Kim Rudyard Kipling (web ebook reader .TXT) đ
- Author: Rudyard Kipling
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âYe have acquired merit,â says the lama. âMerit greater than your knowing. And ye will return to the Hills,â he sighs.
âSurely. The high Hills as soon as may be.â The bearer rubs his shoulder, drinks water, spits it out again, and readjusts his grass sandal. Kimâ âhis face is drawn and tiredâ âpays very small silver from his belt, heaves out the food-bag, crams an oilskin packetâ âthey are holy writingsâ âinto his bosom, and helps the lama to his feet. The peace has come again into the old manâs eyes, and he does not look for the hills to fall down and crush him as he did that terrible night when they were delayed by the flooded river.
The men pick up the dooli and swing out of sight between the scrub clumps.
The lama raises a hand toward the rampart of the Himalayas. âNot with you, O blessed among all hills, fell the Arrow of Our Lord! And never shall I breathe your airs again!â
âBut thou art ten times the stronger man in this good air,â says Kim, for to his wearied soul appeal the well-cropped, kindly Plains. âHere, or hereabouts, fell the Arrow, yes. We will go very softly, perhaps, a kos a day, for the Search is sure. But the bag weighs heavy.â
âAy, our Search is sure. I have come out of great temptation.â
It was never more than a couple of miles a day now, and Kimâs shoulders bore all the weight of itâ âthe burden of an old man, the burden of the heavy food-bag with the locked books, the load of the writings on his heart, and the details of the daily routine. He begged in the dawn, set blankets for the lamaâs meditation, held the weary head on his lap through the noonday heats, fanning away the flies till his wrists ached, begged again in the evenings, and rubbed the lamaâs feet, who rewarded him with promise of Freedomâ âtoday, tomorrow, or, at furthest, the next day.
âNever was such a chela. I doubt at times whether Ananda more faithfully nursed Our Lord. And thou art a Sahib? When I was a manâ âa long time agoâ âI forgot that. Now I look upon thee often, and every time I remember that thou art a Sahib. It is strange.â
âThou 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.â
âPatience 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 daysâ marches laid out behind us. Perhaps I was once a Sahib.â
âWas never a Sahib like thee, I swear it.â
âI 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 matterâ âwe know the tricks of the poor stupid carcassâ âshadow changing to another shadow. I am bound by the illusion of Time and Space. How far came we today in the flesh?â
âPerhaps half a kos.â Three quarters of a mile, and it was a weary march.
âHalf a kos. Ha! I went ten thousand thousand in the spirit. How, we are all lapped and swathed and swaddled in these senseless things.â He looked at his thin blue-veined hand that found the beads so heavy. âChela, hast thou never a wish to leave me?â
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.
âNo.â he said almost sternly. âI am not a dog or a snake to bite when I have learned to love.â
âThou art too tender towards me.â
âNot 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 goatâs 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.â
âI am content. She is a woman with a heart of gold, as thou sayest, but a talkerâ âsomething of a talker.â
âShe
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