The Jungle Book 5 page

The Jungle Book

told Kamya, one of the boys, to graze the cattle by them-

selves, 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 tus-

socks 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 dhak tree in the center of the

plain. We need not walk into Shere Khan’s mouth.’

Then Mowgli picked out a shady place, and lay down and

slept while the buffaloes grazed round him. Herding in In-

dia is one of the laziest things in the world. The cattle move

and crunch, and lie down, and move on again, and they

do not even low. They only grunt, and the buffaloes very

seldom say anything, but get down into the muddy pools

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one after another, and work their way into the mud till only

their noses and staring china-blue eyes show above the sur-

face, and then they lie like logs. The sun makes the rocks

dance in the heat, and the herd children hear one kite (nev-

er any more) whistling almost out of sight overhead, and

they know that if they died, or a cow died, that kite would

sweep down, and the next kite miles away would see him

drop and follow, and the next, and the next, and almost be-

fore they were dead there would be a score of hungry kites

come out of nowhere. Then they sleep and wake and sleep

again, and weave little baskets of dried grass and put grass-

hoppers in them; or catch two praying mantises and make

them fight; or string a necklace of red and black jungle nuts;

or watch a lizard basking on a rock, or a snake hunting a

frog near the wallows. Then they sing long, long songs with

odd native quavers at the end of them, and the day seems

longer than most people’s whole lives, and perhaps they

make a mud castle with mud figures of men and horses and

buffaloes, and put reeds into the men’s hands, and pretend

that they are kings and the figures are their armies, or that

they are gods to be worshiped. Then evening comes and the

children call, and the buffaloes lumber up out of the sticky

mud with noises like gunshots going off one after the other,

and they all string across the gray plain back to the twin-

kling village lights.

Day after day Mowgli would lead the buffaloes out to

their wallows, and day after day he would see Gray Broth-

er’s back a mile and a half away across the plain (so he knew

that Shere Khan had not come back), and day after day he

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would lie on the grass listening to the noises round him,

and dreaming of old days in the jungle. If Shere Khan had

made a false step with his lame paw up in the jungles by the

Waingunga, Mowgli would have heard him in those long,

still mornings.

At last a day came when he did not see Gray Brother at

the signal place, and he laughed and headed the buffaloes

for the ravine by the dhk tree, which was all covered with

golden-red flowers. There sat Gray Brother, every bristle on

his back lifted.

‘He has hidden for a month to throw thee off thy guard.

He crossed the ranges last night with Tabaqui, hot-foot on

thy trail,’ said the Wolf, panting.

Mowgli frowned. ‘I am not afraid of Shere Khan, but

Tabaqui is very cunning.’

‘Have no fear,’ said Gray Brother, licking his lips a little.

‘I met Tabaqui in the dawn. Now he is telling all his wisdom

to the kites, but he told me everything before I broke his

back. Shere Khan’s plan is to wait for thee at the village gate

this evening—for thee and for no one else. He is lying up

now, in the big dry ravine of the Waingunga.’

‘Has he eaten today, or does he hunt empty?’ said Mow-

gli, for the answer meant life and death to him.

‘He killed at dawn,—a pig,—and he has drunk too. Re-

member, Shere Khan could never fast, even for the sake of

revenge.’

‘Oh! Fool, fool! What a cub’s cub it is! Eaten and drunk

too, and he thinks that I shall wait till he has slept! Now,

where does he lie up? If there were but ten of us we might

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pull him down as he lies. These buffaloes will not charge

unless they wind him, and I cannot speak their language.

Can we get behind his track so that they may smell it?’

‘He swam far down the Waingunga to cut that off,’ said

Gray Brother.

‘Tabaqui told him that, I know. He would never have

thought of it alone.’ Mowgli stood with his finger in his

mouth, thinking. ‘The big ravine of the Waingunga. That

opens out on the plain not half a mile from here. I can take

the herd round through the jungle to the head of the ravine

and then sweep down —but he would slink out at the foot.

We must block that end. Gray Brother, canst thou cut the

herd in two for me?’

‘Not I, perhaps—but I have brought a wise helper.’ Gray

Brother trotted off and dropped into a hole. Then there lift-

ed up a huge gray head that Mowgli knew well, and the hot

air was filled with the most desolate cry of all the jungle—

the hunting howl of a wolf at midday.

‘Akela! Akela!’ said Mowgli, clapping his hands. ‘I might

have known that thou wouldst not forget me. We have a big

work in hand. Cut the herd in two, Akela. Keep the cows

and calves together, and the bulls and the plow buffaloes by

themselves.’

The two wolves ran, ladies’-chain fashion, in and out of

the herd, which snorted and threw up its head, and sepa-

rated into two clumps. In one, the cow-buffaloes stood with

their calves in the center, and glared and pawed, ready, if a

wolf would only stay still, to charge down and trample the

life out of him. In the other, the bulls and the young bulls

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snorted and stamped, but though they looked more impos-

ing they were much less dangerous, for they had no calves to

protect. No six men could have divided the herd so neatly.

‘What orders!’ panted Akela. ‘They are trying to join

again.’

Mowgli slipped on to Rama’s back. ‘Drive the bulls away

to the left, Akela. Gray Brother, when we are gone, hold the

cows together, and drive them into the foot of the ravine.’

‘How far?’ said Gray Brother, panting and snapping.

‘Till the sides are higher than Shere Khan can jump,’

shouted Mowgli. ‘Keep them there till we come down.’ The

bulls swept off as Akela bayed, and Gray Brother stopped in

front of the cows. They charged down on him, and he ran

just before them to the foot of the ravine, as Akela drove the

bulls far to the left.

‘Well done! Another charge and they are fairly started.

Careful, now—careful, Akela. A snap too much and the

bulls will charge. Hujah! This is wilder work than driving

black-buck. Didst thou think these creatures could move so

swiftly?’ Mowgli called.

‘I have—have hunted these too in my time,’ gasped Akela

in the dust. ‘Shall I turn them into the jungle?’

‘Ay! Turn. Swiftly turn them! Rama is mad with rage. Oh,

if I could only tell him what I need of him to-day.’

The bulls were turned, to the right this time, and crashed

into the standing thicket. The other herd children, watching

with the cattle half a mile away, hurried to the village as fast

as their legs could carry them, crying that the buffaloes had

gone mad and run away.

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But Mowgli’s plan was simple enough. All he wanted to

do was to make a big circle uphill and get at the head of

the ravine, and then take the bulls down it and catch Shere

Khan between the bulls and the cows; for he knew that af-

ter a meal and a full drink Shere Khan would not be in any

condition to fight or to clamber up the sides of the ravine.

He was soothing the buffaloes now by voice, and Akela had

dropped far to the rear, only whimpering once or twice to

hurry the rear-guard. It was a long, long circle, for they did

not wish to get too near the ravine and give Shere Khan

warning. At last Mowgli rounded up the bewildered herd at

the head of the ravine on a grassy patch that sloped steeply

down to the ravine itself. From that height you could see

across the tops of the trees down to the plain below; but

what Mowgli looked at was the sides of the ravine, and he

saw with a great deal of satisfaction that they ran nearly

straight up and down, while the vines and creepers that

hung over them would give no foothold to a tiger who want-

ed to get out.

‘Let them breathe, Akela,’ he said, holding up his hand.

‘They have not winded him yet. Let them breathe. I must tell

Shere Khan who comes. We have him in the trap.’

He put his hands to his mouth and shouted down the ra-

vine— it was almost like shouting down a tunnel—and the

echoes jumped from rock to rock.

After a long time there came back the drawling, sleepy

snarl of a full-fed tiger just wakened.

‘Who calls?’ said Shere Khan, and a splendid peacock

fluttered up out of the ravine screeching.

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‘I, Mowgli. Cattle thief, it is time to come to the Coun-

cil Rock! Down—hurry them down, Akela! Down, Rama,

down!’

The herd paused for an instant at the edge of the slope,

but Akela gave tongue in the full hunting-yell, and they

pitched over one after the other, just as steamers shoot rap-

ids, the sand and stones spurting up round them. Once

started, there was no chance of stopping, and before they

were fairly in the bed of the ravine Rama winded Shere

Khan and bellowed.

‘Ha! Ha!’ said Mowgli, on his back. ‘Now thou knowest!’

and the torrent of black horns, foaming muzzles, and star-

ing eyes whirled down the ravine just as boulders go down

in floodtime; the weaker buffaloes being shouldered out to

the sides of the ravine where they tore through the creepers.

They knew what the business was before them—the terri-

ble charge of the buffalo herd against which no tiger can

hope to stand. Shere Khan heard the thunder of their hoofs,

picked himself up, and lumbered down the ravine, looking

from side to side for some way of escape, but the walls of the

ravine were straight and he had to hold on, heavy with his

dinner and his drink, willing to do anything rather than

fight. The herd splashed through the pool he had just left,

bellowing till the narrow cut rang. Mowgli heard an an-

swering bellow from the foot of the ravine, saw Shere Khan

turn (the tiger knew if the worst came to the worst it was

better to meet the bulls than the cows with their calves),

and then Rama tripped, stumbled, and went on again over

something soft, and, with the bulls at his heels, crashed full

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into the other herd, while the weaker buffaloes were lifted

clean off their feet by the shock of the meeting. That charge

carried both herds out into the plain, goring and stamping

and snorting. Mowgli watched his time, and slipped off Ra-

ma’s neck, laying about him right and left with his stick.

‘Quick, Akela! Break them up. Scatter them, or they

will be fighting one another. Drive them away, Akela. Hai,

Rama! Hai, hai, hai! my children. Softly now, softly! It is all

over.’

Akela and Gray Brother ran to and fro nipping the buf-

faloes’ legs, and though the herd wheeled once to charge up

the ravine again, Mowgli managed to turn Rama, and the

others followed him to the wallows.

Shere Khan needed no more trampling. He was dead,

and the kites were coming for him already.

‘Brothers, that was a dog’s death,’ said Mowgli, feeling

for the knife he always carried in a sheath round his neck

now that he lived with men. ‘But he would never have shown

fight. His hide will look well on the Council Rock. We must

get to work swiftly.’

A boy trained among men would never have dreamed

of skinning a ten-foot tiger alone, but Mowgli knew bet-

ter than anyone else how an animal’s skin is fitted on, and

how it can be taken off. But it was hard work, and Mowgli

slashed and tore and grunted for an hour, while the wolves

lolled out their tongues, or came forward and tugged as he

ordered them. Presently a hand fell on his shoulder, and

looking up he saw Buldeo with the Tower musket. The chil-

dren had told the village about the buffalo stampede, and

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Buldeo went out angrily, only too anxious to correct Mowg-

li for not taking better care of the herd. The wolves dropped

out of sight as soon as they saw the man coming.

‘What is this folly?’ said Buldeo angrily. ‘To think that

thou canst skin a tiger! Where did the buffaloes kill him?

It is the Lame Tiger too, and there is a hundred rupees on

his head. Well, well, we will overlook thy letting the herd

run off, and perhaps I will give thee one of the rupees of

the reward when I have taken the skin to Khanhiwara.’ He

fumbled in his waist cloth for flint and steel, and stooped

down to singe Shere Khan’s whiskers. Most native hunt-

ers always singe a tiger’s whiskers to prevent his ghost from

haunting them.

‘Hum!’ said Mowgli, half to himself as he ripped back the

skin of a forepaw. ‘So thou wilt take the hide to Khanhiwara

for the reward, and perhaps give me one rupee? Now it is

in my mind that I need the skin for my own use. Heh! Old

man, take away that fire!’

‘What talk is this to the chief hunter of the village? Thy

luck and the stupidity of thy buffaloes have helped thee to

this kill. The tiger has just fed, or he would have gone twenty

miles by this time. Thou canst not even skin him properly,

little beggar brat, and forsooth I, Buldeo, must be told not to

singe his whiskers. Mowgli, I will not give thee one anna of

the reward, but only a very big beating. Leave the carcass!’

‘By the Bull that bought me,’ said Mowgli, who was try-

ing to get at the shoulder, ‘must I stay babbling to an old ape

all noon? Here, Akela, this man plagues me.’

Buldeo, who was still stooping over Shere Khan’s head,

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found himself sprawling on the grass, with a gray wolf

standing over him, while Mowgli went on skinning as

though he were alone in all India.

‘Ye-es,’ he said, between his teeth. ‘Thou art altogeth-

er right, Buldeo. Thou wilt never give me one anna of the

reward. There is an old war between this lame tiger and my-

self—a very old war, and—I have won.’

To do Buldeo justice, if he had been ten years young-

er he would have taken his chance with Akela had he met

the wolf in the woods, but a wolf who obeyed the orders of

this boy who had private wars with man-eating tigers was

not a common animal. It was sorcery, magic of the worst

kind, thought Buldeo, and he wondered whether the amulet

round his neck would protect him. He lay as still as still, ex-

pecting every minute to see Mowgli turn into a tiger too.

‘Maharaj! Great King,’ he said at last in a husky whisper.

‘Yes,’ said Mowgli, without turning his head, chuckling

a little.

‘I am an old man. I did not know that thou wast any-

thing more than a herdsboy. May I rise up and go away, or

will thy servant tear me to pieces?’

‘Go, and peace go with thee. Only, another time do not

meddle with my game. Let him go, Akela.’

Buldeo hobbled away to the village as fast as he could,

looking back over his shoulder in case Mowgli should

change into something terrible. When he got to the village

he told a tale of magic and enchantment and sorcery that

made the priest look very grave.

Mowgli went on with his work, but it was nearly twilight

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before he and the wolves had drawn the great gay skin clear

of the body.

‘Now we must hide this and take the buffaloes home!

Help me to herd them, Akela.’

The herd rounded up in the misty twilight, and when

they got near the village Mowgli saw lights, and heard the

conches and bells in the temple blowing and banging. Half

the village seemed to be waiting for him by the gate. ‘That

is because I have killed Shere Khan,’ he said to himself. But

a shower of stones whistled about his ears, and the villag-

ers shouted: ‘Sorcerer! Wolf’s brat! Jungle demon! Go away!

Get hence quickly or the priest will turn thee into a wolf

again. Shoot, Buldeo, shoot!’

The old Tower musket went off with a bang, and a young

buffalo bellowed in pain.

‘More sorcery!’ shouted the villagers. ‘He can turn bul-

lets. Buldeo, that was thy buffalo.’

‘Now what is this?’ said Mowgli, bewildered, as the

stones flew thicker.

‘They are not unlike the Pack, these brothers of thine,’

said Akela, sitting down composedly. ‘It is in my head that,

if bullets mean anything, they would cast thee out.’

‘Wolf! Wolf’s cub! Go away!’ shouted the priest, waving

a sprig of the sacred tulsi plant.

‘Again? Last time it was because I was a man. This time it

is because I am a wolf. Let us go, Akela.’

A woman—it was Messua—ran across to the herd, and

cried: ‘Oh, my son, my son! They say thou art a sorcerer who

can turn himself into a beast at will. I do not believe, but go

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away or they will kill thee. Buldeo says thou art a wizard,

but I know thou hast avenged Nathoo’s death.’

‘Come back, Messua!’ shouted the crowd. ‘Come back, or

we will stone thee.’

Mowgli laughed a little short ugly laugh, for a stone had

hit him in the mouth. ‘Run back, Messua. This is one of the

foolish tales they tell under the big tree at dusk. I have at

least paid for thy son’s life. Farewell; and run quickly, for I

shall send the herd in more swiftly than their brickbats. I

am no wizard, Messua. Farewell!’

‘Now, once more, Akela,’ he cried. ‘Bring the herd in.’

The buffaloes were anxious enough to get to the village.

They hardly needed Akela’s yell, but charged through the

gate like a whirlwind, scattering the crowd right and left.

‘Keep count!’ shouted Mowgli scornfully. ‘It may be that

I have stolen one of them. Keep count, for I will do your

herding no more. Fare you well, children of men, and thank

Messua that I do not come in with my wolves and hunt you

up and down your street.’

He turned on his heel and walked away with the Lone

Wolf, and as he looked up at the stars he felt happy. ‘No

more sleeping in traps for me, Akela. Let us get Shere Khan’s

skin and go away. No, we will not hurt the village, for Mes-

sua was kind to me.’

When the moon rose over the plain, making it look all

milky, the horrified villagers saw Mowgli, with two wolves

at his heels and a bundle on his head, trotting across at the

steady wolf’s trot that eats up the long miles like fire. Then

they banged the temple bells and blew the conches louder

The Jungle Book

than ever. And Messua cried, and Buldeo embroidered the

story of his adventures in the jungle, till he ended by saying

that Akela stood up on his hind legs and talked like a man.

The moon was just going down when Mowgli and the

two wolves came to the hill of the Council Rock, and they

stopped at Mother Wolf’s cave.

‘They have cast me out from the Man-Pack, Mother,’

shouted Mowgli, ‘but I come with the hide of Shere Khan

to keep my word.’

Mother Wolf walked stiffly from the cave with the cubs

behind her, and her eyes glowed as she saw the skin.

‘I told him on that day, when he crammed his head and

shoulders into this cave, hunting for thy life, Little Frog—

I told him that the hunter would be the hunted. It is well

done.’

‘Little Brother, it is well done,’ said a deep voice in the

thicket. ‘We were lonely in the jungle without thee, and Ba-

gheera came running to Mowgli’s bare feet. They clambered

up the Council Rock together, and Mowgli spread the skin

out on the flat stone where Akela used to sit, and pegged

it down with four slivers of bamboo, and Akela lay down

upon it, and called the old call to the Council, ‘Look—look

well, O Wolves,’ exactly as he had called when Mowgli was

first brought there.

Ever since Akela had been deposed, the Pack had been

without a leader, hunting and fighting at their own pleasure.

But they answered the call from habit; and some of them

were lame from the traps they had fallen into, and some

limped from shot wounds, and some were mangy from eat-

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ing bad food, and many were missing. But they came to

the Council Rock, all that were left of them, and saw Shere

Khan’s striped hide on the rock, and the huge claws dan-

gling at the end of the empty dangling feet. It was then that

Mowgli made up a song that came up into his throat all by

itself, and he shouted it aloud, leaping up and down on the

rattling skin, and beating time with his heels till he had no

more breath left, while Gray Brother and Akela howled be-

tween the verses.

‘Look well, O Wolves. Have I kept my word?’ said Mowgli.

And the wolves bayed ‘Yes,’ and one tattered wolf howled:

‘Lead us again, O Akela. Lead us again, O Man-cub, for

we be sick of this lawlessness, and we would be the Free Peo-

ple once more.’

‘Nay,’ purred Bagheera, ‘that may not be. When ye are

full-fed, the madness may come upon you again. Not for

nothing are ye called the Free People. Ye fought for free-

dom, and it is yours. Eat it, O Wolves.’

‘Man-Pack and Wolf-Pack have cast me out,’ said Mow-

gli. ‘Now I will hunt alone in the jungle.’

‘And we will hunt with thee,’ said the four cubs.

So Mowgli went away and hunted with the four cubs in

the jungle from that day on. But he was not always alone,

because, years afterward, he became a man and married.

But that is a story for grown-ups.

The Jungle Book

Mowgli’s Song

THAT HE SANG AT THE COUNCIL ROCK WHEN HE

DANCED ON SHERE KHAN’S HIDE

The Song of Mowgli—I, Mowgli, am singing. Let the jungle

listen to the things I have done.

Shere Khan said he would kil —would kil ! At the gates in the

twilight he would kill Mowgli, the Frog!

He ate and he drank. Drink deep, Shere Khan, for when wilt

thou

drink again? Sleep and dream of the kil .

I am alone on the grazing-grounds. Gray Brother, come to me!

Come to me, Lone Wolf, for there is big game afoot!

Bring up the great bull buffaloes, the blue-skinned herd bul s

with the angry eyes. Drive them to and fro as I order.

Sleepest thou stil , Shere Khan? Wake, oh, wake! Here come I,

and the bul s are behind.

Rama, the King of the Buffaloes, stamped with his foot.

Waters of

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the Waingunga, whither went Shere Khan?

He is not Ikki to dig holes, nor Mao, the Peacock, that he

should

fly. He is not Mang the Bat, to hang in the branches. Little

bamboos that creak together, tell me where he ran?

Ow! He is there. Ahoo! He is there. Under the feet of Rama

lies the Lame One! Up, Shere Khan!

Up and kil ! Here is meat; break the necks of the bul s!

Hsh! He is asleep. We will not wake him, for his strength is

very great. The kites have come down to see it. The black

ants have come up to know it. There is a great assembly in his

honor.

Alala! I have no cloth to wrap me. The kites will see that I am

naked. I am ashamed to meet all these people.

Lend me thy coat, Shere Khan. Lend me thy gay striped coat

that I

may go to the Council Rock.

By the Bull that bought me I made a promise—a little

promise.

Only thy coat is lacking before I keep my word.

With the knife, with the knife that men use, with the knife of

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the

hunter, I will stoop down for my gift.

Waters of the Waingunga, Shere Khan gives me his coat for

the love

that he bears me. Pul , Gray Brother! Pul , Akela! Heavy is

the hide of Shere Khan.

The Man Pack are angry. They throw stones and talk child’s

talk.

My mouth is bleeding. Let me run away.

Through the night, through the hot night, run swiftly with me,

my

brothers. We will leave the lights of the vil age and go to

the low moon.

Waters of the Waingunga, the Man-Pack have cast me out. I

did

them no harm, but they were afraid of me. Why?

Wolf Pack, ye have cast me out too. The jungle is shut to me

and

the vil age gates are shut. Why?

As Mang flies between the beasts and birds, so fly I between

the

vil age and the jungle. Why?

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I dance on the hide of Shere Khan, but my heart is very heavy.

My

mouth is cut and wounded with the stones from the vil age,

but

my heart is very light, because I have come back to the jungle.

Why?

These two things fight together in me as the snakes fight in the

spring. The water comes out of my eyes; yet I laugh while it

fal s. Why?

I am two Mowglis, but the hide of Shere Khan is under my

feet.

All the jungle knows that I have kil ed Shere Khan. Look—

look

wel , O Wolves!

Ahae! My heart is heavy with the things that I do not

understand.

The Jungle Book

The White Seal

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,

And black are the waters that sparkled so green.

The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us

At rest in the hol ows that rustle between.

Where bil ow meets bil ow, then soft be thy pil ow,

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 762