“I kill nothing,--I am too little,--but I drive goats toward such as can
use them. When thou art empty come to me and see if I speak the truth.
I have some skill in these [he held out his hands], and if ever thou art
in a trap, I may pay the debt which I owe to thee, to Bagheera, and to
Baloo, here. Good hunting to ye all, my masters.”
“Well said,” growled Baloo, for Mowgli had returned thanks very
prettily. The Python dropped his head lightly for a minute on Mowgli’s
shoulder. “A brave heart and a courteous tongue,” said he. “They shall
carry thee far through the jungle, manling. But now go hence quickly
with thy friends. Go and sleep, for the moon sets, and what follows it
is not well that thou shouldst see.”
The moon was sinking behind the hills and the lines of trembling monkeys
huddled together on the walls and battlements looked like ragged shaky
fringes of things. Baloo went down to the tank for a drink and Bagheera
began to put his fur in order, as Kaa glided out into the center of the
terrace and brought his jaws together with a ringing snap that drew all
the monkeys’ eyes upon him.
“The moon sets,” he said. “Is there yet light enough to see?”
From the walls came a moan like the wind in the tree-tops--“We see, O
Kaa.”
“Good. Begins now the dance--the Dance of the Hunger of Kaa. Sit still
and watch.”
He turned twice or thrice in a big circle, weaving his head from right
to left. Then he began making loops and figures of eight with his
body, and soft, oozy triangles that melted into squares and five-sided
figures, and coiled mounds, never resting, never hurrying, and never
stopping his low humming song. It grew darker and darker, till at last
the dragging, shifting coils disappeared, but they could hear the rustle
of the scales.
Baloo and Bagheera stood still as stone, growling in their throats,
their neck hair bristling, and Mowgli watched and wondered.
“Bandar-log,” said the voice of Kaa at last, “can ye stir foot or hand
without my order? Speak!”
“Without thy order we cannot stir foot or hand, O Kaa!”
“Good! Come all one pace nearer to me.”
The lines of the monkeys swayed forward helplessly, and Baloo and
Bagheera took one stiff step forward with them.
“Nearer!” hissed Kaa, and they all moved again.
Mowgli laid his hands on Baloo and Bagheera to get them away, and the
two great beasts started as though they had been waked from a dream.
“Keep thy hand on my shoulder,” Bagheera whispered. “Keep it there, or I
must go back--must go back to Kaa. Aah!”
“It is only old Kaa making circles on the dust,” said Mowgli. “Let us
go.” And the three slipped off through a gap in the walls to the jungle.
“Whoof!” said Baloo, when he stood under the still trees again. “Never
more will I make an ally of Kaa,” and he shook himself all over.
“He knows more than we,” said Bagheera, trembling. “In a little time,
had I stayed, I should have walked down his throat.”
“Many will walk by that road before the moon rises again,” said Baloo.
“He will have good hunting--after his own fashion.”
“But what was the meaning of it all?” said Mowgli, who did not know
anything of a python’s powers of fascination. “I saw no more than a big
snake making foolish circles till the dark came. And his nose was all
sore. Ho! Ho!”
“Mowgli,” said Bagheera angrily, “his nose was sore on thy account, as
my ears and sides and paws, and Baloo’s neck and shoulders are bitten
on thy account. Neither Baloo nor Bagheera will be able to hunt with
pleasure for many days.”
“It is nothing,” said Baloo; “we have the man-cub again.”
“True, but he has cost us heavily in time which might have been spent in
good hunting, in wounds, in hair--I am half plucked along my back--and
last of all, in honor. For, remember, Mowgli, I, who am the Black
Panther, was forced to call upon Kaa for protection, and Baloo and I
were both made stupid as little birds by the Hunger Dance. All this,
man-cub, came of thy playing with the Bandar-log.”
“True, it is true,” said Mowgli sorrowfully. “I am an evil man-cub, and
my stomach is sad in me.”
“Mf! What says the Law of the Jungle, Baloo?”
Baloo did not wish to bring Mowgli into any more trouble, but he could
not tamper with the Law, so he mumbled: “Sorrow never stays punishment.
But remember, Bagheera, he is very little.”
“I will remember. But he has done mischief, and blows must be dealt now.
Mowgli, hast thou anything to say?”
“Nothing. I did wrong. Baloo and thou are wounded. It is just.”
Bagheera gave him half a dozen love-taps from a panther’s point of
view (they would hardly have waked one of his own cubs), but for a
seven-year-old boy they amounted to as severe a beating as you could
wish to avoid. When it was all over Mowgli sneezed, and picked himself
up without a word.
“Now,” said Bagheera, “jump on my back, Little Brother, and we will go
home.”
One of the beauties of Jungle Law is that punishment settles all scores.
There is no nagging afterward.
Mowgli laid his head down on Bagheera’s back and slept so deeply that he
never waked when he was put down in the home-cave.
Road-Song of the Bandar-Log
Here we go in a flung festoon,
Half-way up to the jealous moon!
Don’t you envy our pranceful bands?
Don’t you wish you had extra hands?
Wouldn’t you like if your tails were--so--
Curved in the shape of a Cupid’s bow?
Now you’re angry, but--never mind,
_Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!_
Here we sit in a branchy row,
Thinking of beautiful things we know;
Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do,
All complete, in a minute or two--
Something noble and wise and good,
Done by merely wishing we could.
We’ve forgotten, but--never mind,
_Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!_
All the talk we ever have heard
Uttered by bat or beast or bird--
Hide or fin or scale or feather--
Jabber it quickly and all together!
Excellent! Wonderful! Once again!
Now we are talking just like men!
Let’s pretend we are ... never mind,
_Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!_
This is the way of the Monkey-kind.
_Then join our leaping lines that scumfish through the pines,
That rocket by where, light and high, the wild grape swings.
By the rubbish in our wake, and the noble noise we make,
Be sure, be sure, we’re going to do some splendid things!_
“Tiger! Tiger!”
What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold.
What of the quarry ye went to kill?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still.
Where is the power that made your pride?
Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side.
Where is the haste that ye hurry by?
Brother, I go to my lair--to die.
Now we must go back to the first tale. When Mowgli left the wolf’s cave
after the fight with the Pack at the Council Rock, he went down to the
plowed lands where the villagers lived, but he would not stop there
because it was too near to the jungle, and he knew that he had made at
least one bad enemy at the Council. So he hurried on, keeping to
the rough road that ran down the valley, and followed it at a steady
jog-trot for nearly twenty miles, till he came to a country that he
did not know. The valley opened out into a great plain dotted over with
rocks and cut up by ravines. At one end stood a little village, and at
the other the thick jungle came down in a sweep to the grazing-grounds,
and stopped there as though it had been cut off with a hoe. All over the
plain, cattle and buffaloes were grazing, and when the little boys in
charge of the herds saw Mowgli they shouted and ran away, and the yellow
pariah dogs that hang about every Indian village barked. Mowgli walked
on, for he was feeling hungry, and when he came to the village gate he
saw the big thorn-bush that was drawn up before the gate at twilight,
pushed to one side.
“Umph!” he said, for he had come across more than one such barricade in
his night rambles after things to eat. “So men are afraid of the People
of the Jungle here also.” He sat down by the gate, and when a man came
out he stood up, opened his mouth, and pointed down it to show that
he wanted food. The man stared, and ran back up the one street of the
village shouting for the priest, who was a big, fat man dressed in
white, with a red and yellow mark on his forehead. The priest came to
the gate, and with him at least a hundred people, who stared and talked
and shouted and pointed at Mowgli.
“They have no manners, these Men Folk,” said Mowgli to himself. “Only
the gray ape would behave as they do.” So he threw back his long hair
and frowned at the crowd.
“What is there to be afraid of?” said the priest. “Look at the marks on
his arms and legs. They are the bites of wolves. He is but a wolf-child
run away from the jungle.”
Of course, in playing together, the cubs had often nipped Mowgli harder
than they intended, and there were white scars all over his arms and
legs. But he would have been the last person in the world to call these
bites, for he knew what real biting meant.
“Arre! Arre!” said two or three women together. “To be bitten by wolves,
poor child! He is a handsome boy. He has eyes like red fire. By my
honor, Messua, he is not unlike thy boy that was taken by the tiger.”
“Let me look,” said a woman with heavy copper rings on her wrists and
ankles, and she peered at Mowgli under the palm of her hand. “Indeed he
is not. He is thinner, but he has the very look of my boy.”
The priest was a clever man, and he knew that Messua was wife to the
richest villager in the place. So he looked up at the sky for a minute
and said solemnly: “What the jungle has taken the jungle has restored.
Take the boy into thy house, my sister, and forget not to honor the
priest who sees so far into the lives of men.”
“By the Bull that bought me,” said Mowgli to himself, “but all this
talking is like another looking-over by the Pack! Well, if I am a man, a
man I must become.”
The crowd parted as the woman beckoned Mowgli to her hut, where there
was a red lacquered bedstead, a great earthen grain chest with funny
raised patterns on it, half a dozen copper cooking pots, an image of a
Hindu god in a little alcove, and on the wall a real looking glass, such
as they sell at the country fairs.
She gave him a long drink of milk and some bread, and then she laid her
hand on his head and looked into his eyes; for she thought perhaps that
he might be her real son come back from the jungle where the tiger had
taken him. So she said, “Nathoo, O Nathoo!” Mowgli did not show that he
knew the name. “Dost thou not remember the day when I gave thee thy new
shoes?” She touched his foot, and it was almost as hard as horn. “No,”
she said sorrowfully, “those feet have never worn shoes, but thou art
very like my Nathoo, and thou shalt be my son.”
Mowgli was uneasy, because he had never been under a roof before. But as
he looked at the thatch, he saw that he could tear it out any time if he
wanted to get away, and that the window had no fastenings. “What is the
good of a man,” he said to himself at last, “if he does not understand
man’s talk? Now I am as silly and dumb as a man would be with us in the
jungle. I must speak their talk.”
It was not for fun that he had learned while he was with the wolves to
imitate the challenge of bucks in the jungle and the grunt of the little
wild pig. So, as soon as Messua pronounced a word Mowgli would imitate
it almost perfectly, and before dark he had learned the names of many
things in the hut.
There was a difficulty at bedtime, because Mowgli would not sleep under
anything that looked so like a panther trap as that hut, and when they
shut the door he went through the window. “Give him his will,” said
Messua’s husband. “Remember he can never till now have slept on a bed.
If he is indeed sent in the place of our son he will not run away.”
So Mowgli stretched himself in some long, clean grass at the edge of
the field, but before he had closed his eyes a soft gray nose poked him
under the chin.
“Phew!” said Gray Brother (he was the eldest of Mother Wolf’s cubs).
“This is a poor reward for following thee twenty miles. Thou smellest
of wood smoke and cattle--altogether like a man already. Wake, Little
Brother; I bring news.”
“Are all well in the jungle?” said Mowgli, hugging him.
“All except the wolves that were burned with the Red Flower. Now,
listen. Shere Khan has gone away to hunt far off till his coat grows
again, for he is badly singed. When he returns he swears that he will
lay thy bones in the Waingunga.”
“There are two words to that. I also have made a little promise. But
news is always good. I am tired to-night,--very tired with new things,
Gray Brother,--but bring me the news always.”
“Thou wilt not forget that thou art a wolf? Men will not make thee
forget?” said Gray Brother anxiously.
“Never. I will always remember that I love thee and all in our cave. But
also I will always remember that I have been cast out of the Pack.”
“And that thou mayest be cast out of another pack. Men are only men,
Little Brother, and their talk is like the talk of frogs in a pond. When
I come down here again, I will wait for thee in the bamboos at the edge
of the grazing-ground.”
For three months after that night Mowgli hardly ever left the village
gate, he was so busy learning the ways and customs of men. First he had
to wear a cloth round him, which annoyed him horribly; and then he had
to learn about money, which he did not in the least understand, and
about plowing, of which he did not see the use. Then the little children
in the village made him very angry. Luckily, the Law of the Jungle had
taught him to keep his temper, for in the jungle life and food depend on
keeping your temper; but when they made fun of him because he would not
play games or fly kites, or because he mispronounced some word, only the
knowledge that it was unsportsmanlike to kill little naked cubs kept him
from picking them up and breaking them in two.
He did not know his own strength in the least. In the jungle he knew he
was weak compared with the beasts, but in the village people said that
he was as strong as a bull.
And Mowgli had not the faintest idea of the difference that caste makes
between man and man. When the potter’s donkey slipped in the clay pit,
Mowgli hauled it out by the tail, and helped to stack the pots for their
journey to the market at Khanhiwara. That was very shocking, too, for
the potter is a low-caste man, and his donkey is worse. When the priest
scolded him, Mowgli threatened to put him on the donkey too, and the
priest told Messua’s husband that Mowgli had better be set to work as
soon as possible; and the village head-man told Mowgli that he would
have to go out with the buffaloes next day, and herd them while they
grazed. No one was more pleased than Mowgli; and that night, because he
had been appointed a servant of the village, as it were, he went off
to a circle that met every evening on a masonry platform under a great
fig-tree. It was the village club, and the head-man and the watchman and
the barber, who knew all the gossip of the village, and old Buldeo, the
village hunter, who had a Tower musket, met and smoked. The monkeys
sat and talked in the upper branches, and there was a hole under the
platform where a cobra lived, and he had his little platter of milk
every night because he was sacred; and the old men sat around the tree
and talked, and pulled at the big huqas (the water-pipes) till far into
the night. They told wonderful tales of gods and men and ghosts; and
Buldeo told even more wonderful ones of the ways of beasts in the
jungle, till the eyes of the children sitting outside the circle bulged
out of their heads. Most of the tales were about animals, for the jungle
was always at their door. The deer and the wild pig grubbed up their
crops, and now and again the tiger carried off a man at twilight, within
sight of the village gates.
Mowgli, who naturally knew something about what they were talking of,
had to cover his face not to show that he was laughing, while Buldeo,
the Tower musket across his knees, climbed on from one wonderful story
to another, and Mowgli’s shoulders shook.
Buldeo was explaining how the tiger that had carried away Messua’s son
was a ghost-tiger, and his body was inhabited by the ghost of a wicked,
old money-lender, who had died some years ago. “And I know that this is
true,” he said, “because Purun Dass always limped from the blow that he
got in a riot when his account books were burned, and the tiger that I
speak of he limps, too, for the tracks of his pads are unequal.”
“True, true, that must be the truth,” said the gray-beards, nodding
together.
“Are all these tales such cobwebs and moontalk?” said Mowgli. “That
tiger limps because he was born lame, as everyone knows. To talk of the
soul of a money-lender in a beast that never had the courage of a jackal
is child’s talk.”
Buldeo was speechless with surprise for a moment, and the head-man
stared.
“Oho! It is the jungle brat, is it?” said Buldeo. “If thou art so
wise, better bring his hide to Khanhiwara, for the Government has set
a hundred rupees on his life. Better still, talk not when thy elders
speak.”
Mowgli rose to go. “All the evening I have lain here listening,” he
called back over his shoulder, “and, except once or twice, Buldeo has
not said one word of truth concerning the jungle, which is at his very
doors. How, then, shall I believe the tales of ghosts and gods and
goblins which he says he has seen?”
“It is full time that boy went to herding,” said the head-man, while
Buldeo puffed and snorted at Mowgli’s impertinence.
The custom of most Indian villages is for a few boys to take the cattle
and buffaloes out to graze in the early morning, and bring them back
at night. The very cattle that would trample a white man to death allow
themselves to be banged and bullied and shouted at by children that
hardly come up to their noses. So long as the boys keep with the herds
they are safe, for not even the tiger will charge a mob of cattle. But
if they straggle to pick flowers or hunt lizards, they are sometimes
carried off. Mowgli went through the village street in the dawn, sitting
on the back of Rama, the great herd bull. The slaty-blue buffaloes,
with their long, backward-sweeping horns and savage eyes, rose out their
byres, one by one, and followed him, and Mowgli made it very clear to
the children with him that he was the master. He beat the buffaloes with
a long, polished bamboo, and told Kamya, one of the boys, to graze the
cattle by themselves, while he went on with the buffaloes, and to be
very careful not to stray away from the herd.
An Indian grazing ground is all rocks and scrub and tussocks and little
ravines, among which the herds scatter and disappear. The buffaloes
generally keep to the pools and muddy places, where they lie wallowing
or basking in the warm mud for hours. Mowgli drove them on to the edge
of the plain where the Waingunga came out of the jungle; then he dropped
from Rama’s neck, trotted off to a bamboo clump, and found Gray Brother.
“Ah,” said Gray Brother, “I have waited here very many days. What is the
meaning of this cattle-herding work?”
“It is an order,” said Mowgli. “I am a village herd for a while. What
news of Shere Khan?”
“He has come back to this country, and has waited here a long time for
thee. Now he has gone off again, for the game is scarce. But he means to
kill thee.”
“Very good,” said Mowgli. “So long as he is away do thou or one of the
four brothers sit on that rock, so that I can see thee as I come out of
the village. When he comes back wait for me in the ravine by the _dhâk_
tree in the center of the plain. We need not walk into Shere Khan’s
mouth.”