Kim Rudyard Kipling (web ebook reader .TXT) 📖

a figure sitting by one of the white plaster gate-pillars in the long sweep of wall.

“Stop!” he cried. “Stay here. I do not go to the school at once.”

“But what is to pay me for this coming and re-coming?” said the driver petulantly. “Is the boy mad? Last time it was a dancing-girl. This time it is a priest.”

Kim was in the road headlong, patting the dusty feet beneath the dirty yellow robe.

“I have waited here a day and a half,” the lama’s level voice began. “Nay, I had a disciple with me. He that was my friend at the Temple of the Tirthankars gave me a guide for this journey. I came from Benares in the te-rain, when thy letter was given me. Yes, I am well fed. I need nothing.”

“But why didst thou not stay with the Kulu woman, O Holy One? In what way didst thou get to Benares? My heart has been heavy since we parted.”

“The woman wearied me by constant flux of talk and requiring charms for children. I separated myself from that company, permitting her to acquire merit by gifts. She is at least a woman of open hands, and I made a promise to return to her house if need arose. Then, perceiving myself alone in this great and terrible world, I bethought me of the te-rain to Benares, where I knew one abode in the Tirthankars’ Temple who was a Seeker, even as I.”

“Ah! Thy River,” said Kim. “I had forgotten the River.”

“So soon, my chela? I have never forgotten it. But when I had left thee it seemed better that I should go to the Temple and take counsel, for, look you, India is very large, and it may be that wise men before us, some two or three, have left a record of the place of our River. There is debate in the Temple of the Tirthankars on this matter; some saying one thing, and some another. They are courteous folk.”

“So be it; but what dost thou do now?”

“I acquire merit in that I help thee, my chela, to wisdom. The priest of that body of men who serve the Red Bull wrote me that all should be as I desired for thee. I sent the money to suffice for one year, and then I came, as thou seest me, to watch for thee going up into the Gates of Learning. A day and a half have I waited, not because I was led by any affection towards thee⁠—that is no part of the Way⁠—but, as they said at the Tirthankars’ Temple, because, money having been paid for learning, it was right that I should oversee the end of the matter. They resolved my doubts most clearly. I had a fear that, perhaps, I came because I wished to see thee⁠—misguided by the red mist of affection. It is not so⁠ ⁠… Moreover, I am troubled by a dream.”

“But surely, Holy One, thou hast not forgotten the Road and all that befell on it. Surely it was a little to see me that thou didst come?”

“The horses are cold, and it is past their feeding-time,” whined the driver.

“Go to Jehannum and abide there with thy reputationless aunt!” Kim snarled over his shoulder. “I am all alone in this land; I know not where I go nor what shall befall me. My heart was in that letter I sent thee. Except for Mahbub Ali, and he is a Pathan, I have no friend save thee, Holy One. Do not altogether go away.”

“I have considered that also,” the lama replied, in a shaking voice. “It is manifest that from time to time I shall acquire merit if before that I have not found my River⁠—by assuring myself that thy feet are set on wisdom. What they will teach thee I do not know, but the priest wrote me that no son of a Sahib in all India will be better taught than thou. So from time to time, therefore, I will come again. Maybe thou wilt be such a Sahib as he who gave me these spectacles”⁠—the lama wiped them elaborately⁠—“in the Wonder House at Lahore. That is my hope, for he was a Fountain of Wisdom⁠—wiser than many abbots.⁠ ⁠… Again, maybe thou wilt forget me and our meetings.”

“If I eat thy bread,” cried Kim passionately, “how shall I ever forget thee?”

“No⁠—no.” He put the boy aside. “I must go back to Benares. From time to time, now that I know the customs of letter-writers in this land, I will send thee a letter, and from time to time I will come and see thee.”

“But whither shall I send my letters?” wailed Kim, clutching at the robe, all forgetful that he was a Sahib.

“To the Temple of the Tirthankars at Benares. That is the place I have chosen till I find my River. Do not weep; for, look you, all Desire is Illusion and a new binding upon the Wheel. Go up to the Gates of Learning. Let me see thee go⁠ ⁠… Dost thou love me? Then go, or my heart cracks⁠ ⁠… I will come again. Surely I will come again.”

The lama watched the ticca-gharri rumble into the compound, and strode off, snuffing between each long stride.

“The Gates of Learning” shut with a clang.

The country born and bred boy has his own manners and customs, which do not resemble those of any other land; and his teachers approach him by roads which an English master would not understand. Therefore, you would scarcely be interested in Kim’s experiences as a St. Xavier’s boy among two or three hundred precocious youths, most of whom had never seen the sea. He suffered the usual penalties for breaking out of bounds when there was cholera in the city. This was before he had learned to write fair English, and so was obliged to find a bazaar letter-writer. He was, of course, indicted for smoking and for the use