Kim by Rudyard Kipling (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📕
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Rudyard Kipling’s novel Kim, published in 1901, tells the story of Kimberly O’Hara (“Kim”), the orphaned son of an Anglo-Irish soldier, who grows up as a street-urchin on the streets of Lahore in India during the time of the British Raj. Knowing little of his parentage, he is as much a native as his companions, speaking Hindi and Urdu rather than English, cunning and street-wise.
At about the age of twelve, Kim encounters an old Tibetan lama on a pilgrimage in search of a holy river. He decides to fall in with the lama on his travels, and becomes in essence the old man’s disciple. Not long after, Kim is captured at an encampment of British soldiers under suspicion of being a thief. His parentage is discovered and the officers decide he must be raised as a “Sahib” (an Englishman) and sent off to school. The interest of the British officers in Kim is not entirely disinterested, however, as they see his potential for acting as a courier and spy as part of their “Great Game” of espionage against their bitter rivals the Russians, and ensure that he is trained accordingly.
Kim is a well-loved book, often being listed as one of the best English-language novels. Its depiction of the India of the time, its varied races, religions, customs and scenery is detailed, rich and sympathetic. And the manoeuverings of the players in the Great Game make for an entertaining adventure story.
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- Author: Rudyard Kipling
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“And to say that I would take life is—not a sin, but a madness simple. My chela aided me to the River. It is his right to be cleansed from sin—with me.”
“Ay, he needs cleansing. But afterwards, old man—afterwards?”
“What matter under all the Heavens? He is sure of Nibban—enlightened—as I am.”
“Well said. I had a fear he might mount Mohammed’s Horse and fly away.”
“Nay—he must go forth as a teacher.”
“Aha! Now I see! That is the right gait for the colt. Certainly he must go forth as a teacher. He is somewhat urgently needed as a scribe by the State, for instance.”
“To that end he was prepared. I acquired merit in that I gave alms for his sake. A good deed does not die. He aided me in my Search. I aided him in his. Just is the Wheel, O horse-seller from the North. Let him be a teacher; let him be a scribe—what matter? He will have attained Freedom at the end. The rest is illusion.”
“What matter? When I must have him with me beyond Balkh in six months! I come up with ten lame horses and three strong-backed men—thanks to that chicken of a Babu—to break a sick boy by force out of an old trot’s house. It seems that I stand by while a young Sahib is hoisted into Allah knows what of an idolater’s Heaven by means of old Red Hat. And I am reckoned something of a player of the Game myself! But the madman is fond of the boy; and I must be very reasonably mad too.”
“What is the prayer?” said the lama, as the rough Pashtu rumbled into the red beard.
“No matter at all; but now I understand that the boy, sure of Paradise, can yet enter Government service, my mind is easier. I must get to my horses. It grows dark. Do not wake him. I have no wish to hear him call thee master.”
“But he is my disciple. What else?”
“He has told me.” Mahbub choked down his touch of spleen and rose laughing. “I am not altogether of thy faith, Red Hat—if so small a matter concern thee.”
“It is nothing,” said the lama.
“I thought not. Therefore it will not move thee, sinless, new-washed and three parts drowned to boot, when I call thee a good man—a very good man. We have talked together some four or five evenings now, and for all I am a horse-coper I can still, as the saying is, see holiness beyond the legs of a horse. Yea, can see, too, how our Friend of all the World put his hand in thine at the first. Use him well, and suffer him to return to the world as a teacher, when thou hast—bathed his legs, if that be the proper medicine for the colt.”
“Why not follow the Way thyself, and so accompany the boy?”
Mahbub stared stupefied at the magnificent insolence of the demand, which across the Border he would have paid with more than a blow. Then the humour of it touched his worldly soul.
“Softly—softly—one foot at a time, as the lame gelding went over the Umballa jumps. I may come to Paradise later—I have workings that way—great motions—and I owe them to thy simplicity. Thou hast never lied?”
“What need?”
“O Allah, hear him! ‘What need’ in this Thy world! Nor ever harmed a man?”
“Once—with a pencase—before I was wise.”
“So? I think the better of thee. Thy teachings are good. Thou hast turned one man that I know from the path of strife.” He laughed immensely. “He came here open-minded to commit a dacoity.67 Yes, to cut, rob, kill, and carry off what he desired.”
“A great foolishness!”
“Oh! black shame too. So he thought after he had seen thee—and a few others, male and female. So he abandoned it; and now he goes to beat a big fat Babu man.”
“I do not understand.”
“Allah forbid it! Some men are strong in knowledge, Red Hat. Thy strength is stronger still. Keep it—I think thou wilt. If the boy be not a good servant, pull his ears off.”
With a hitch of his broad Bokhariot belt the Pathan swaggered off into the gloaming, and the lama came down from his clouds so far as to look at the broad back.
“That person lacks courtesy, and is deceived by the shadow of appearances. But he spoke well of my chela, who now enters upon his reward. Let me make the prayer! … Wake, O fortunate above all born of women. Wake! It is found!”
Kim came up from those deep wells, and the lama attended his yawning pleasure; duly snapping fingers to head off evil spirits.
“I have slept a hundred years. Where—? Holy One, hast thou been here long? I went out to look for thee, but”—he laughed drowsily—“I slept by the way. I am all well now. Hast thou eaten? Let us go to the house. It is many days since I tended thee. And the Sahiba fed thee well? Who shampooed thy legs? What of the weaknesses—the belly and the neck, and the beating in the ears?”
“Gone—all gone. Dost thou not know?”
“I know nothing, but that I have not seen thee in a monkey’s age. Know what?”
“Strange the knowledge did not reach out to thee, when all my thoughts were theeward.”
“I cannot see the face, but the voice is like a gong. Has the Sahiba made a young man of thee by her cookery?”
He peered at the cross-legged figure, outlined jet-black against the lemon-coloured drift of light. So does the stone Bodhisat sit who looks down upon the patent self-registering turnstiles of the Lahore Museum.
The lama held his peace. Except for the click of the rosary and a faint clop-clop of Mahbub’s retreating feet, the soft, smoky silence of evening in India wrapped them close.
“Hear me! I bring news.”
“But let us—”
Out shot the long yellow hand compelling silence. Kim tucked
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