THE COLLECTED WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING (Illustrated). Rudyard 1865-1936 Kipling

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THE COLLECTED WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING (Illustrated) - Rudyard 1865-1936 Kipling


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miracle after a miracle, for in this very attitude must all Sunnyasis be buried! Therefore where he now is we will build the temple to our holy man."

      They built the temple before a year was ended—a little stone-and-earth shrine—and they called the hill the Bhagat's Hill, and they worship there with lights and flowers and offerings to this day. But they do not know that the saint of their worship is the late Sir Purun Dass, K.C.I.E., D.C.L., Ph.D., etc., once Prime Minister of the progressive and enlightened State of Mohiniwala, and honorary or corresponding member of more learned and scientific societies than will ever do any good in this world or the next.

End of The Miracle of Purun Bhagat

       Table of Contents

O

      h, light was the world that he weighed in his hands!

       Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands!

       He has gone from the guddee and put on the shroud, And departed in guise of bairagi avowed!

      Now the white road to Delhi is mat for his feet,

       The sal and the kikar must guard him from heat; His home is the camp, and the waste, and the crowd— He is seeking the Way as bairagi avowed!

      He has looked upon Man, and his eyeballs are clear

       (There was One; there is One, and but One, saith Kabir);

       The Red Mist of Doing has thinned to a cloud—

       He has taken the Path for bairagi avowed!

      To learn and discern of his brother the clod,

       Of his brother the brute, and his brother the God.

       He has gone from the council and put on the shroud

       ("Can ye hear?" saith Kabir), a bairagi avowed!

       Table of Contents

      Veil them, cover them, wall them round—

       Blossom, and creeper, and weed—

       Let us forget the sight and the sound,

       The smell and the touch of the breed!

      Fat black ash by the altar-stone,

       Here is the white-foot rain,

       And the does bring forth in the fields unsown,

       And none shall affright them again;

       And the blind walls crumble, unknown, o'erthrown

       And none shall inhabit again!

Letting in the Jungle

       Letting In The Jungle

Y

      ou will remember, if you have read the tales in the first Jungle Book, that, after Mowgli had pinned Shere Khan's hide to the Council Rock, he told as many as were left of the Seeonee Pack that henceforward he would hunt in the Jungle alone; and the four children of Mother and Father Wolf said that they would hunt with him. But it is not easy to change one's life all in a minute—particularly in the Jungle. The first thing Mowgli did, when the disorderly Pack had slunk off, was to go to the home-cave, and sleep for a day and a night. Then he told Mother Wolf and Father Wolf as much as they could understand of his adventures among men; and when he made the morning sun flicker up and down the blade of his skinning-knife,—the same he had skinned Shere Khan with,—they said he had learned something. Then Akela and Gray Brother had to explain their share of the great buffalo-drive in the ravine, and Baloo toiled up the hill to hear all about it, and Bagheera scratched himself all over with pure delight at the way in which Mowgli had managed his war.

      It was long after sunrise, but no one dreamed of going to sleep, and from time to time, during the talk, Mother Wolf would throw up her head, and sniff a deep snuff of satisfaction as the wind brought her the smell of the tiger-skin on the Council Rock.

      "But for Akela and Gray Brother here," Mowgli said, at the end, "I could have done nothing. Oh, mother, mother! if thou hadst seen the black herd-bulls pour down the ravine, or hurry through the gates when the Man-Pack flung stones at me!"

      "I am glad I did not see that last," said Mother Wolf, stiffly. "It is not my custom to suffer my cubs to be driven to and fro like jackals. I would have taken a price from the Man-Pack; but I would have spared the woman who gave thee the milk. Yes, I would have spared her alone."

      "Peace, peace, Raksha!" said Father Wolf, lazily. "Our Frog has come back again—so wise that his own father must lick his feet; and what is a cut, more or less, on the head? Leave Men alone." Baloo and Bagheera both echoed: "Leave Men alone."

      Mowgli, his head on Mother Wolf's side, smiled contentedly, and said that, for his own part, he never wished to see, or hear, or smell Man again.

      "But what," said Akela, cocking one ear—"but what if men do not leave thee alone, Little Brother?"

      "We be five," said Gray Brother, looking round at the company, and snapping his jaws on the last word.

      "We also might attend to that hunting," said Bagheera, with a little switch-switch of his tail, looking at Baloo. "But why think of men now, Akela?"

      "For this reason," the Lone Wolf answered: "when that yellow thief's hide was hung up on the rock, I went back along our trail to the village, stepping in my tracks, turning aside, and lying down, to make a mixed trail in case one should follow us. But when I had fouled the trail so that I myself hardly knew it again, Mang, the Bat, came hawking between the trees, and hung up above me. Said Mang, 'The village of the Man-Pack, where they cast out the Man-cub, hums like a hornet's nest.'"

      "It was a big stone that I threw," chuckled Mowgli, who had often amused himself by throwing ripe paw-paws into a hornet's nest, and racing off to the nearest pool before the hornets caught him.

      "I asked of Mang what he had seen. He said the Red Flower blossomed at the gate of the village, and men sat about it carrying guns. Now I know, for I have good cause,"—Akela looked down at the old dry scars on his flank and side,—"that men do not carry guns for pleasure. Presently, Little Brother, a man with a gun follows our trail—if, indeed, he be not already on it."

      "But why should he? Men have cast me out. What more do they need?" said Mowgli, angrily.

      "Thou art a man, Little Brother," Akela returned. "It is not for us, the Free Hunters, to tell thee what thy brethren do, or why."

      He had just time to snatch up his paw as the skinning-knife cut deep into the ground below. Mowgli struck quicker than an average human eye could follow, but Akela was a wolf; and even a dog, who is very far removed from the wild wolf, his ancestor, can be waked out of deep sleep by a cart-wheel touching his flank, and can spring away unharmed before that wheel comes on.

      "Another time," Mowgli said quietly, returning the knife to its sheath, "speak of the Man-Pack and of Mowgli in two breaths—not one."

      "Phff! That is a sharp tooth," said Akela, snuffing at the blade's cut in the earth, "but living with the Man-Pack has spoiled thine eye, Little Brother. I could have killed a buck while thou wast striking."

      Bagheera sprang to his feet, thrust up his head as far as he could, sniffed, and stiffened through every curve in his body. Gray Brother followed his example quickly, keeping


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