Kim assented with wise nods, and bade the Ooryaobserve that the lama took no money, and that the cost of his and Kim'sfood would be repaid a hundred times in the good luck that would attendthe caravan henceforward. He also told stories of Lahore city, and sanga song or two which made the escort laugh. As a town-mouse wellacquainted with the latest songs by the most fashionablecomposers,--they are women for the most part,--Kim had a distinctadvantage over men from a little fruit-village behind Saharunpore, buthe let that advantage be inferred.

  At noon they, turned aside to eat, and the meal was good, plentiful, andwell served on plates of clean leaves, in decency, out of drift of thedust. They gave the scraps to certain beggars, that all requirementsmight be fulfilled, and sat down to a long, luxurious smoke. The oldlady had retreated behind her curtains, but mixed most freely in thetalk, her servants arguing with and contradicting her as servants dothroughout the East. She compared the cool and the pines of the Kangraand Kulu hills with the dust and the mangoes of the South; she told atale of some old local Gods at the edge of her husband's territory; sheroundly abused the tobacco which she was then smoking, reviled allBrahmins, and speculated without reserve on the coming of manygrandsons.