KIM.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4407, 13 July 1901, Page 2 (Supplement)

KIM.

KIPLING. ALL RIGHTS STRICTLY RESERVED. (Copyright 1001, L'.S.A.) CHAPTER IV.' Good Luck, she is never a lady, Hut the cursedest (mean aiive, Tricksy, wincing, and jady— Kittlo to lead or drive. Greet her—she’s hailing a stranger! Meet her—she's buskin" to leave! Let her alone for a shrew to the hone And the hussy cornea- (ducking your sleeve! Largesse. Largesse, O Fortune! Give or hold at vour will. If I’vo no care for Fortune, Fortune must follow mo .still! —‘‘The Wishing Caps.” Then, lowering their voices, they spoke togeother. Kim came to rest under a tree, but the lama tugged impatiently at his elbow. “Let us go on. The River is not here.” “ilai mai! Have wo not walked enough for a little? Our River will not run away. Patience, and ho will give Us a dole.” “That, said the old soldier, suauenly, •'is the Friend of the Stars. He brought mo the news yesterday. Having seen the very man himself, in a vision, giving orders for the war.” “Tim,” said tho son, all deep in his broad chest. “Ho canto by a bazaar rumour, and made profit of it.” His father laughed. “At least lie did not come 'to mo begging for a new charger and the gods know how many rupees. Are thv brothers’ regiments also under orders ?” “I do not know. I took leave and came swiftly to thee in case ” “In ca.so they ran before thee to beg. 0 gamblers and spendthrifts all! But thou hast never yet ridden in a charge. A good horse is needed there, truly. A good follower and a good pony also for the marching. Let us sec—let us see.” Ho thrummed on the pommel. “This is no place to cast accounts in, my father.” Let tts go to thy house.” “At least, pay the boy, then; I have no pice with me. and ho brought auspicious news. Ho! Friend of all the World, a war is toward as thou hast said.”

“Nay, ns I know, tho war,” returned Kim composedly. “Tri?” Bald the lama, fingering his beads, all pager for the road. “My master does not trouble the Stars for ~,ro. , We brought tho news, bear witness, we brought th e nows, and now we go.” Kira hall-crooked his hand at his side. Tho son tossed a silver coin through the sunlight, grumbling something about beggars and jugglers. It was a fouranna piece, and would feed them well for some days. The lama, seeing the flash of the metal, droned a blessing. “Go thy way, Friend of all the World,” piped the old soldier, wheeling his scrawny mount. “For once in all my days I have met a true prophet—who was not in the army.” Father and son swung round together, tho old man sitting as erect as the younger. A' Punjabi constable in yellow linen trousers slouched across the road. He had seen the monev pass. “Halt!” he cried, in impressive English. “Enow ye not that there is a takkus of two annas a head, which is four annas, on those who enter the road from this side road ? It is the order of tho Sirkar, and the money is spent for the planting of trees and the beautification of the ways.” “And tho bellies of the police,” said Kim, skipping out of arm’s reach. “Consider for a while, man with the mud head. Think you we come from the nearest pond, like the frog, thy father-in-law ? Hast thou, ever heard the name 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 tho verandah. “Ho took a label from a bottle of helaitoe pani (soda water) and affixing it to a bridge, collected taxes for a month from those who passeed, saying that it was the Sirkar’s order. .Then eame an Englishman and 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 ticxoad. “vVns there ever such a disciple as I?” he cried merrily to the'lama. “All earth would have picked thy bones Wihitn ten miles of Lahore city if I had not guarded thee.” “I consider in my own mind whether thou art a spirit sometimes, or sometimes an evil imp,” said the lama, smiling slowly. “I am thy chela.” Kim dropped into step at his side—that indescribable gait of the longdistance tramp all the world over. “Now let us walk,” muttered the lama, and to the click of his rosary they walked in silence mile upon mile. The lama, as usual, to deep *n meditation, but Kim’s bright eyes were wide open. The broad, smiling river of life, he considered, was a vast improvement on the cramped and crowded Lahore streets. There were new peonle and new sights at every side—castes he knew, and castes that were altogether out of his experience. They meet a troop of long-haired, strong-scented Sansis with baskets of lizards and other unclean food on their hacks, the lean dogs sniffing at their heels. These people kept their own side of the road, moving at a quick, furtive jog-trot, and all other castes gave them ample room, for the Sansiis deep pollution. Behind them, walking wide and stiffly across the strmg shadows, rhe memory of his leg irons still on him, strode one newly released from the gaol, his full stomach and shiny skin proving that the Government fed its prisoners better than most honest men could feed themselves. Kim knew that walk well, and made broad jests of it as they passed. Then an Akali, a wildeved, ‘ wild-haired Sikh devotee in the blue checked clothes of his faith, with polished steel-quoits glistening on the cone of his tall blue turban, stalked past, returning from a visit to one of the independent Sikh States, where he had been singing the ancient glories of tho Khalsa to College-trained princelings •in top boots and white-cord breeches. Kim was careful not to irritate that man; for the Akali’s temper is short and his arm quick. Here and there they met or wore overtaken by the gaily dressed crowds of whole villages turning out to some local fair; the women, with their babes on their hips, walking behind t.;e men, the older bovs prancing on sticks of sugar •ane, dragging rude brass models of locomotives such as they sell for a

halfpenny, or flashing the sun into the * ' eves of their betters from cheap toy mirrors. One could see at a glance what each had bought; and if there were any doubt it needed only to watch the wives comp: ng, brown arm against brown arm, tho newly purchased dull glass bracelets that came from the

North - West. These merry - makers stepped slowly calling one to the other, and stopping to haggle with sweetmeat sellers, or to make a prayer before one of the wayside shrines —sometimes iTinwu, sometimes mussnlman —which tho low caste of both creeds share with beautiful impartiality. A solid line of blue, rising and falling like tho back of a caterpillar in haste, would swing uo through, the quivering dust and trot past to a chorus of quick cackling. That was a gang of changars— the women who have taken all the embankments of all tne Northern railways under their charge—a flat-footed, bigLusomod, strong-limbed, blue petticoated crowd of earth-carriers, hurrying north on news of a job, and wasting no time by the road. They belong to tho cast' whoso men do not count, and they walked with squared elbows, swinging hips, and heads on high, as suits women who curry heavy weights. A little later a marriage procession would strike into the Grand Trunk with music and shoutings, and a‘ smell ot marigold and jasmine stronger even than the reek of the dust. One could see the bride’s litter, a blur of red and tinsel, staggering through the haze, while the bridegroom’s bewreathed pony turned aside "to snatch a mouthful from a passing fodder cart. Then ivim would .-join the Kentish-fire of good wishes and bad jokes, wishing the couple a hundred sons and no daughters, as the saving is. Still more interesting and more to be shouted over it was when a strolling juggler with some halftrained monkeys, or a panting, | feeble bear, or a woman who tied goats horns her feet, and with these danced on a slack rope, set the horses to shying and the women to shrill, long-drawn quavers of aoiazcment, Tho lama never raised his eyes. He did not note the money-lender on his goose-humped pony hastening along to collect the cruel interest; or the longshouting, deep-voiced little nlob still in military formation—of native soldiers on leave, rojoicii l " to bo rid of their breeches and r -.ttees , ,and saying the most outrageous things to the most resuectable women in sight. Even tho seller of Ganges water ho did not see. and Kim exnected that he would at least buy a bottle of that precious stuff. He looked steadily at the ground, and strode on steadily hour after hoim, seeing and hearng nothing. But Kim was in the seventh heaven of joy. The Grand Trunk at this point was built on an embankment to guard against winter floods from the foothills, so that one walked, as it were, a little above th 0 country along a stately corridor, seeing all India spread out to left and right. It Was beautiful to behold tho many-yoked grain and cotton waggons crawling over the country roads; one could hear their axles complaining a mile away, coming nearer, till with shouts and yells and bad words they climbed up tho steep incline, and plunged on to the hard main 'road, carter reviling carter. It was equally beautiful to watch the people, little clumps of red and blue and pink and white and saffron, turning aside to go tq their own villages, dispersing and growing small by twos and threes across the level plain. Kim felt these things, though he could not give tongue to his feelings, and so contented himself with buying peeled sugar cane and spitting the pith generously about tho path. From time to time the lama took snuff, and at last Kim could ensure 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 hound upon the Wheel,” said the lama. “Bound from life after life. To none of these has the way been shown.” He shopk himself back to this world.

“And now we have walked a weary way,” said Kim. “Surely we shall soon come to a parao (a resting plaqe). Shall we stay there? Look, the sun is sloping.” "vVho will receive us this evening?” “That is all one. Th© country is full of good folk. Besides” —he sunk his Voice beneath a whisper—“we have money.” The Ctowd thickened as they neared the resting piace which marked the end of their day’s journey. Adino of stalls Belling very simple food and tobacco, a stack of firewood, a police station, a well, a horse trough, a few trees, and, under them, some trampled ground dotted with the black ashes of old fires, ar© all th.at mark a parao on the Grand Trunk—if you except rile beggars and the crows, both hungr^ By this time the sun was driving broad golden spokes through the lower branohes of the mango trees; the paroquets and doves were coming home in their hundreds ; the chattering, greybacked Seven Sisters, talking over the day’s advehtures, walked back and forth in twos and threes almost under the feet of the travellers; and shufflings and scufflings in the branches showed that the bats were ready to go out on the night picket. Swiftly the light gathered itself together, paint, ed for an instant the faces aid the cart-wheels and the bullocks’ horns as red as blood. Then the 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, and bringing out, keen and distinct, the smell of wood smoke and cattle, and th* good scent of wheaten cakes cooked on ashes. The evening patrol hurried out of the police station with important coughings and 'reiterated orders, and a live charcoal ball in the cup of a wayside carter’s hookah glowed red while Kim’s eye mechanically watched th© last flicker of the snn on the brass tweezers.

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

His wants were few, because since the lam a. 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, coming and going round the little flames, men cried for oil, or grain, or sweetmeats, or tobacco, jostling one another while they waited their turn at the well; and under the men’s voices you heard from halted, shattered carts the high squeals and giggles of women whose faces could not bo seen in public. Nowadays, well-educated natives are of opinion that when their womenfolk travel —and they visit a good deal—it is better to take them quickly by rail in a properly screened compartment; and that custom is spreading. But there are always those of the old rock who hold by tho use of their forefathers; and,' above all, there are always the old women—more conservative than the men—who towards the end of their days go a pilgrimage. They, being withered and undesirable, do not, under certain circumstances, object to unveiling. After their long seclusion, during which they have always been in business touch with a thousand outside interests, they love the bustle and stir of the open road, the gatherings at the shrines, and the infinite possibilities of gossip with like-minded ■dowagers. Very often it suite a long-suffering family that a strongtongued, iron-willed old lady should disport horself about India

in this fashion ; for certainly pilgrimage is grateful to the Gods. So all a him | India, in the most remote places, as i in the most public, you find some knot of grizzled servitors in nominal charge of an old lady who is more or less curtained and hid away in a bullock cartThose men are staid and discreet, and when a European or a high-caste nativ e is near will net their charge with most elaborate precautions ; but in the ordinary haphazard chances of pilgrimage the precautions are not taken. The old lady is, after ail, intensely human, and likes to look upon life. Kim marked down a gaily ornamented ruth Or family bullock cart, with a broidered canopy of two domes, like a double-humped camel, which had just been drawn into tho parao. Eight men made its retinue, and two of the eight wore armed with rusty sabres—sure signs that they followed, a person of distinction, for the common folk do not bear arms. An increasing cackle of complaints, orders, and jests, and to a European 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 ot them wore thin-legged, grey-bearded Ooryas from down country. The other half were duffle clad_, felt hatted hillmen of the North, and that mixture told its own tale, oven if he had not overheard the incessant sparring between the two divisions. The old lady was going south on a v'sit — probably to a rich relative —most prob. ably to a son-in-law who had sent up an escort as a mark of respect. The hillmen would be of her own people— Kulu or Kangra bred. It was quite clear that she was not taking jcr daughter uown to be wedded, or the curtains would have been laced home, and the guard would have allowed no one near the car. A merry and a high spirited dame, thought Kim, balancing the dung cake in one hand and cooked food in the other, and piloting the lama with a nudging shoulder- Something might be made out of the meeting. The lama would give him no help, and as a isooscientious chela Kim was delighted. to beg for two.

He built his fire as close ro the cart as he dared, waiting for some one of the egcort to order him away. The lamadropped wearily on to the ground, .much as a heavy fruit eating bat cowers, and returned to his rosary. '

“Stand further off. beggar” The erder was shouted hi broken Hindustani© bj one of the hillmen. “Hull! It is only a pahari” (a hillman), said Kim, over his shoinder. “Since when have the hill asses united all Hindustan?”

The retort was a s'wift and brilliant sketcu of Kim’s pedigree for three generations-

“Ah!” Kim’s voice was sweeter than ever, as he broke the dung-cake into fit pieces. “In my country wa call tnat the beginning of love talk.” A harsh, thin cackle behind the curtains put tho hillman on his metal for a second shot.

“Not so bad—not so bad,” said Kim, critically. “But have a care, my brother, lest we—we. I say— be minded to give a curse or so in returp. And our curses have the knack of biting home.” The Ooryas laughed: the h’illman sprang forward, threateningly, the lama suddenly raised his head, bringing his huge Tam-o’-Shan ter cap into the full light of Kim’s new-started fire. “What is it?” said he. The man halted as though turned'to stone. ‘T—I am saved from a great sin',” ho stammered. “The foreigner has found him a priest at last,” said ope of the Ooryas in ap undertone. “Hai! Why is that beggar- brat not well beaten?” the old woman cried. The billman drew back to the cart, and whispered something tq the curtain. There was dead silence, then a muttering. “This goes well,” thought Kim, pretending neither to see nor hear, “When —when—he has eaten,” —the hilhnau fawned on Kim—“it—it is requested that th© Holy One will do the honour to talk to one who would speak to him.” “After he has eaten he will sleep,” Kim returned loftilyi He could not quite see what new turn the game had taken, bilt stood resolute to profit by it. “Now, 1 will get him his food.” The last sentence, spoken loudly, ended with a sigh as of faintness. “I—l myself and the others of my people will look to that—if it is permitted-” “It is permitted," said Kim, more loftily than ever. Jloly One, these people will bring us food.” “The land;is good. All the country of the South is good—a great and a terriole world,” mumbled the lama drowsily. “Let liim sleep,” said Kim, “bub look to it t’hat we are well fed when be wakes. 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- on severely, addressing the stars.' “He is the most holy of holy men. He is above all castes, I am his chela.” “Come herel” said the old thin voice behind the curtain; and Kim came, con. scions That eyes he could not see were staring at him. One skinny brown fin-r ger heavy with rings lay on the edge of the cart, and the talk went this way. “Who is that one?” v “An exceedingly holy one. He comes fram far off. He comes from Thibet.” “Where in Thibet?” “From behind the snows—from a very far place. Ho knows the stars;_ he mokes horoscopes; he ’ reads nativities. But he does not do this for money. H e does it for kindness and great charity, I am his disciple. I am colled 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 him an end to his pilgrimage.’' “Humph! Consider, brat, that lam an old woman, and mot .altogether a fool. Lpmas I know, and to these I give reverence, but thou art no a lawful chela than this my finger is the pole of this waggon. Thou art a oasteless Hindu—a bold and unblushing beggar, attached, belike', to the Holy One for the sake of gain.” |r Do we not ail work for gain?” Kim changed bis tone promptly to match that altered voice. "“I have heard”—this was a bow drawn -at a venture—“l have heard--” “What hast thou heard?” she snapned, rapping with the iipger. “Nothing that I well remember, but some talk jn the bazaars, which is doubtless 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 their womenfolk for gain. Down south they sell them —to zemindars and such-all of Oudh ” (To b© continued.)