Kim - Rudyard Kipling (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📗

the eccentricities of love Asiatic; of the incidence of taxation, rack-renting, funeral ceremonies, her son-in-law (this by allusion, easy to be followed), the care of the young, and the age’s lack of decency. And Kim, as interested in the life of this world as she soon to leave it, squatted with his feet under the hem of his robe, drinking all in, while the lama demolished one after another every theory of body-curing put forward by Hurree Babu.

At noon the Babu strapped up his brassbound drug-box, took his patent-leather shoes of ceremony in one hand, a gay blue-and-white umbrella in the other, and set off northwards to the Doon, where, he said, he was in demand among the lesser kings of those parts.

“We will go in the cool of the evening, chela,” said the lama. “That doctor, learned in physic and courtesy, affirms that the people among these lower hills are devout, generous, and much in need of a teacher. In a very short time⁠—so says the hakim⁠—we come to cool air and the smell of pines.”

“Ye go to the Hills? And by Kulu road? Oh, thrice happy!” shrilled the old lady. “But that I am a little pressed with the care of the homestead I would take palanquin⁠ ⁠… but that would be shameless, and my reputation would be cracked. Ho! Ho! I know the road⁠—every march of the road I know. Ye will find charity throughout⁠—it is not denied to the well-looking. I will give orders for provision. A servant to set you forth upon your journey? No⁠ ⁠… Then I will at least cook ye good food.”

“What a woman is the Sahiba!” said the white-bearded Oorya, when a tumult rose by the kitchen quarters. “She has never forgotten a friend: she has never forgotten an enemy in all her years. And her cookery⁠—wah!” He rubbed his slim stomach.

There were cakes, there were sweetmeats, there was cold fowl stewed to rags with rice and prunes⁠—enough to burden Kim like a mule.

“I am old and useless,” she said. “None now love me⁠—and none respect⁠—but there are few to compare with me when I call on the Gods and squat to my cooking-pots. Come again, O people of good will. Holy One and disciple, come again. The room is always prepared; the welcome is always ready⁠ ⁠… See the women do not follow thy chela too openly. I know the women of Kulu. Take heed, chela, lest he run away when he smells his Hills again⁠ ⁠… Hai! Do not tilt the rice-bag upside down⁠ ⁠… Bless the household, Holy One, and forgive thy servant her stupidities.”

She wiped her red old eyes on a corner of her veil, and clucked throatily.

“Women talk,” said the lama at last, “but that is a woman’s infirmity. I gave her a charm. She is upon the Wheel and wholly given over to the shows of this life, but none the less, chela, she is virtuous, kindly, hospitable⁠—of a whole and zealous heart. Who shall say she does not acquire merit?”

“Not I, Holy One,” said Kim, reslinging the bountiful provision on his shoulders. “In my mind⁠—behind my eyes⁠—I have tried to picture such an one altogether freed from the Wheel⁠—desiring nothing, causing nothing⁠—a nun, as it were.”

“And, O imp?” The lama almost laughed aloud.

“I cannot make the picture.”

“Nor I. But there are many, many millions of lives before her. She will get wisdom a little, it may be, in each one.”

“And will she forget how to make stews with saffron upon that road?”

“Thy mind is set on things unworthy. But she has skill. I am refreshed all over. When we reach the lower hills I shall be yet stronger. The hakim spoke truly to me this morn when he said a breath from the snows blows away twenty years from the life of a man. We will go up into the Hills⁠—the high hills⁠—up to the sound of snow-waters and the sound of the trees⁠—for a little while. The hakim said that at any time we may return to the Plains, for we do no more than skirt the pleasant places. The hakim is full of learning; but he is in no way proud. I spoke to him⁠—when thou wast talking to the Sahiba⁠—of a certain dizziness that lays hold upon the back of my neck in the night, and he said it rose from excessive heat⁠—to be cured by cool air. Upon consideration, I marvelled that I had not thought of such a simple remedy.”

“Didst thou tell him of thy Search?” said Kim, a little jealously. He preferred to sway the lama by his own speech⁠—not through the wiles of Hurree Babu.

“Assuredly. I told him of my dream, and of the manner by which I had acquired merit by causing thee to be taught wisdom.”

“Thou didst not say I was a Sahib?”

“What need? I have told thee many times we be but two souls seeking escape. He said⁠—and he is just herein⁠—that the River of Healing will break forth even as I dreamed⁠—at my feet, if need be. Having found the Way, seest thou, that shall free me from the Wheel, need I trouble to find a way about the mere fields of earth⁠—which are illusion? That were senseless. I have my dreams, night upon night repeated; I have the Jâtaka; and I have thee, Friend of all the World. It was written in thy horoscope that a Red Bull on a green field⁠—I have not forgotten⁠—should bring thee to honour. Who but I saw that prophecy accomplished? Indeed, I was the instrument. Thou shalt find me my River, being in return the instrument. The Search is sure!”

He set his ivory-yellow face, serene and untroubled, towards the beckoning Hills; his shadow shouldering far before him in the dust.

XIII

Who hath desired the Sea⁠—the sight of salt-water unbounded?
The heave and the halt and the hurl