 CHAPTER IX PART II They were a most mad ten days, but Kim enjoyed himself too much to reflect on their craziness. In the morning they played the jewel-game, sometimes with veritable stones, sometimes with piles of swords and daggers, sometimes with photographs of natives. Through the afternoons he and the Hindu boy would mount guard in the shop, sitting dumb behind a carpet-bale or a screen, and watching Mr. Lergan's many and very curious visitors. There were small rajas, escorts coughing in the veranda, who came to buy curiosities, such as phonographs and mechanical toys. There were ladies in search of necklaces, and men it seemed to Kim, but his mind may have been vitiated by early training, in search of the ladies. Natives from independent and feudatory courts whose ostensible business was the repair of broken necklaces, rivers of light poured out upon the table, but whose true end seemed to be to raise money for angry Maharani's or young rajas. There were babus whom Lergan Sahib talked with austerity and authority, but at the end of each interview he gave them money in kind silver and currency and currency notes. There were occasional gatherings of long-coated theatrical natives who discussed metaphysics in English and Bengali to Mr. Lergan's great edification. He was always interested in religions. At the end of the day Kim and the Hindu boy, whose name varied at Lergan's pleasure, were expected to give a detailed account of all that they had seen and heard, their view of each man's character as shown in his face, talk and manner, and their notions of his real errand. After dinner Lergan Sahib's fancy turned more to what might be called dressing up, in which game he took a most informing interest. He could paint faces to a marvel with a brush-dab here and a line there, changing them past recognition. The shop was full of all manner of dresses and turbans, and Kim was apparalled variously as a young Mohammedan of good family, an oil man and once, which was a joyous evening, as the son of an older land-owner in the fullest of full dress. Lergan Sahib had a hawk's eye to detect the least flaw in the makeup, and lying in a worn teak wood couch would explain by the half hour together how such and such a cast talked or walked or coughed or spat or sneezed, and since hows matter little in this world the why of everything. The Hindu child played this game clumsily. That little mind, keen as an icicle where tally of jewels was concerned, could not temper itself to enter another's soul. But a demon in Kim woke up and sang with joy as he put on the changing dresses and changed speech and gesture therewith. Carried away by enthusiasm he volunteered to show Lergan Sahib one evening how the disciples of a certain caste of Fakir, old Lahore acquaintances, begged dolls by the roadside, and what sort of language he would use to an Englishman, to a Punjabi farmer going to a fair, and to a woman without a veil. Lergan Sahib laughed immensely and begged Kim to stay as he was immobile for half an hour, cross-legged, ash-smeared, and wild-eyed in the back room. At the end of that time entered a hulking, obese babu, whose stocking legs shook with fat, and Kim opened on him with a shower of wayside chaff. Lergan Sahib, this annoyed Kim, watched the babu and not the play. I think, said the babu heavily, lighting a cigarette, I am of opinion that it is most extraordinary and efficient performance. Except that you had told me I should have opined that, that you were pulling my legs. How soon can he become approximately efficient chain-man, because then I shall indent for him. That is what he must learn at luck now. Then order him to be jolly damn quick. Good night, Lergan. The babu swung out with the gait of a bogged cow. When they were telling over the day's list of visitors, Lergan Sahib asked Kim who he thought the man might be. God knows, said Kim cheerily. The tone might almost have deceived Mahbub Ali, but it failed entirely with the healer of sick pearls. That is true, God he knows, but I wish to know what you think. Kim glanced sideways at his companion, whose eye had a way of compelling truth. I think, I, I think he will want me when I come from the school, but, confidentially, as Lergan Sahib nodded approval, I do not understand how he can wear many dresses and talk many tongues. Thou wilt understand many things later. He is a writer of tales, for a certain kernel. His honor is great, only in similar, and it is noticeable that he has no name, but only a number, and a letter. That is a custom among us. And is there a price upon his head, too, as upon Ma, all the others? Not yet, but if a boy rose up who is now sitting here and went—look, the door is open—as far as a certain house, with a red-painted veranda, behind that which was the old theatre in the Lower Bazaar, and whispered through the shutters, Harry Chander Mukherjee bore the bad news of last month. That boy might take away a belt full of rupees. How many, said Kim promptly? Five hundred, a thousand, as many as he might ask for. Good! And for how long might such a boy live after the news was told? He smiled merrily at Lergan Sahib's very beard. Ah! That is well thought of. Perhaps if he were very clever he might live out the day, but not the night, by no means the night. Then what is the Babu's pay if so much is put upon his head? Eighty perhaps a hundred, perhaps a hundred and fifty rupees, but the pay is the least part of the work. From time to time God calls his men to be born, and thou art one of them, who have a lust to go abroad at the risk of their lives and discover news. Today it may be a far-off thing, tomorrow of some hidden mountain, and the next day of some nearby men who have done a foolishness against the state. These souls are very few, and of these few not more than ten are of the best. Among these ten I count the Babu, and that is curious. How great, therefore, and desirable must be a business that brazens the heart of a Bengali. True, but the days go slowly for me. I am yet a boy, and it is only within two months I learned to write Angrizi. Even now I cannot read it well. And there are yet years and years and long years before I can be even a chain man. Have patience, friend of all the world! Kim startled at the title. Would I had a few of the years that irked thee so? I have proved thee in several small ways. This will not be forgotten when I make my report to the Colonel Saib. Then, changing suddenly into English, with a deep laugh, by Joe Vohara, I think there is a great deal in you, and you must not become proud, and you must not talk. You must go back to Lucknow, and be a good little boy, and mine your book, as the English say, and perhaps next holidays, if you care, you can come back to me. Kim's face fell. Oh, I mean, if you like. I know where you want to go. Four days later a seat was booked for Kim and his small trunk at the rear of a Kalkatonga. His companion was the whale-like babu, who, with a fringe shawl wrapped round his head and his fat openwork stocking'd left leg tucked under him, shivered and grunted in the morning chill. How comes it that this man is one of us? thought Kim, considering the jelly back as they jolted down the road, and the reflections threw himself into most pleasant daydreams. Lurgan Saib had given him five rupees, a splendid sum, as well as the assurance of his protection, if he worked. Unlike Mabub, Lurgan Saib had spoken most explicitly of the reward that would follow obedience, and Kim was content. If only, like the babu, he could enjoy the dignity of a letter and a number, and a price upon his head. Someday he would be all that and more. Someday he might be almost as great as Mabub Ali. The house-tops of his search should be half India. He would follow kings and ministers, as in the old days he followed vacals and lawyers' touts across Lahore city for Mabub Ali's sake. Meantime there was the present and not at all unpleasant fact of Saint Xavier's immediately before him. There would be new boys to condescend to, and there would be tales of holiday adventures to hear. Young Martin, son of the tea-planter at Manipur, had boasted that he would go to war with a rifle against the headhunters. That might be, but it was certain that young Martin had not been blown half across the forecourt of Apatiala palace by an explosion of fireworks. Nor had he, Kim, felt at telling himself the story of his own adventures through the last three months. He could paralyze Saint Xavier's. Even the biggest boys who shaved with the recital were that permitted. But it was, of course, out of the question. There would be a price upon his head in good time, as Lurgan Sa'ib had assured him. And if he talked foolishly now, not only would that price never be set, but Colonel Crichton would cast him off. And he would be left to the wrath of Lurgan Sa'ib and Mabub Ali for the short space of life that would remain to him. So I should choose Delhi for the sake of a fish, was his proverbial philosophy. It behooved him to forget his holidays. There would always remain the fun of inventing imaginary adventures, and, as Lurgan Sa'ib had said, to work. Of all the boys hurrying back to Saint Xavier's from Sakur in the sands of Gali beneath the palms, none was so full with virtue as Kimbalohara, giggiting down to Umballa, behind Hari Chander Mukherjee, whose name on the books of one section of the ethnological survey was R-17. And if additional spur were needed, the babu supplied it. After a huge meal at Kalka, he spoke uninterruptedly. Was Kim going to school? Then he, an MA of Kalkata University, would explain the advantages of education. There were marks to be gained by due attention to Latin and words worth excursion. All this was Greek to Kim. French too was vital, and the best was to be picked up at Chandanagur a few miles from Kalkata. Also a man might go far, as he himself had done by strict attention to plays called Lire and Julius Caesar, both much in demand by examiners. Lire was not so full of historical allusions as Julius Caesar. The book cost four honours, and could be bought second hand in Boba's Arthur II. Still, more importantly than words worth, all the eminent authors Burke and Hare was the art and science of menceration. A boy who had passed his examination in these branches, for which by the way there were no cram books, could, by merely marching over a country with a compass and a level and a straight eye, carry away a picture of that country which might be sold for large sums in coin silver. But as it was occasionally inexpedient to carry about measuring chains, a boy would do well to know the precise length of his own foot pace, so that when he was deprived of what Hari Chanda called adventitious aids, he might still tread his distances. To keep count of thousands of paces, Hari Chanda's experience had shown him nothing more valuable than a rosary of 81 or 108 beads. For it was divisible and subdivisible into many multiples and sub-multiples. Through the volleying drifts of English, Kim caught the general trend of the talk, and it interested him very much. Here was a new craft that a man could tuck away in his head, and by the look of the large wide world unfolding itself before him, it seemed the more a man knew, the better for him. Said the babu when he had talked for an hour and a half, I hope some day to enjoy your official acquaintance. Add into him, if I may be pardoned that expression, I shall give you this beetle-box which is highly valuable article and cost me two rupees only four years ago. It was a cheap, heart-shaped thing with three compartments for carrying the eternal beetle-nut, lime and palm leaf, but it was filled with little tabuloid bottles. That is reward of merit for your performance in character of that holy man. You see, you are so young you think you will last forever and not take care of your body. It is great nuisance to go sick in the middle of business. I am fond of drugs myself, and they are handy to cure poor people too. These are good departmental drugs, quinine and so on. I give it to you for souvenir. Now, good-bye, I have urgent private business here by the roadside. He slipped out noiselessly as a cat on the Umballa Road, hailed a passing cart, and jingled away, while Kim, tongue-tied, twiddled the brass beetle-box in his hands. The record of a boy's education interests few save his parents, and, as you know, Kim was an orphan. It is written in the books of Saint Saviour's in Partibus that a report of Kim's progress was forwarded at the end of each term to Colonel Crichton and to Father Victor, from whose hands duly came the money for his schooling. It is further recorded in the same books that he showed a great aptitude for mathematical studies, as well as map-making, and carried away a prize, the life of Lord Lawrence, tree-calf, two voles, nine rupees, eight anas, for proficiency therein, and the same term played in the Saint Saviour's XI against the Allagour-Mohamedan College, his age being fourteen years and ten months. He was also revaccinated, from which we may assume that there had been another epidemic of smallpox at Lucknow about the same time. Pencil notes in the edge of an old muster-roll recall that he was punished several times for conversing with improper persons, and it seems that he was once sentenced to heavy pains for absenting himself for a day in the company of a street-beggar. That was when he got over the gate and pleaded with the lama through a whole day down the banks of the gumpty to accompany him on the road next holidays, for one month, for a little week, and the lama set his face as a flint against it, avering that the time had not yet come. Kim's business, said the old man, as they ate cakes together, was to get all the wisdom of the Syibes, and then he would see. The hand of friendship must in some way have averted the whip of calamity. For six weeks later Kim seems to have passed an examination in elementary surveying with great credit, his age being fifteen years and eight months. From this date the record is silent. His name does not appear in the year's batch of those who entered the subordinate survey of India, but against it stands the words Removed on appointment. Several times in those three years, cast up at the temple of the Tirthankars in Benares, the lama a little thinner and a shade yellower, if that were possible, but gentle and untainted as ever. Sometimes it was from the south that he came, from south of Tutikorin, whence the wonderful fire-boats go to Ceylon, where are priests who know Pali. Sometimes it was from the wet green west and the thousand cotton factory chimneys that rim Bombay, and once from the north where he had doubled back eight hundred miles to talk for a day with the keeper of the images in the Wonder House. He would stride to his cell in the cool, cut marble, the priests of the temple were good to the old man, wash off the dust of travel, make prayer, and depart for Lucknow, well accustomed now to the ways of the rail, in a third-class carriage. Returning, it was noticeable, as his friend the keeper pointed out to the head priest, that he ceased for a while to mourn the loss of his river, or to draw wondrous pictures of the wheel of life, but preferred to talk of the beauty and wisdom of a certain mysterious chayla, whom no man of the temple had ever seen, in the faces of the blessed feet throughout all India. The curator has still in his possession a most marvellous account of his wanderings and meditations. There remained nothing more in life but to find the river of the arrow. Yet it was shown to him in his dreams that it was a matter not to be undertaken with any hope of success, unless that seeker had with him one chayla appointed to bring the event to a happy issue and versed in great wisdom, such wisdom as the white-haired keeper of images possess. For example, here came out the snuff-gourd and the kindly jain priests made haste to be silent. Long and long ago, when Devadatta was king of Banaras, let all listen to the jataka, an elephant was captured for a time by the king's hunters, and ere he broke free, be ringed with a grievous leg-iron. Still, this he strove to remove with hate and frenzy in his heart, and hurrying up and down the forests, besought his brother elephants to wrench it asunder. One by one, with their strong trunks, they tried and failed. At the last they gave it as their opinion that the ring was not to be broken by any bestial power. And in a thicket, newborn wet with the moisture of birth, lay a day-old cough of the herd whose mother had died. The fetid elephant, forgetting his own agony, said, If I do not help this suckling, it will perish under our feet. So he stood above the young thing, making his legs buttresses against the elephant, buttresses against the uneasy moving herd, and he begged milk of a virtuous cow, and the cough-throve, and the ringed elephant, was the cough's guide and defense. Now the days of an elephant let all listen to the jataka, are thirty-five years to his full strength, and through thirty-five rains the ringed elephant befriended the younger, and all the while the feta ate into the flesh. Then one day the young elephant saw the half-buried iron, and turning to the elder said, What is this? It is even my sorrow, said he who had befriended him. Then that other put out his trunk, and in the twinkling of an eyelash abolished the ring, saying the appointed time has come. So the virtuous elephant, who had waited temporarily and done kind acts, was relieved at the appointed time by the very cough whom he had turned aside to cherish. Let all listen to the jataka, for the elephant was ananda, and the cough that broke the ring was none other than the lord himself. Then he would shake his head benignly, and over the ever-clicking rosary point out how free that elephant cough was from the sin of pride. He was as humble as a chayla, who, seeing his master sitting in the dust outside the gates of learning, overlept the gates, though they were locked, and took his master to his heart in the presence of the proud stomached city. Rich would be the reward of such a master and the aim for them to seek freedom together. So did the lama speak, coming and going across India as softly as a bat. A sharp-tongued old woman in a house among the fruit trees behind Saranapur honoured him as the woman honoured the prophet, but his chamber was by no means upon the wall. In an apartment of the forecourt overlooked by cooing doves he would sit while she laid her side her useless veil, and chattered of spirits and fiends of kulu, of grandchildren unborn, and of the free-tongued brat who had talked to her in the resting place. Once, too, he strayed alone from the grand trunk road below Umballa to the very village whose priest had tried to drug him. But the kind heaven that guards lamas sent him at twilight through the crops, absorbed and unsuspicious to the risildar's door. He was like to have been a grave misunderstanding, for the old soldier asked him why the friend of the stars had gone that way only six days before. That may not be, said the lama. He has gone back to his own people. He sat in that corner telling a hundred merry tales five nights ago, his host insisted. True, he vanished somewhat suddenly, in the dawn after foolish talk with my granddaughter. He grows a pace, but he is the same friend of the stars, as brought me true word of the war. Have you parted? Yes, and no, the lama replied. We have not all together parted, but the time is not ripe that we should take the road together. He acquires wisdom, but he has to take the road together. He acquires wisdom in another place. We must wait. All one. But if it were not the boy, how did he come to speak so continually of thee? And what said he, asked the lama eagerly, sweet words, and hundred thousand, that thou art his father and mother and such all, pity that he does not take the queen's service, he is fearless. This news amazed the lama. He did not then know how religiously Kim kept to the contract made with Mabubali and perforce ratified by Colonel Crichton. There is no holding the young pony from the game, said the horse-dealer when the Colonel pointed out that vagabonding over India in holiday time was absurd. If permission be refused to go and come as he chooses, he will make light of the refusal. Then who is to catch him? Colonel Saib only once in a thousand years as a horse born so well fitted for the game as this our cult, and we need men. End of Chapter 9 Read by Adrian Pretzelis Chapter 10 Your tearsle's too long at Hacksire. He's no IS but a passage-hawk that footed air we caught him, dangerously freer the air. Faith, were he mine, as mine's the glove he binds to for his tirings, I'd fly him with a make-hawk. He's in Yarek, plumed to the very point so weathered. Give him the firmament God made for him, and watch shall take the air of him. Gow's Watch Logan Saib did not use as direct speech, but his advice tallied with Mabubes, and the upshot was good for him. He knew better now than to leave Lucknow City in native garb, and if Mabubes were anywhere within the reach of a letter, it was to Mabubes' camp, he headed, and made his change under the Pathans' wary eye. Could the little survey-paint-box that he used for map-tinting in term-time have found a tongue to tell of holiday doings he might have been expelled? Once Mabubes and he went together as far as the beautiful city of Bombay with three truckloads of tram-horses, and Mabubes nearly melted when Kim proposed a sail in a dow across the Indian Ocean to buy Gulf Arabs, which, he understood from a hanger-on of the dealer Abdul Rahman, fetched better prices than mere Kaboulis. He dipped his hand into the dish, with that great trader when Mabubes and a few co-religionists were invited to a big, harsh dinner. They came back by way of Karachi by sea when Kim took his first experience of sea-sickness on the fore-hatch of a coasting steamer well persuaded he had been poisoned. The Babubes' famous drug-box proved useless, though Kim had restocked it at Bombay. Mabubes had business at Quetta, and there Kim, as Mabubes admitted, earned his keep, and perhaps a little over, by spending four curious days as scullion in the house of a fat commissariat sergeant from whose office-box, in an auspicious moment, he removed a little vellum ledger which he copied out. It seemed to deal entirely with cattle and camel-sales by moonlight, lying behind an outhouse all through one hot night. Then he returned the ledger to its place, and at Mabubes' word left that service unpaid, rejoining him six miles down the road, the clean copy in his bosom. That soldier is a small fish, Mabub Ali explained, but in time we shall catch the larger one. He only sells oxen at two prices, one for himself and one for the government, which I do not think is a sin. Why could I not take away the little book and be done with it? Then he would have been frightened, and he would have told his master. Then we should miss, perhaps, a great number of new rifles which seek their way up from Quetta to the north. The game is so large that one sees but a little at a time. A ho! said Kim, and held his tongue. That was in the monsoon holidays after he had taken the prize for mathematics. The Christmas holidays he spent, deducting ten days for private amusements, with Lurgan Sa'ib, where he sat for the most part in front of a roaring wood fire. Jaco Road was four feet deep in snow that year, and, the small Hindu had gone away to be married, helped Lurgan to thread pearls. He made Kim learn whole chapters of the Quran by heart till he could deliver them with the very roll and cadence of a mullah. Moreover he told Kim the names and properties of many native drugs, as well as the runes proper to recite when you administer them. And in the evenings he wrote charms on parchment, elaborate pentagrams crowned with the names of devils, Mura and Ahwin the champion of kings, all fantastically written in the corners. More to the point he advised Kim as to the care of his own body, the cure of fever fits, and simple remedies of the road. A week before it was time to go down, Colonel Crichton Sa'ib, this was unfair, sent Kim a written examination paper that concerned itself solely with rods and chains and links and angles. Next holidays he was out with Mahbub, and here, by the way, he nearly died of thirst, plodding through the sand on a camel to the mysterious city of Bikaneer, where the wells are four hundred feet deep and lying throughout with camel bone. It was not an amusing trip from Kim's point of view because, in defiance of the contract, the Colonel ordered him to make a map of that wild walled city. And since Mohammedan horse-boys and pipe-tenders are not expected to drag survey chains round the capital of an independent native state, Kim was forced to pace all his distances by means of a bead rosary. He used the compass for bearings as occasions served, after dark chiefly, when the camels had been fed, and by the help of his little survey paint-box of six colour-cakes and three brushes, he achieved something not remotely unlike the city of Jaisalmyr. Mahbub laughed a great deal, and advised him to make up a written report, as well. And in the back of the big account-book that lay under the flap of Mahbub's pet saddle, Kim fell to work. It must hold everything that thou hast seen or touched or considered, right as though the jangilat saib himself had come by stealth with a vast army out-setting to war. How great an army! Oh, half a lack of men! Folly, remember how few and bad were the wells in the sand. Not a thousand thirsty men could come near by here. Then write that down. Also, all the old breeches in the walls, and whence the fire-wood is cut, and what is the temper and disposition of the king. I come here till all my horses are sold. I will hire a room by the gateway, and thou shalt be my accountant. There is a good lock to the door. The report, in its unmistakable St. Xavier's running script, and the brown, yellow, and lake-dorbed map, was on hand a few years ago. A careless clerk filed it with the rough notes of E.23's second Saistan survey. But by now the pencil characters must be almost illegible. Kim translated it, sweating under the light of an oil-lamp, to Mahbub, the second day of their return journey. The Pathan rose and stooped over his dappled saddle-bags. I knew it would be worthy address of honour, and so I made one ready, he said, smiling. Were I Amir of Afghanistan, and some day we may see him, I would fill thy mouth with gold. He laid the garments formally at Kim's feet. There was a gold-embroidered Peshwa turban cap rising to a cone, and a big turban cloth ending in a fringe of gold. Then there was a deli-embroidered waistcoat to slip over a milky-white shirt fastening to the right, ample and flowing, green pyjamas with twisted silk waist-string, and that nothing may be lacking, Russia leather slippers, smelling divinely with arrogantly curled tips. Upon a Wednesday and in the morning to put on new clothes is auspicious, said Mahbub solemnly, but we must not forget the wicked folk in the world, so he capped all the splendour that was taking Kim's delighted breath away with a mother-of-pearl, nickel-plated, self-extracting .450 revolver. I had thought of a smaller bore, but reflected that this takes government bullets. A man can always come by those, especially across the border. Stand up and let me look. He clapped Kim on the shoulder. May you never be tired, Pathan! Oh, the heart's to be broken! Oh, the eyes under the eyelashes looking sideways! Kim turned about, pointed his toes, stretched, and felt mechanically for the moustache that was just beginning. Then he stooped towards Mahbub's feet to make proper acknowledgement with fluttering, quick-patting hands. His heart too full for words. Mahbub forestalled and embraced him. My son, said he, what need of words between us? But is not the little gun a delight? All six cartridges come out at one twist. It is born in the bosom next the skin, which, as it were, keeps it oiled. Never put it elsewhere, and please, God, thou shalt some day kill a man with it. Hi, my! said Kim roofily. If a Sahib kills a man, he is hanged in the jail. True, but one pace beyond the border, men are wiser. Put it away, but fill it first. Of what use is a gun unfed? When I go back to the Madrisha, I must return it. They do not allow little guns. Thou wilt keep it for me? Son, I am worried of that Madrisha, where they take the best years of a man to teach him what he can only learn upon the road. The folly of the Sahibs has neither top nor bottom. No matter. Maybe thy written report shall save thee further bondage. And, God, he knows we need men more and more in the game. They marched jaw-bound against blowing sand across the salt desert to Jodpur, where Mabub and his handsome nephew Habib Ula did much trading. And there, sorrowfully in European clothes, which he was fast outgrowing, Kim went second-class to Saint Xavier's. Three weeks later, Colonel Crichton, pricing Tibetan ghost daggers at Lurgan's shop, faced Mabub Ali openly mutinous. Lurgan Sahib operated as support in reserve. The pony is made, finished, mouthed, and paced Sahib. From now on, day by day, he will lose his manners if he has kept the tricks, dropped the rain on his back, and let go, said the horse-dealer. We need him. But he is so young, Mabub. Not more than sixteen is here. When I was fifteen, I had shot my man and begot my man, Sahib. You impenitent old heathen, Crichton turned to Lurgan. The black beard nodded ascent to the wisdom of the Afghans' dyed scarlet. I should have used him long ago, said Lurgan. The younger the better. That is why I always have my really valuable jewels watched by a child. You sent him to me to try. I tried him in every way. He is the only boy I could not make see things. In the crystal, in the ink-pool, demanded Mabub. No! Under my hand, as I told you. That has never happened before. It means that he is strong enough. But you think it skittles, Colonel Crichton, to make any one do anything he wants. And that is three years ago. I have taught him a good deal since, Colonel Crichton. I think you waste him now. Hmm! Maybe you're right. But, as you know, there is no survey work for him at present. Let him out! Let him go! Mabub interrupted. Who expects any colt to carry heavy weight at first? Let him run with the caravans, like our white camel colts. For luck! I would take him out myself, but... There is a little business where he would be most useful in the south, said Lurgan, with particular suavity, dropping his heavy-blued eyelids. E-23 has that in hand, said Crichton, quickly. He must not go down there. Besides, he knows no turkey. Only tell him the shape and the smell of the letters we want, and he will bring them back," Lurgan insisted. Now, that is a man's job, said Crichton. It was a rinect matter of unauthorized and incendiary correspondence between a person who claimed to be the ultimate authority in all matters of the Mohammedan religion throughout the world, and a younger member of a royal house who had been brought to book for kidnapping women within British territory. The Muslim archbishop had been emphatic and over-arrogant. The young prince was merely sulk-y at the curtailment of his privileges. But there was no need. He should continue a correspondence which might someday compromise him. One letter, indeed, had been procured, but the finder was later found dead by the roadside in the habit of an Arab trader, as E-23, taking up the work, duly reported. These facts, and a few others not to be published, made both Mahbub and Crichton shake their heads. Let him go out with his red llama," said the horse-dealer with visible effort. He is fond of the old man. He can learn his paces by the rosary at least. I have had some dealings with the old man by letter," said Colonel Crichton, smiling to himself, with a gauze here. Up and down the land, as he has these three years, he seeks a river of healing, God's curse upon all, Mahbub checked himself. He beds down at the temple of the Tirthankars or at Budagaya when he is in from the road. Then he goes to see the boy at the Madrisha, as we know, for the boy was punished for it twice for thrice. He is quite mad, but a peaceful man. I have met him. The Babu also has had dealings with him. We have watched him for three years. Red llamas are not so common in Hind that one loses track. Babus are very curious," said Lergan meditatively. Do you know what Hari Babu really wants? He wants to be made a member of the Royal Society by taking ethnological notes. I tell you, I tell him about the llama, everything which Mahbub and the boy have told me. Hari Babu goes down to Banares at his own expense, I think. I don't," said Crichton briefly. He had paid Hari's travelling expenses out of a most lively curiosity to learn what the llama might be. And he applies to the llama for information on llama-ism and devil dances and spells and charms several times in these few years. Holy Virgin! I could have told him all that years ago. I think Hari Babu is getting too old for the road. He likes better to collect manners and customs information. Yes, he wants to be an FRS. Hari thinks well of the boy, doesn't he? Oh, very indeed. We have had some pleasant evenings at my little place. But I think it would be waste to throw him away with Hari on the ethnological side. Not for a first experience. How does that strike you, Mahbub? Let the boy run with the llama for six months. After that we can see. He will get experience. He has it already, Saib. As a fish controls the water he swims in. But for every reason it will be well to loose him from the school. Very good then, said Crichton, after himself. He can go with the llama, and if Hari Babu cares to keep an eye on them, so much the better. He won't lead the boy into any danger as Mahbub would. Curious his wish to be an FRS. Very human too. He is the best on the ethnological side, Hari. No money and no preferment would have drawn Crichton from his work on the Indian survey. But deep in his heart also lay the ambition to write FRS after his name. Honours of a sort he knew could be obtained by ingenuity and the help of friends. But to the best of his belief nothing saved work. Papers representing a life of it took a man into the society which he had bombarded for years with monographs on strange, asiatic cults and unknown customs. Nine men out of ten would flee from a royal society soiree in extremity of boredom. But Crichton was the tenth. And at times his soul yearned for the crowded rooms in easy London where silver-haired bald-headed gentlemen who know nothing of the army move among spectroscopic experiments, the lesser plants of the frozen tundras, electric flight-measuring machines and apparatus for slicing into fractional millimetres the left eye of the female mosquito. By all right and reason it was the royal geographical that should have appealed to him. But men are as chanceous children in their choice of playthings. So Crichton smiled and thought the betterer of Hari Babu moved by like desire. He dropped the ghost-agger and looked up at Mahbub. How soon can we get the cult from the stable? said the horsetailer, reading his eyes. Hmm. If I withdraw him by order now, what will he do, thank you? I have never before assisted at the teaching of such a one. He will come to me, said Mahbub promptly. Lurgan Saib and I will prepare him for the road. So be it then. For six months he shall run at his choice. But who will be his sponsor? Lurgan slightly inclined his head. He will not tell anything. If that is what you are afraid of, Colonel Crichton? It's only a boy, after all. Yes, but first he has nothing to tell and secondly he knows what would happen. Also he is very fond of Mahbub and of me a little. Will he draw pay? demanded the practical horsetailer. Food and water allowance only are twenty rupees a month. One advantage of the secret service is that it has no worrying audit. That service is ludicrously starved, of course, but the funds are administered by a few men who do not call for vouchers or present itemised accounts. Mahbub's eyes lighted with almost a Sikh's love of money. Even Lurgan's impassive face changed. He considered the years to come when Kim would have been entered and made to the great game that never ceases day and night throughout India. He foresaw honour and credit in the mouths of a chosen few coming to him from his pupil. Lurgan Sahib had made E-23 what E-23 was out of a bewildered, impertinent, lying, little North West province man. But the joys of these masters was pale and smoky beside the joy of Kim when St Xavier's head called him aside with word that Colonel Crichton had sent for him. I understand, Ohara, that he has found you a place as an assistant chain man in the canal department. That comes of taking up mathematics. It is great luck for you, for you're only sixteen, but of course you understand that you do not become pucker, permanent, till you have passed the automatic examination. So you must not think you are going out into the world to enjoy yourself or that your fortune is made. There is a great deal of hard work before you. Only if you succeed in becoming pucker you can rise, you know, to 450 a month. Where at the principal gave him much good advice as to his conduct and his manners and his morals. And others, his elders who had not been wafted into billets, talked only as Anglo-Indian lads can of favouritism and corruption. Indeed, young Casalette, whose father was a pensioner at Chanoire, hinted very broadly that Colonel Crichton's interest in Kim was directly paternal, and Kim, instead of retaliating, did not even use language. He was thinking of the immense fun to come, of Mahbub's letter of the day before, all neatly written in English, making appointment for that afternoon in a house, the very name of which would have crisp the principal's hair with horror. Said Kim to Mahbub in Lucknell-Roway station that evening, above the luggage-scales. I feared lest, at the last, the roof would fall on me and cheat me. Is it indeed all finished, O my father? Mahbub snapped his fingers to show the utterness of that end, and his eyes blazed like red coals. Then where is the pistol that I may wear it? Softly, a half-year, to run without heel-robes, I begged that munch from Colonel Crichton Saib. At twenty rupees a month, old Red Hat knows that thou art coming. I will pay thee Dasturi, commission, on my pay for three months, said Kim gravely. Yea, two rupees a month, but first we must get rid of these. He plucked his thin linen trousers and dragged, as his collar. I have brought with me all that I need on the road. My trunk has gone up to Lurgan Saib's. Who sends his salams to thee Saib? Lurgan Saib is a very clever man, but what dost thou do? I go north again, upon the great game. What else? Is thy mind still set on following the old Red Hat? Do not forget he made me that I am, though he did not know it. Year by year he sent the money that taught me. I would have done as much, had it struck my thick head, Mahbub growled. Come away, the lamps are lit now, and none will mark thee in the bazaar. We go to Hanifa's house. On the way thither Mahbub gave him much the same sort of advice as his mother gave to Lemuel, and curiously enough Mahbub was exact to point out how Hanifa and her likes destroyed kings. And I remember, he quoted maliciously, one who said, Thrust a snake before a harlot, and a harlot before a pathan, Mahbub Ali. Now accepting us to pathans, of whom I am one, all that is true. Most true is it, in the great game, for it is by means of women that all plans come to ruin, and we lie out in the dawning with our throat cut. So it happened to such a one. He gave the reddest particulars. Then why, Kim paused before a filthy staircase that climbed to the warm darkness of an upper chamber, in the ward that is behind Azim Ula's tobacco-shop? Those who know it call it the bird-cage. It is so full of whisperings and whistlings and chirrapings. The room, with its dirty cushions and half-smoked hookers, smelled abominably of stale tobacco. In one corner lay a huge and shapeless woman, clad in greenish gauzes, and decked brow, nose, ear, neck, wrist, arm, waist, and ankle with heavy native jewellery. When she turned it was like the clashing of copper pots. A lean cat in the balcony outside the window mewed hungrily. Kim checked bewildered at the door-curtain. Is that the new stuff, my boob? said Hanifa lazily, scarcely troubling to remove the mouthpiece from her lips. Oh, Bartanos! Like most of her kind, she swore by the gins. Oh, Bartanos! He is very good to look upon. That is part of the selling of the horse. Mahboob explained to Kim, who laughed. I have heard that talk since my sixth day. He replied, squatting by the light. Whether does it lead? To protection. Tonight we change thy colour. This sleeping under-roofs has blanched thee like an almond. But Hanifa has the secret of a colour that catches. No painting of a day or two. Also we fortify thee against the chances of the road. That is my gift to thee, my son. Take out all the metals on thee, and lay them here. Make ready, Hanifa. Kim dragged forth his compass, serve a paint-box and the new-filled medicine-box. They had all accompanied his travels, and boy-like he valued them immensely. The woman rose slowly, and moved with her hands a little spread before her. Then Kim saw that she was blind. No, no, she muttered. The Pathan speaks truth. My colour does not go in a week or a month, and those who I protect are under strong guard. When one is far off and alone it would not be well to grow blotched and leperous of a sudden, said Mahboob. When thou wast with me I could oversee the matter. Besides, a Pathan is a fair skin. Strip to the waist now, and look how thou art whitened." Hanifa felt her way back from an inner room. It is no matter. She cannot see. He took a pewter-bowl from her ringed hand. The dye stuff showed blue and gummy. Kim experimented on the back of his wrist with a dab of cotton wool, but Hanifa heard him. No, no, she cried. The thing is not done thus, but with the proper ceremonies. The colouring is the least part. I give thee the full protection of the road. Jadu, magic, said Kim, with a half-start. He did not like the white, sightless eyes. Mahboob's hand on his neck bowed him to the floor and nose within an inch of the boards. Be still. No harm comes to thee, my son. I am thy sacrifice. He could not see what the woman was about, but heard the clish-clash of her jewellery for many minutes. A match lit up the darkness. He caught the well-known purr and fizzle of grains of incense. Then the room filled with smoke. Heavy, aromatic, and stupefying. Through growing growls he heard the names of devils. Of Zul-Bazan, son of Eblis, who lives in Bazaars, and Paros, making all the sudden lewd wickedness of wayside halts. Of Dilhan, invisible about mosques, the dweller among the slippers of the faithful, who hinders folks from their prayers. Of Musbut, lord of lies and panic. Hanifa, now whispering in his ear, now talking, as from an immense distance, touched him with horrible, soft fingers. But Mahboob's grip never shifted from his neck till, relaxing with a sigh, the boy lost his senses. Allah! How he fought! We should never have done it but for the drugs. That was his white blood, I take it," said Mahboob, testily. Go on with the Dawat. Invocation. Give him full protection. O Hera! Thou that hearest with ears be present. Listen, O Hera! Hanifa moaned, her dead eyes turned to the west. The dark room filled with moanings and snortings. From the outer balcony, a ponderous figure raised around bullet-head, and coughed nervously. Do not interrupt this ventriloquial necromances, my friend," it said in English. I, O Pine, it is very disturbing to you, but no enlightened observer is jolly well upset. I will lay a plot for their ruin, O Prophet! Bear with the unbelievers! Let them alone awhile!" Hanifa's face turned to the northward, worked horribly. And it was though voices from the ceiling answered her. Haribabu returned to his notebook, balanced on the windowsill, but his hand shook. Hanifa, in some sort of drugged ecstasy, wrenched herself to and fro as she sat cross-legged by Kim's still head, and called upon devil after devil in the ancient order of the ritual, binding them to avoid the boy's every action. With him are the keys of the secret things. None knoweth them beside himself. He knoweth that which is in the dry land and in the sea. Again broke out the unearthly whistling responses. I apprehend it is not all malignant in this operation," said the Babu, watching the throat muscles quiver and jerk as Hanifa spoke with tongues. It is not likely that she had killed the boy. If so, I decline to be witness at the trial. What was the latest hypothetical devil mentioned? Babuji, said Mahbub in the vernacular, I have no regard for the devils of the hind, but the sons of Eblis are far otherwise, and whether they are jammily, well-affected, or jammily terrible, they love not kafirs. Then you think I had better go," said Hari Babu, half-rising. They are, of course, dematerialized phenomena, Spencer says. Hanifa's crisis passed, as these things must, in a paroxysm of howling, with a touch of froth at the lips. She lay spent and motionless beside Kim, and the crazy voices ceased. Well, that work is done. May the boy be better for it, and Hanifa is surely a mistress of Dawat. Help haul her aside, Babu. Do not be afraid. How am I to fear the absolutely nonexistent, said Hari Babu, talking English to restore himself? It is an awful thing still to dread the magic that you contemptuously investigate, to collect folklore for the royal society with a lively belief in all powers of darkness. Mahbub chuckled. He had been out with Hari on the road air now. Let us finish the coloring, said he. The boy is well-protected, if the lords of the air have ears to hear. I am a Sufi, free thinker. But when one can get blindsides of a woman, a stallion or a devil, why go round to invite a kick? Set him up on the way, Babu, and see that old red hat does not lead him beyond our reach. I must get back to my horses. All right, said Hari Babu. He is at present curious spectacle. About Third Cockroach came woke after a sleep of thousands of years. Hanifa in her corner snored heavily, but Mahbub was gone. I hope you were not frightened, said an oily voice at his elbow. I superintended the entire operation, which was most interesting from ethnological point of view. It was high-class dowat. Ha! said Kim, recognizing Hari Babu, who smiled ingratiatingly. And also I had honoured to bring down from Lurgan your present costume. I am not in the habit of officially carrying such guards to subordinate, but... He giggled. Your case is noted as exceptional on the books. I hope Mr. Lurgan will take note my action. Kim yawned and stretched himself. It was good to turn and twist within loose clothes once again. What is this? He looked curiously at the heavy duffel-stuff loaded with the scents of the far north. Oh! that is inconspicuous dress of chela attached to service of lamiastic lama. Complete in every particular, said Hari Babu, rolling into the balcony to clean his teeth at a goglette. I am of opinion it is not your old gentleman's precise religion, but rather subvariant of same. I have contributed rejected notes to Asiatic quarterly review on these subjects. Now it is curious that the old gentleman himself is totally devoid of religiosity. He is not a damn particular. Do you know him? Hari Babu held up his hand to show that he was engaged in the prescribed rites that accompany tooth-cleaning and such things among decently bred Bengalis. Then he recited in English an Arya Samaj prayer of a theistical nature and stuffed his mouth with pan and beetle. Oh! yes! I have met him several times at Bengalis and also at Bidagaya to interrogate him on religious points and devil-worship. He is pure agnostic, same as me. Hanifa stirred in her sleep and Hari Babu jumped nervously to the copper incense burner all black and discoloured in morning light, rubbed a finger in the accumulated lamp-black and drew it diagonally across his face. Who has died in thy house? asked Kim in the vernacular. None! But she may have the evil eye, that sorceress! the Babu replied. What dost thou do now, then? I will set thee on thy way to Bengalis, if thou goest thither and tell thee what must be known by us. I go! at what hour runs the terrain? He rose to his feet, looked round the desolate chamber and at the yellow wax face of Hanifa as the low sun stole across the floor. Is there money to be paid that which? No! she has charmed thee against all devils and all dangers in the name of her devils. It was Mahbub's desire. In English? He is highly obsolete, I think, to indulge in such superstition. Why, it is all ventriloquy. Barely speak, eh? Kim snapped his fingers mechanically to avoid whatever evil. Mahbub, he knew, meditated none. Might have crept in through Hanifa's ministrations and Hari giggled once more. But as he crossed the room he was careful not to step in Hanifa's blotched squat shadow on the boards. Which is, when their time is on them, can lay hold of the heels of a man's soul, if he does that. Now you must well listen, said the Babu, when they were in the fresh air. Part of these ceremonies which we witnessed, they include supply of efficient amulet to those of our department. If you fill in your neck, you will find one small silver amulet, very cheap. That is ours. Do you understand? Oh yes, a howadilly, a hotlifter, said Kim, filling at his neck. Hanifa, she makes them for two rupees, twelve annas, with all sorts of exorcisms. They are quite common, except they are passionately black enamel, and there is a paper inside each one full of names of local saints and such things. That is Hanifa's lookout, you see. Hanifa makes them only for us, but in case she does not, when we get them we put in, before issue, one small piece of turquoise. Mr. Lurgen, he gives them. There is no other source of supply, but it was me, invented all this. It is strictly unofficial, of course, but convenient for subordinates. Colonel Gryton, he does not know, he is European, that turquoise is wrapped in the paper. Yes, that is Roto-Raui station. Now, suppose you go with the lama or with me, I hope, some day or with Mahbub. Suppose we get into a damn tight place. I am a fearful man, most fearful, but I tell you, I have been in damn tight places more than hairs on my head. You say, I am son of the charm. Very good? I do not quite understand. We must not be heard talking English here. That is all right. I am only Babu showing off my English to you. All we Babus talk English to show off," said Hari, flinging his shoulder-cloth jointly. As I was about to say, son of the charm, that means you may be a member of the Sat Bahai, the Seven Brothers, which is Hindi and Tantric. It is popularly supposed to be extinct society, but I have written notes to show it is still extant. You see, it is all my invention. Very good, Sat Bahai has many members, and perhaps before they jolly will cut your throat, they may give you just a chance for life. That is useful, anyhow. And, moreover, these foolish natives, if they are not too excited, they always stop to think before they kill a man who says he belongs to any specific organization, you see. You say then when you are in tight place, I am son of the charm, and you get perhaps your second wind. That is only in extreme circumstances, or to open negotiations with a stranger. Can you quite see? Very good. But suppose now I, or any one of the department, came to you dressed quite different. You would not know me at all unless I chose. I bet you. Some day I will prove it. I will come as Ladaki trader, or anything. And I say to you, you want to buy precious stones? You say, do I look like a man who buys precious stones? Then I say, even very poor man can buy a duck-wise or a takian. That is kitschery, vegetable curry, said Kim. Of course it is. You say, let me see the takian. Then I say, it was cooked by a woman, and perhaps it is bad for your cast. Then you say, there is no cast when men go to look for a takian. You stop a little between those words, to look. That is the whole secret, the little stop, before the words. Kim repeated the test sentence. That is all right. Then I will show you my turk-wise, if there is time. And then you know who I am. And then we exchange views and documents at those all things. And so it is with any other man of us. We talk sometimes about duck-wises, and sometimes about takian. But always with that little stop in the words. It is very easy. First, son of the charm, if you are in a tight place. Perhaps that may help you, perhaps not. Then what I have told you about the takian, if you want to transact official business with a strange man. Of course, at present you have no official business. You are, aha, super-numerary on probation. That's unique specimen. If you are Asiatic of birth, you might be employed right off. But this half year of leave is to make you de-English, you see. The lama he expects you, because I have demi-officially informed him that you have passed all your examinations and will soon obtain government appointment. Oh, you are on acting allowance, you see. So, if you are called upon to help sons of the charm, mind you jolly well try. Now, I shall say good-bye, my dear fellow, and I hope you will come out topside all right. Haribabu stepped back a pace or two into the crowd at the entrance of Lucknow Station and was gone. Kim drew a deep breath and hugged himself all over. The nickel-plated revolver he could feel in the bosom of his sad-coloured robe, the amulet was on his neck, begging-gourd, rosary, and ghost-dagger, Mr. Logan had forgotten nothing, were all to hand with medicine, paint-box, and compass, and in a worn old purse-belt embroidered with porcupine-quill patterns lay a month's pay. Kings could be no richer. He bought sweet-meats in a leaf-cup from a Hindu trader and ate them with glad rapture till a policeman ordered him off the steps. End of Chapter 10. Kim by Rudyard Kipling. Read by Adrian Pretzelis. Chapter 11. Part 1 The people mocked to scorn. Soat is not with juggler-born. Pinch of dust or withered flower, chants flung fruit or borrowed staff, serve his needs and shore his power, bind the spell or loose the laugh. But a man who, etc. The juggler's song, Opus 15. Followed a sudden natural reaction. Now I am alone, all alone, he thought. In India is no one so alone as I. If I die to-day, who shall bring the news and to whom? If I live and God is good, there will be a price upon my head, for I am a son of the charm, I, Kim. A very few white people, but many asiatics, can throw themselves into amazement, as it were, by repeating their own names over and over again to themselves, letting the mind go free upon speculation as to what is called personal identity. When one grows older, the power usually departs, but while it lasts, it may descend upon a man at any moment. Who is Kim? Kim! Kim! He squatted in a corner of the clanging waiting-room, wrapped from all other thoughts, his hands folded in lap, and pupils contracted to pin-points. In a minute, in another half-second, he felt he would arrive at the solution of the tremendous puzzle. But here, as always happens, his mind dropped away from those heights with the rush of a wounded bird, and passing his hand before his eyes, he shook his head. A long-haired Hindu Biragi, holy man, who had just bought a ticket, halted before him at that moment, and stared intently. I also have lost it, he said sadly. It is one of the gates to the way, but for me it has been shut many years. What is the talk? said Kim, abashed. Thou wast wondering there in thy spirit what manner of thing thy soul might be. The seizure came of a sudden. I know! Who should know but I? With a ghost thou. Toward Kashi, Benares. There are no gods there. I have proved them. I go to Pairag, Alabad, for the fifth time, seeking the road to enlightenment. What faith art thou? I too am a seeker, said Kim, using one of the lama's pet words. Thou, he forgot his northern dress for the moment, though Allah alone knows what I seek. The old fellow slipped the Biragi's crutch under his armpit and sat down on a patch of ruddy leopard skin as Kim rose at the call for the Benares train. Go in hope, little brother, he said. It is a long road to the feet of the one, but wither do we all travel. Kim did not feel so lonely after this, and ere he sat out twenty miles in the crowded compartment was cheering his neighbours with a string of most wonderful yarns about his own and his master's magical gifts. Benares struck him as a particularly filthy city, though it was pleasant to find how his cloth was respected. At least one-third of the population prays eternally to some group or other of the many million deities, and so reveres every sort of holy man. Kim was guided to the temple of the Tirthankars about a mile outside the city, near Sanath, by a chance-met Punjabi farmer, a Cambot from Jalandurwe, who had appealed in vain to every god of his homestead to cure his small son, and was trying Benares as a last resort. Though odd from the north, he asked, shouldering through the press of the narrow, stinking streets, much like his own pet bull at home. Aye, I know the Punjab, my mother was a paharin, but my father came from Aritzra by Jandaila, said Kim, oiling his ready tongue for the needs of the road. Jandaila, Jalandur, oh-ho! Then we be neighbours in some sort, as it were. He nodded tenderly to the wailing child in his arms. Whom dost thou serve? A most holy man at the temple of the Tirthankars. They are all most holy and most greedy, said the Jat, with bitterness. I have walked the path of Jalandur, Jat, with bitterness. I have walked the pillars and trodden the temples till my feet are flayed, and the child is no wit better, and the mother being sick too. Ah-stead, little one! We changed his name when the fever came. We put him in girls' clothes. There was nothing we did not do except. I said to his mother when she bundled me off to Benares, she should have come with me. I said Shaki Swara Sultan would serve us best. We know his generosity, but these down country gods are strangers. The child turned on the cushion of the huge corded arms, and looked at Kim through heavy eyelids. And was it all worthless? Kim asked, with easy interest. Worthless, all worthless? said the child, lips cracking with fever. The gods have given him a good mind at least, said the father proudly. Do think he should have listened so cleverly. Yonder is thy temple. Now I am a poor man. Many priests have dealt with me. But my son is my son, and if a gift to thy master can cure him, I am at my very wit's end. Kim considered for a while tingling with pride. Three years ago he would have made a prompt profit on the situation and gone his way without a thought. But now the very respect the jat paid him proved that he was a man. Moreover he had tasted fever once or twice already and knew enough to recognize starvation when he saw it. Call him forth, and I will give him a bond on my best yoke so that the child is cured. Kim halted at the carved outer door of the temple. A white-clad Oswald banker from Ajmir, his sins of usury new wiped out, asked him what he did. I am Chaila to Teshu Lama and Holy One from Botiyal within there. He bade me come, I wait, tell him. Do not forget the child! cried the importunate jat over his shoulder. And then he bellowed in Punjab by Chabi. Oh Holy One, oh disciple of the Holy One, oh gods above all the worlds, behold affliction sitting at the gate! That cry is so common in Banaras that the passers never turned their heads. The Oswald, at peace with mankind, carried the message into the darkness behind him and the easy uncounted eastern minutes slid by. For the lama was asleep in his cell and no priest would wake him. When the click of his rosary again broke the harsh of the inner court where the calm images of the Arhat stand a novice whispered, thy Chaila is here and the old man strode forth forgetting the end of that prayer. Hardly had the tall figure shown in the doorway than the jat ran before him and lifting up the child cried, log upon this Holy One and if the gods will he lives, he lives! He fumbled in his waist-belt and drew out a small silver coin. What is no! the lama's eyes turned to Kim. It was noticeable that he spoke far clearer Urdu than long ago under Zamzamar but the father would allow no private talk. It is no more than a fever! said Kim. The child is not well fed. He sickens at everything and his mother is not here. If it be permitted, may I cure Holy One? What have they made, dear Heela? Wait here! said the lama and he sat down by the jat upon the lowest step of the temple while Kim, looking out of the corner of his eyes slowly opened the little beetle-box. He had dreamed dreams at school of returning to the lama as a saib of chaffing the old man before he revealed himself boy's dreams all. There was more drama in this abstracted brow-puckered search through the tabloid bottles with a pause here and there for thought and a muttered invocation between wiles. Quineen he had in tablets and dark brown meat lozenges, beef most probably, that was not his business. The little thing would not eat but it sucked at a lot of food but it sucked at a lot of food. Kim then handed the lozenges greedily and said it like the salt taste. Take then these six. Kim handed them to the man. Praise the gods and boil three in milk, the other three in water. After he has drunk the milk, give him this. It was the half of a quinine pill. And wrap him warm. Give him the water of the other three and the other half of this white pill when he wakes. Meantime here is another brown medicine he sucked at on the way home. Gods, what wisdom! said the camber snatching. It was as much as Kim could remember of his own treatment in a bout of autumn malaria if you accept the patter that he had added to impress the lama. Now go, come again in the morning. But the price, the price! said the jat and threw back his sturdy shoulders. My son is my son. Now that he will be whole again how shall I go back to his mother and say I took help by the wayside and did not even give a bowl of curds in return. They are all alike these jats, said Kim softly. The jat stood on his dung hill and the king's elephants went by. Oh, driver! said he. What will you sell those little donkeys for? The jat burst into a roar of laughter. Stifled with apologies to the lama. It is the saying of my own country, the very talk of it. So are we jats all. I will come to morrow with the child and the blessing of the gods of the homesteads who are good little gods. Be on you both. Now son, we grow strong again. Do not spit it out, little princeling. King of my heart, do not spit it out. We shall be strong men, wrestlers, and club-wheelers by morning. He moved away, crooning and mumbling. The lama turned to Kim and all the loving old soul of him looked out through his narrow eyes. To heal the sick is to acquire merit, but first one gets knowledge that was wisely done or friend of all the world. I was made wise by thee, holy one, said Kim, forgetting the little play just ended, forgetting St. Saviour's, forgetting his white blood, forgetting even the great game as he stooped Mohammedan fashion to touch his master's feet in the dust of the Jain temple. My teaching I owe to thee. I have eaten thy bread three years. My time is finished. I am loosed from the schools. I come to thee. Herein is my reward. Enter, enter, and is all well? They passed to the inner court where the afternoon sun sloped golden across. Stand that I may see. So he peered critically. It is no longer a child, but a man, ripened in wisdom, walking as a physician. I did well. I did well when I gave thee up to the armed man on that black night. Thus thou remember our first day under Zamzamah. I, said Kim, thus thou remember when I leapt off the carriage the first day I went to, the gates of learning truly, and the day that we ate the cakes together at the back of the river by Nakhlao. Ah-ha! Many times hast thou begged for me, but that day I begged for thee. Good reason, quote Kim. I was then a scholar in the gates of learning and a tyad as a saib. Do not forget Holy One, he went on playfully. I am still a saib by thy favour. True and a saib in most high esteem, come to my cel-chela. How is that known to thee? The lama smiled. First by means of letters from the kindly priest whom we met in the camp of armed men, but he is now gone to his own country and I sent the money to his brother. Colonel Crichton, who had succeeded to the trustyship when Father Victor went to England with the Mavericks, was hardly the chaplain's brother. But I do not well understand the saib's letters. They must be interpreted to me. I chose a shore away. Many times when I returned from my search to this temple, which has always beat a nest to me, there came one seeking enlightenment, a man from Le. That has been, he said, a Hindu, but worried of all those gods. The lama pointed to the Ahats. A fat man, said Kim, a twinkle in his eye. Very fat! But I perceived, in a little, his mind was wholly given up to useless things such as devils and charms, and the form and fashion of our tea-drinkings in the monasteries, and by what road we initiated the novices. A man abounding in questions, but he was a friend of Thainchela. He told me that thou wasst on the road too much honour as a scribe, and I see thou art a physician. Yes, that I am a scribe when I am a saib, but it is set aside when I come as thy disciple. I have accomplished the years appointed for a saib. As it were a novice, said the lama, nodding his head, art thou freed from the schools? I would not have thee unripe. I am all free. In due time I take service under the government as a scribe. Not as a warrior, that is well. But first I come to wonder with thee. Therefore I am here. Who begs for thee these days? He went on quickly. The ice was thin. Very often I beg myself, but as thou knowst, I am seldom here, except when I come to look again at my disciple. From one end to another of Hind have I travelled afoot and in the terrain, a great and wonderful land. But here, when I put in, is though I were in my own bolty yall. He looked round at the little clean cell complacently. A low cushion gave him a seat on which he had disposed himself in the cross-legged attitude of the bodhisat, emerging from meditation. A black teakwood table, not twenty inches high, set with copper teak-ups was before him. In one corner stood a tiny altar, also of heavily carved teak, bearing a copper-guilt image of the seated Buddha, and fronted by a lamp, an incense-holder, and a pair of copper-flower-pots. There a keeper of the images in the wonder-house acquired merit by giving me these a year since, he said, following Kim's eye, when one is far from one's own land, such things carry remembrance, and we must reverence the Lord for that he showed the way, see! He pointed to a curiously built mound of colored rice, crowned with a fantastic metal ornament. When I was abbot in my own place, before I came to better knowledge, I made that offering daily. It is the sacrifice of the universe to the Lord. Thus do we of both the yall offer all the world daily excellent law. And I do it even now, though I know that the excellent one is beyond all pinchings and pattings. He snuffed from his gourd. It is well done, Holy One! Kim murmured, sinking at ease on the cushions, very happy and rather tired. And also, the old man chuckled, right pictures of the wheel of life, three days to a picture. I was busy on it, or it may be I shut my eyes a little when they brought word of thee. It is good to have thee here. I will show thee my art, not for pride's sake, but because thou must learn. The sabes have not all this world's wisdom. He drew from under the table a sheet of strangely scented yellow Chinese paper, the brushes and a slab of Indian ink. In cleanest severest outlines he had traced the great wheel with its six spokes, whose centre is the conjoined hog, snake and dove, ignorance, anger and lust, and whose compartments are all the heavens and hells and all the chances of human life. Men say that the Bodhisatt himself first drew it with grains of rice upon dust to teach his disciples the cause of things. Many ages have crystallised it into a most wonderful convention crowded with hundreds of little figures whose every line carries a meaning. Few can translate the picture parable. There are not twenty in all the world who can draw it surely without a copy. Of those who can both draw and expound are but three. I have a little learned to draw, said Kim, but this is a marvel beyond marvels. I have written it for many years, said the lama. Time was when I could write it all between one lamp lighting and the next. I will teach the art after due preparation, and I will show the meaning of the wheel. We take the road then? The road and our search. I was but waiting for thee. It was made plain to me in a hundred dreams, notably one that came upon the night of the day that the gates of learning first shut. That without thee I should never find my river. Again and again as thou knowest I put this from me, fearing an illusion. Therefore I would not take thee with me that day at luck now when we ate the cakes. I would not take thee till the time when we ate the cakes. I would not take thee till the time was right and auspicious. From the hills to the sea, from the sea to the hills have I gone, but it was vain. Then I remembered the jataka. He told Kim the story of the elephant with the leg-iron as he had told it so often to the Jain priests. Further testimony is not needed. He ended serenely. Now was sent for an aid. That aid removed my search came to naught. Therefore we will go out again together and our search is sure. With a go we. What matters, friend of all the world. The search I say is sure. If need be the river will break from the ground before us. I acquired merit when I sent thee to the gates of learning and gave thee the jewel that is wisdom. Thou didst return. I saw even now a follower of Sakya Mundi the physician whose alters are many in Botiyal. It is sufficient. We are together and all things are as they were. Friend of all the world. Friend of the stars. My chela. Then they talked of matters secular. But it was noticeable that the lama never demanded any details of life at St. Xavier's nor showed the faintest curiosity as to the manners and customs of Sahib's. His mind moved all in the past and he revived every step of their wonderful first journey together rubbing his hands and chuckling till it pleased him to curl himself up into the sudden sleep of old age. Kim watched the last dusty sunshine fade out of the court and played with his ghost dagger and rosary. The clamour of Benares, oldest of all earth cities awake before the gods day and night beat round the walls as the seas roar round a breakwater. Now and again a jain priest crossed the court with some small offering to the images and swept the path about him lest by chance he should take the life of a living thing. A lamp twinkled and there followed the sound of a prayer. Kim watched the stars as they rose one after another in the still, sticky dark till he fell asleep at the foot of the altar. That night he dreamed in Hindustani with never an English word. Holy one, there is the child to whom we gave the medicine, he said, about three o'clock in the morning when the lama also waking from dreams would have fared forth on pilgrimage. The jat will be here at the light. I am well answered in my haste I would have done a wrong. He sat down on the cushions and returned to his rosary. Surely old folk are as children, he said pathetically. They desire a matter. Behold, it must be done at once or they fret and weep. Many times when I was upon the road I have been ready to stamp with my feet at the hindrance of an ox cart in the way or a mere cloud of dust. It was not so when I was a man a long time ago. Nonetheless, it is wrongful. But thou art indeed old, holy one. The thing was done. A cause was put out into the world and old or young, sick or sound, knowing or unknowing who can rein in the effect of that cause. Does the wheel hang still if a child spin it or a drunkard? Jailer, this is a great and terrible world. I think it good, Kim Yun. Kim is there to eat. I have not eaten since yesterday even. I had forgotten I need yonder is good, both the yard and cold rice. We cannot walk far on such stuff. Kim felt all the Europeans lust for flesh-meat which is not accessible in a jain temple. Yet, instead of going out at once with a begging-bowl he stayed his stomach for hours of cold rice till the full dawn. It brought the farmer voluble, stuttering with gratitude. In the night the fever broke and the sweat came, he said. Feel here, his skin is fresh and new. He esteemed the sod lozenges and took milk with greed. He drew the cloth from the child's face and it smiled sleepily at Kim. A little knot of jain priests that were silent but all observant gathered by the temple door. They knew and Kim knew that they knew how the old lama had met his disciple. Being courteous folk they had not intruded themselves overnight by presence, word or gesture. Wherefore Kim repaid them as the sun rose. Thank the gods of the jains, brother. He said, not knowing how these gods were named the fever is indeed broken. Look, see! The lama beamed in the background upon his hosts of three years was there ever such a chela he follows our lord the healer. Now the jains officially recognize all the gods of the Hindu creed as well as the lingam and the snake. They wear the brahmitical thread. They adhere to every claim of Hindu caste law. But because they know and love the lama because he was an old man because he sought the way because he was their guest and because he cataloged long of nights with the head priest as free thinking a meta-position has ever split one hair into seventy they murmured ascent. Remember, Kim bent over the child this trouble may come again. Not if thou hast the proper spell said the father while we go away. Through said the lama to all the jains we go together upon the search whereof I have often spoken I waited till my chela was ripe behold him we go north never again shall I look upon this place of my rest oh people of good will but I am not a beggar the cultivator rose to his feet clutching the child be still do not trouble the holy one a priest cried go Kim whispered meet us again under the big railway bridge and for the sake of all the gods of our Punjab bring food, curry, pulse cakes fried in fat and sweet meats especially sweet meats be swift the pallor of hunger suited Kim very well as he stood in his sad coloured sweeping robes one hand on his rosary and the other in the attitude of benediction faithfully copied from the lama an English observer might have said that he looked rather like the young saint of a stained glass window whereas he was but a growing lad faint with emptiness long and formal were the farewells thrice ended and thrice renewed he who had invited the lama to that haven from far away to bet a silver faced hairless aesthetic took no part in it but meditated as always alone among the images the others were very human pressing small comforts upon the old man a beetle box a fine new iron pen case a food bag and such like warning him against the dangers of the world without and prophesying a happy end to the search meanwhile Kim lonelier than ever squatted on the steps and swore to himself in the language of Saint Xavier's but it is my own fault he concluded with Mabub I ate Mabub's bread or Lugansayibs at Saint Xavier's three meals a day here I must jolly well look out for myself besides I am not in good training how I could eat a plate of beef and now is it finished Holy One the lama both hands raised intoned a final blessing in ornate Chinese I must lean on thy shoulder said he as the temple gates closed we grow stiff I think the weight of a six foot man is not light to steady through miles of crowded streets and Kim loaded down with bundles and packages for the way was glad to reach the shadow of the railway bridge here we eat he said resolutely as the cumbo blue robed and smiling hove in sight a basket in one hand and the child on the other for two Holy Ones he cried from fifty yards they were by the shoal under the first bridge span out of sight of hungry priests rice and good curry cakes all warm and well scented with Hing asafadita curds and sugar king of my fields this to the small son let us show these holy men that we juts of Jalandur Kampaiya service I have heard the Jains would eat nothing that they had not cooked but truly he looked away politely over the broad river where there is no eye there is no cast and we said Kim turning his back and heaping a leaf-platter for the lama are beyond all casts they gorged themselves on the good food in silence nor till he had licked the last of the sticky sweet stuff from his little finger did Kim note that the cambo was too good for travel if our roads lie together he said roughly I go with thee one does not often find a worker of miracles and the child is still weak but I am not altogether a reed he picked up his lathi a five-foot male bamboo ringed with bands of polished iron and flourished it in the air the juts are called quarrelsome but that is not true except when we are crossed we are like our own buffaloes so be it a good stick is a good reason the lama gazed placidly upstream where in long smudged perspective the ceaseless columns of smoke go up from the burning gats by the river now and again despite all municipal regulations the fragment of a half-burned body bobbed by on the full current but for thee said the cambo to Kim drawing the child into his hairy breast I might to-day have gone thither with this one the priests tell us that Banaras is holy which none doubt and desirable to die in but I do not know their gods and they ask for money and when one has done one worship a shaved head vows it is of none effect except one to another wash here, wash there pour, drink, love and scatter flowers but always pay the priests no, the Punjab for me and the soil of the Jalandur Dorb for the best soil in it I have said many times in the temple I think that if need be the river will open at our feet we will therefore go north said the lama rising I remember a pleasant place set about with fruit trees where one can walk in meditation and the air is cooler there it comes from the hills and the snow of the hills what is the name said Kim how should I know dis thou not know that was after the army rose out of the earth and took thee away I abode there in meditation a room against the dove-cut except when she talked eternally the woman from Kulu that is by Saharanpur Kim laughed how does the spirit move thy master does he go afoot for the sake of past sins the Jack demanded cautiously it is a far cry to Delhi no, said Kim I will beg ticket the train one does not own to the possession of money in India then in the name of the gods let us take the fire carriage my son is best in his mother's arms the government has brought on us many taxes but it gives us one good thing the terrain that joins friends and unites the anxious our wonderful matter is the terrain end of chapter 11