Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1041 page)

Wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;
And remember the night is for hunting, and forget not the day is for sleep.
The Jackal may follow the Tiger, but, Cub, when thy whiskers are grown,
Remember the Wolf is a Hunter — go forth and get food of thine own.
Keep peace withe Lords of the Jungle — the Tiger, the Panther, and Bear.
And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the Boar in his lair.
When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail,
Lie down till the leaders have spoken — it may be fair words shall prevail.
When ye fight with a Wolf of the Pack, ye must fight him alone and afar,
Lest others take part in the quarrel, and the Pack be diminished by war.
The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, and where he has made him his home,
Not even the Head Wolf may enter, not even the Council may come.
The Lair of the Wolf is his refuge, but where he has digged it too plain,
The Council shall send him a message, and so he shall change it again.
If ye kill before midnight, be silent, and wake not the woods with your bay,
Lest ye frighten the deer from the crop, and your brothers go empty away.
Ye may kill for yourselves, and your mates, and your cubs as they need, and ye can;
But kill not for pleasure of killing, and
seven
times
never kill
Man!
If ye plunder his Kill from a weaker, devour not all in thy pride;
Pack-Right is the right of the meanest; so leave him the head and the hide.
The Kill of the Pack is the meat of the Pack. Ye must eat where it lies;
And no one may carry away of that meat to his lair,
or he dies.
The Kill of the Wolf is the meat of the Wolf. He may do what he will;
But, till he has given permission, the Pack may not eat of that Kill.
Cub-Right is the right of the Yearling. From all of his Pack he may claim
Full-gorge when the killer has eaten; and none may refuse him the same.
Lair-Right is the right of the Mother. From all of her year she may claim
One haunch of each kill for her litter, and none may deny her the same.
Cave-Right is the right of the Father — to hunt by himself for his own:
He is freed of all calls to the Pack; he is judged by the Council alone.
Because of his age and his cunning, because of his gripe and his paw,
In all that the Law leaveth open, the word of your Head Wolf is Law.
Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is — Obey!

The Legend of Evil

               I
This is the sorrowful story
 Told when the twilight fails
And the monkeys walk together
 Holding their neighbours’ tails: —

“Our fathers lived in the forest,
 Foolish people were they,
They went down to the cornland
 To teach the farmers to play.

“Our fathers frisked in the millet,
 Our fathers skipped in the wheat,
Our fathers hung from the branches,
 Our fathers danced in the street.

“Then came the terrible farmers,
 Nothing of play they knew,
Only. . .they caught our fathers
 And set them to labour too!

“Set them to work in the cornland
 With ploughs and sickles and flails,
Put them in mud-walled prisons
 And — cut off their beautiful tails!

“Now, we can watch our fathers,
 Sullen and bowed and old,
Stooping over the millet,
 Sharing the silly mould,

“Driving a foolish furrow,
 Mending a muddy yoke,
Sleeping in mud-walled prisons,
 Steeping their food in smoke.

“We may not speak to our fathers,
 For if the farmers knew
They would come up to the forest
 And set us to labour too.”

This is the horrible story
 Told as the twilight fails
And the monkeys walk together
 Holding their kinsmen’s tails.

  II

‘Twas when the rain fell steady an’ the Ark was pitched an’ ready,
 That Noah got his orders for to take the bastes below;
He dragged them all together by the horn an’ hide an’ feather,
 An’ all excipt the Donkey was agreeable to go.

Thin Noah spoke him fairly, thin talked to him sevarely,
 An’ thin he cursed him squarely to the glory av the Lord: —
“Divil take the ass that bred you, and the greater ass that fed you —
 Divil go wid you, ye spalpeen!” an’ the Donkey went aboard.

But the wind was always failin’, an’ ‘twas most onaisy sailin’,
 An’ the ladies in the cabin couldn’t stand the stable air;
An’ the bastes betwuxt the hatches, they tuk an’ died in batches,
 Till Noah said: — “There’s wan av us that hasn’t paid his fare!”

For he heard a flusteration ‘mid the bastes av all creation —
 The trumpetin’ av elephints an’ bellowin’ av whales;
An’ he saw forninst the windy whin he wint to stop the shindy
 The Divil wid a stable-fork bedivillin’ their tails.

The Divil cursed outrageous, but Noah said umbrageous: —
 “To what am I indebted for this tenant-right invasion?”
An’ the Divil gave for answer: — “Evict me if you can, sir,
 For I came in wid the Donkey — on Your Honour’s invitation.”

A Legend of the Foreign Office

  This is the reason why Rustum Beg,
      Rajah of Kolazai,
   Drinketh the “simpkin” and brandy peg,
      Maketh the money to fly,
  Vexeth a Government, tender and kind,
  Also — but this is a detail — blind.

Rustum Beg of Kolazai — slightly backward Native State —
Lusted for a C.S.I. — so began to sanitate.
Built a Gaol and Hospital — nearly built a City drain —
Till his faithful subjects all thought their ruler was insane.

Strange departures made he then — yea, Departments stranger still:
Half a dozen Englishmen helped the Rajah with a will,
Talked of noble aims and high, hinted of a future fine
For the State of Kolazai, on a strictly Western line.

Fajah Rustum held his peace; lowered octroi dues a half;
Organised a State Police; purified the Civil Staff;
Settled cess and tax aftresh in a very liberal way;
Cut temptations of the flesh — also cut the Bukhshi’s pay;

Roused his Secretariat to a fine Mahratta fury,
By an Order hinting at supervision of dasturi;
Turned the State of Kolazai very nearly upside-down;
When the end of May was night waited his achievement’s crown.

Then the Birthday Honours came. Sad to state and sad to see,
Stood against the Rajah’s name nothing more than
C.I.E.!
. . .
Things were lively for a week in the State of Kolazai,
Even now the people speak of that time regretfully.

How he disendowed the Gaol — stopped at once the City drain;
Turned to beauty fair and frail — got his senses back again;
Doubled taxes, cesses, all; cleared away each new-built
thana;
Turned the two-lakh Hospital into a superb
Zenana;

Heaped upon the Bukshi Sahib wealth and honours manifold;
Glad himself in Eastern garb — squeezed his people as of old.
Happy, happy Kolazai! Never more will Rustum Beg
Play to catch his Viceroy’s eye. He prefers the “simpkin” peg.

*

simpkin
— Champane.
  
C.S.I.
— The order of the Star of India.
  
Bukhshi
— The Commander in chief.
  
dasturi
— Bribes.
  
C.I.E.
— A Companionship of the order of the Indian Empire.
  
thana
— Police station.

The Legend of Mirth

The Four Archangels, so the legends tell,
Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, Azrael,
Being first of those to whom the Power was shown
Stood first of all the Host before The Throne,
And, when the Charges were allotted, burst
Tumultuous-winged from out the assembly first.
Zeal was their spur that bade them strictly heed
Their own high judgment on their lightest deed.
Zeal was their spur that, when relief was given,
Urged them unwearied to new toils in Heaven;
For Honour’s sake perfecting every task
Beyond what e ‘en Perfection’s self could ask.   .   .
And Allah, Who created Zeal and Pride,
Knows how the twain are perilous-near allied.

It chanced on one of Heaven’s long-lighted days,
The Four and all the Host being gone their ways
Each to his Charge, the shining Courts were void
Save for one Seraph whom no charge employed,
With folden wings and slumber-threatened brow,
To whom The Word:  “Beloved, what dost thou?”
“By the Permission,” came the answer soft,
Little I do nor do that little oft.
As is The Will in Heaven so on Earth
Where by The Will I strive to make men mirth”
He ceased and sped, hearing The Word once more:
“ Beloved, go thy way and greet the Four.”

Systems and Universes overpast,
The Seraph came upon the Four, at last,
Guiding and guarding with devoted mind
The tedious generations of mankind
Who lent at most unwilling ear and eye
When they could not escape the ministry.   .   .   .
Yet, patient, faithful, firm, persistent, just
Toward all that gross, indifferent, facile dust,
The Archangels laboured to discharge their trust
By precept and example, prayer and law,
Advice, reproof, and rule, but, labouring, saw
Each in his fellows’ countenance confessed,
The Doubt that sickens: “Have I done my best?”

Even as they sighed and turned to toil anew,
The Seraph hailed them with observance due;
And, after some fit talk of higher things,
Touched tentative on mundane happenings.
This they permitting, he, emboldened thus,
Prolused of humankind promiscuous,
And, since the large contention less avails
Than instances observed, he told them tales —
Tales of the shop, the bed, the court, the street,
Intimate, elemental, indiscreet:
Occasions where Confusion smiting swift
Piles jest on jest as snow-slides pile the drift
Whence, one by one, beneath derisive skies,
The victims’ bare, bewildered heads arise —
Tales of the passing of the spirit, graced
With humour blinding as the doom it faced —
Stark tales of ribaldy that broke aside
To tears, by laughter swallowed ere they dried-
Tales to which neither grace nor gain accrue,
But Only (Allah be exalted!) true,
And only, as the Seraph showed that night,
Delighting to the limits of delight.

These he rehearsed with artful pause and halt,
And such pretence of memory at fault,
That soon the Four — so well the bait was thrown —
Came to his aid with memories of their own —
Matters dismissed long since as small or vain,
Whereof the high significance had lain
Hid, till the ungirt glosses made it plain.
Then, as enlightenment came broad and fast,
Each marvelled at his own oblivious past
Until — the Gates of Laughter opened wide —
The Four, with that bland Seraph at their side,
While they recalled, compared, and amplified,
In utter mirth forgot both Zeal and Pride!

High over Heaven the lamps of midnight  burned
Ere, weak with merriment, the Four returned,
Not in that order they were wont to keep —
Pinion to pinion answering, sweep for sweep,
In awful diapason heard afar —
But shoutingly adrift ‘twixt star and star;
Reeling a planet’s orbit left or right
As laughter took them in the abysmal Night;
Or, by the point of some remembered jest,
Winged and brought helpless down through gulfs unguessed,
Where the blank worlds that gather to the birth
Leaped in the Womb of Darkness at their mirth,
And e’en Gehenna’s bondsmen understood.
They were not damned from human brotherhood   .   .   .

Not first nor last of Heaven’s high Host, the Four
That night took place beneath The Throne once more.
0 lovelier than their morning majesty,
The understanding light behind the eye!
0 more compelling than their old command,
The new-learned friendly gesture of the hand!
0 sweeter than their zealous fellowship,
The wise half-smile that passed from lip to lip!
0 well and roundly, when Command was given,
They told their tale against themselves to Heaven,
And in the silence, waiting on The Word,
Received the Peace and Pardon of The Lord!

A Legend of Truth

“A Friend of the Family”
From “Debits and Credits” (1919-1923)
Once on a time, the ancient legends tell,
Truth, rising from the bottom of her well,
Looked on the world, but, hearing how it lied,
Returned to her seclusion horrified.
There she abode, so conscious of her worth,
Not even Pilate’s Question called her forth,
Nor Galileo, kneeling to deny
The Laws that hold our Planet ‘neath the sky.
Meantime, her kindlier sister, whom men call
Fiction, did all her work and more than all,
With so much zeal, devotion, tact, and care,
That no one noticed Truth was otherwhere.

Then came a War when, bombed and gassed and mined,
Truth rose once more, perforce, to meet mankind,
And through the dust and glare and wreck of things,
Beheld a phantom on unbalanced wings,
Reeling and groping, dazed, dishevelled, dumb,
But semaphoring direr deeds to come.