Kim

'Thou hast said there is neither black nor white. Why plague me with

this talk, Holy One? Let me rub the other foot. It vexes me. I am

not a Sahib. I am thy chela, and my head is heavy on my shoulders.'

'Patience a little! We reach Freedom together. Then thou and I, upon

the far bank of the River, will look back upon our lives as in the

Hills we saw our days' marches laid out behind us. Perhaps I was once

a Sahib.'

'Was never a Sahib like thee, I swear it.'

'I am certain the Keeper of the Images in the Wonder House was in past

life a very wise Abbot. But even his spectacles do not make my eyes

see. There fall shadows when I would look steadily. No matter--we

know the tricks of the poor stupid carcass--shadow changing to another

shadow. I am bound by the illusion of Time and Space. How far came we

today in the flesh?'

'Perhaps half a koss.' (Three quarters of a mile, and it was a weary

march.)

'Half a koss. Ha! I went ten thousand thousand in the spirit. How,

we are all lapped and swathed and swaddled in these senseless things.'

He looked at his thin blue-veined hand that found the beads so heavy.

'Chela, hast thou never a wish to leave me?'

Kim thought of the oilskin packet and the books in the food-bag. If

someone duly authorized would only take delivery of them the Great Game

might play itself for aught he then cared. He was tired and hot in his

head, and a cough that came from the stomach worried him.

'No.' he said almost sternly. 'I am not a dog or a snake to bite when

I have learned to love.'

'Thou art too tender towards me.'

'Not that either. I have moved in one matter without consulting thee.

I have sent a message to the Kulu woman by that woman who gave us the

goat's milk this morn, saying that thou wast a little feeble and

wouldst need a litter. I beat myself in my mind that I did not do it

when we entered the Doon. We stay in this place till the litter

returns.'

'I am content. She is a woman with a heart of gold, as thou sayest,

but a talker--something of a talker.'

'She will not weary thee. I have looked to that also. Holy One, my

heart is very heavy for my many carelessnesses towards thee.' An

hysterical catch rose in his throat. 'I have walked thee too far: I

have not picked good food always for thee; I have not considered the

heat; I have talked to people on the road and left thee alone ... I

have--I have ... Hai mai! But I love thee ... and it is all too late

... I was a child ... Oh, why was I not a man? ...' Overborne by

strain, fatigue, and the weight beyond his years, Kim broke down and

sobbed at the lama's feet.

'What a to-do is here!' said the old man gently. 'Thou hast never

stepped a hair's breadth from the Way of Obedience. Neglect me? Child,

I have lived on thy strength as an old tree lives on the lime of a new

wall. Day by day, since Shamlegh down, I have stolen strength from

thee. Therefore, not through any sin of thine, art thou weakened. It

is the Body--the silly, stupid Body--that speaks now. Not the assured

Soul. Be comforted! Know at least the devils that thou fightest.

They are earth-born--children of illusion. We will go to the woman

from Kulu. She shall acquire merit in housing us, and specially in

tending me. Thou shalt run free till strength returns. I had

forgotten the stupid Body. If there be any blame, I bear it. But we

are too close to the Gates of Deliverance to weigh blame. I could

praise thee, but what need? In a little--in a very little--we shall

sit beyond all needs.'

And so he petted and comforted Kim with wise saws and grave texts on

that little-understood beast, our Body, who, being but a delusion,

insists on posing as the Soul, to the darkening of the Way, and the

immense multiplication of unnecessary devils.

'Hai! hai! Let us talk of the woman from Kulu. Think you she will

ask another charm for her grandsons? When I was a young man, a very

long time ago, I was plagued with these vapours--and some others--and I

went to an Abbot--a very holy man and a seeker after truth, though then

I knew it not. Sit up and listen, child of my soul! My tale was told.

Said he to me, "Chela, know this. There are many lies in the world,

and not a few liars, but there are no liars like our bodies, except it

be the sensations of our bodies." Considering this I was comforted,

and of his great favour he suffered me to drink tea In his presence.

Suffer me now to drink tea, for I am thirsty.'

With a laugh across his tears, Kim kissed the lama's feet, and set

about the tea-making.

'Thou leanest on me in the body, Holy One, but I lean on thee for some

other things. Dost know it?'

'I have guessed maybe,' and the lama's eyes twinkled. 'We must change

that.'

So, when with scufflings and scrapings and a hot air of importance,

paddled up nothing less than the Sahiba's pet palanquin sent twenty

miles, with that same grizzled old Oorya servant in charge, and when

they reached the disorderly order of the long white rambling house

behind Saharunpore, the lama took his own measures.

Said the Sahiba cheerily from an upper window, after compliments: 'What

is the good of an old woman's advice to an old man? I told thee--I

told thee, Holy One, to keep an eye upon the chela. How didst thou do

it? Never answer me! I know. He has been running among the women.

Look at his eyes--hollow and sunk--and the Betraying Line from the nose

down! He has been sifted out! Fie! Fie! And a priest, too!'

Kim looked up, over-weary to smile, shaking his head in denial.

'Do not jest,' said the lama. 'That time is done. We are here upon

great matters. A sickness of soul took me in the Hills, and him a

sickness of the body. Since then I have lived upon his

strength--eating him.'

'Children together--young and old,' she sniffed, but forbore to make

any new jokes. 'May this present hospitality restore ye! Hold awhile

and I will come to gossip of the high good Hills.'

At evening time--her son-in-law was returned, so she did not need to go

on inspection round the farm--she won to the meat of the matter,

explained low-voicedly by the lama. The two old heads nodded wisely

together. Kim had reeled to a room with a cot in it, and was dozing

soddenly. The lama had forbidden him to set blankets or get food.

'I know--I know. Who but I?' she cackled. 'We who go down to the

burning-ghats clutch at the hands of those coming up from the River of

Life with full water-jars--yes, brimming water-jars. I did the boy

wrong. He lent thee his strength? It is true that the old eat the

young daily. Stands now we must restore him.'

'Thou hast many times acquired merit--'

'My merit. What is it? Old bag of bones making curries for men who do

not ask "Who cooked this?" Now if it were stored up for my grandson--'

'He that had the belly-pain?'

'To think the Holy One remembers that! I must tell his mother. It is

most singular honour! "He that had the belly-pain"--straightway the

Holy One remembered. She will be proud.'

'My chela is to me as is a son to the unenlightened.'

'Say grandson, rather. Mothers have not the wisdom of our years. If a

child cries they say the heavens are falling. Now a grandmother is far

enough separated from the pain of bearing and the pleasure of giving

the breast to consider whether a cry is wickedness pure or the wind.

And since thou speakest once again of wind, when last the Holy One was