Kim
“That is part of the selling of the horse,” Mahbub explained to Kim,
who laughed.
“I have heard that talk since my Sixth Day,” he replied, squatting by
the light. “Whither does it lead?”
“To protection. Tonight we change thy colour. This sleeping under roofs
has blanched thee like an almond. But Huneefa has the secret of a
colour that catches. No painting of a day or two. Also, we fortify thee
against the chances of the Road. That is _my_ gift to thee, my son.
Take out all metals on thee and lay them here. Make ready, Huneefa.”
Kim dragged forth his compass, Survey paint-box, and the new-filled
medicine-box. They had all accompanied his travels, and boylike he
valued them immensely.
The woman rose slowly and moved with her hands a little spread before
her. Then Kim saw that she was blind. “No, no,” she muttered, “the
Pathan speaks truth—my colour does not go in a week or a month, and
those whom I protect are under strong guard.”
“When one is far off and alone, it would not be well to grow blotched
and leprous of a sudden,” said Mahbub. “When thou wast with me I could
oversee the matter. Besides, a Pathan is a fair-skin. Strip to the
waist now and look how thou art whitened.” Huneefa felt her way back
from an inner room. “It is no matter, she cannot see.” He took a pewter
bowl from her ringed hand.
The dye-stuff showed blue and gummy. Kim experimented on the back of
his wrist, with a dab of cotton-wool; but Huneefa heard him.
“No, no,” she cried, “the thing is not done thus, but with the proper
ceremonies. The colouring is the least part. I give thee the full
protection of the Road.”
“_Jadoo?_ (magic),”said Kim, with a half start. He did not like the
white, sightless eyes. Mahbub’s hand on his neck bowed him to the
floor, nose within an inch of the boards.
“Be still. No harm comes to thee, my son. I am thy sacrifice!”
He could not see what the woman was about, but heard the dish-clash of
her jewellery for many minutes. A match lit up the darkness; he caught
the well-known purr and fizzle of grains of incense. Then the room
filled with smoke—heavy aromatic, and stupefying. Through growing
drowse he heard the names of devils—of Zulbazan, Son of Eblis, who
lives in bazars and _paraos_, making all the sudden lewd wickedness of
wayside halts; of Dulhan, invisible about mosques, the dweller among
the slippers of the faithful, who hinders folk from their prayers; and
Musboot, Lord of lies and panic. Huneefa, now whispering in his ear,
now talking as from an immense distance, touched him with horrible soft
fingers, but Mahbub’s grip never shifted from his neck till, relaxing
with a sigh, the boy lost his senses.
“Allah! How he fought! We should never have done it but for the drugs.
That was his white blood, I take it,” said Mahbub testily. “Go on with
the _dawut_ (invocation). Give him full Protection.”
“_O Hearer! Thou that hearest with ears, be present. Listen, O
Hearer!_” Huneefa moaned, her dead eyes turned to the west. The dark
room filled with moanings and snortings.
From the outer balcony, a ponderous figure raised a round bullet head
and coughed nervously.
“Do not interrupt this ventriloquial necromanciss, my friend,” it said
in English. “I opine that it is very disturbing to you, but no
enlightened observer is jolly-well upset.”
“..._I will lay a plot for their ruin! O Prophet, bear with the
unbelievers. Let them alone awhile!_” Huneefa’s face, turned to the
northward, worked horribly, and it was as though voices from the
ceiling answered her.
Hurree Babu returned to his note-book, balanced on the window-sill, but
his hand shook. Huneefa, in some sort of drugged ecstasy, wrenched
herself to and fro as she sat cross-legged by Kim’s still head, and
called upon devil after devil, in the ancient order of the ritual,
binding them to avoid the boy’s every action.
“_With Him are the keys of the Secret Things! None knoweth them besides
Himself He knoweth that which is in the dry land and in the sea!_”
Again broke out the unearthly whistling responses.
“I—I apprehend it is not at all malignant in its operation?” said the
Babu, watching the throat-muscles quiver and jerk as Huneefa spoke with
tongues. “It—it is not likely that she has killed the boy? If so, I
decline to be witness at the trial .....What was the last hypothetical
devil mentioned?”
“Babuji,” said Mahbub in the vernacular. “I have no regard for the
devils of Hind, but the Sons of Eblis are far otherwise, and whether
they be _jumalee_ (well-affected) or _jullalee_ (terrible) they love
not Kafirs.”
“Then you think I had better go?” said Hurree Babu, half rising. “They
are, of course, dematerialized phenomena. Spencer says.”
Huneefa’s crisis passed, as these things must, in a paroxysm of
howling, with a touch of froth at the lips. She lay spent and
motionless beside Kim, and the crazy voices ceased.
“Wah! That work is done. May the boy be better for it; and Huneefa is
surely a mistress of _dawut_. Help haul her aside, Babu. Do not be
afraid.”
“How am I to fear the absolutely non-existent?” said Hurree Babu,
talking English to reassure himself. It is an awful thing still to
dread the magic that you contemptuously investigate—to collect
folk-lore for the Royal Society with a lively belief in all Powers of
Darkness.
Mahbub chuckled. He had been out with Hurree on the Road ere now. “Let
us finish the colouring,” said he. “The boy is well protected if—if the
Lords of the Air have ears to hear. I am a _sufi_ (free-thinker), but
when one can get blind-sides of a woman, a stallion, or a devil, why go
round to invite a kick? Set him upon the way, Babu, and see that old
Red Hat does not lead him beyond our reach. I must get back to my
horses.”
“All raight,” said Hurree Babu. “He is at present curious spectacle.”
About third cockcrow, Kim woke after a sleep of thousands of years.
Huneefa, in her corner, snored heavily, but Mahbub was gone.
“I hope you were not frightened,” said an oily voice at his elbow. “I
superintended entire operation, which was most interesting from
ethnological point of view. It was high-class _dawut_.”
“Huh!” said Kim, recognizing Hurree Babu, who smiled ingratiatingly.
“And also I had honour to bring down from Lurgan your present costume.
I am not in the habit offeecially of carrying such gauds to
subordinates, but”—he giggled—“your case is noted as exceptional on the
books. I hope Mr Lurgan will note my action.”
Kim yawned and stretched himself. It was good to turn and twist within
loose clothes once again.
“What is this?” He looked curiously at the heavy duffle-stuff loaded
with the scents of the far North.
“Oho! That is inconspicuous dress of _chela_ attached to service of
lamaistic lama. _Com_plete in every particular,” said Hurree Babu,
rolling into the balcony to clean his teeth at a goglet. “I am of
opeenion it is not your old gentleman’s precise releegion, but rather
sub-variant of same. I have contributed rejected notes To Whom It May
Concern: _Asiatic Quarterly Review_ on these subjects. Now it is
curious that the old gentleman himself is totally devoid of
releegiosity. He is not a dam’ particular.”
“Do you know him?”
Hurree Babu held up his hand to show he was engaged in the prescribed
rites that accompany tooth-cleaning and such things among decently bred
Bengalis. Then he recited in English an Arya-Somaj prayer of a
theistical nature, and stuffed his mouth with _pan_ and betel.
“Oah yes. I have met him several times at Benares, and also at Buddh
Gaya, to interrogate him on releegious points and devil-worship. He is
pure agnostic—same as me.”
Huneefa stirred in her sleep, and Hurree Babu jumped nervously to the
copper incense-burner, all black and discoloured in morning-light,
rubbed a finger in the accumulated lamp-black, and drew it diagonally
across his face.
“Who has died in thy house?” asked Kim in the vernacular.
“None. But she may have the Evil Eye—that sorceress,” the Babu replied.
“What dost thou do now, then?”
“I will set thee on thy way to Benares, if thou goest thither, and tell
thee what must be known by Us.”
“I go. At what hour runs the _te-rain?_” He rose to his feet, looked
round the desolate chamber and at the yellow-wax face of Huneefa as the
low sun stole across the floor. “Is there money to be paid that witch?”
“No. She has charmed thee against all devils and all dangers in the
name of her devils. It was Mahbub’s desire.” In English: “He is highly
obsolete, _I_ think, to indulge in such supersteetion. Why, it is all
ventri_lo_quy. Belly-speak—eh?”
Kim snapped his fingers mechanically to avert whatever evil—Mahbub, he
knew, meditated none—might have crept in through Huneefa’s
ministrations; and Hurree giggled once more. But as he crossed the room
he was careful not to step in Huneefa’s blotched, squat shadow on the
boards. Witches—when their time is on them—can lay hold of the heels of
a man’s soul if he does that.
“Now you must well listen,” said the Babu when they were in the fresh
air. “Part of these ceremonies which we witnessed they include supply
of effeecient amulet to those of our Department. If you feel in your
neck you will find one small silver amulet, verree cheap. That is
_ours_. Do you understand?”
“Oah yes, _hawa-dilli_ (a heart-lifter),” said Kim, feeling at his
neck.
“Huneefa she makes them for two rupees twelve annas with—oh, all sorts
of exorcisms. They are quite common, except they are partially black
enamel, and there is a paper inside each one full of names of local
saints and such things. _Thatt_ is Huneefa’s look-out, you see? Huneefa
makes them onlee for us, but in case she does not, when we get them we
put in, before issue, one small piece of turquoise. Mr Lurgan he gives
them. There is no other source of supply; but it was me invented all
this. It is strictly unoffeecial of course, but convenient for
subordinates. Colonel Creighton he does not know. He is European. The
turquoise is wrapped in the paper ... Yes, that is road to railway
station ... Now suppose you go with the lama, or with me, I hope, some
day, or with Mahbub. Suppose we get into a dam’-tight place. I am a
fearful man—most fearful—but I tell you I have been in dam’-tight
places more than hairs on my head. You say: ‘I am Son of the Charm.’
Verree good.”
“I do not understand quite. We must not be heard talking English here.”
“That is all raight. I am only Babu showing off my English to you. All
we Babus talk English to show off;” said Hurree, flinging his
shoulder-cloth jauntily. “As I was about to say, ‘Son of the Charm’
means that you may be member of the _Sat Bhai_—the Seven Brothers,
which is Hindi _and_ Tantric. It is popularly supposed to be extinct
Society, but I have written notes to show it is still extant. You see,
it is all my invention. Verree good. _Sat Bhai_ has many members, and
perhaps before they jolly-well-cut-your-throat they may give you just a
chance of life. That is useful, anyhow. And moreover, these foolish
natives—if they are not too excited—they always stop to think before
they kill a man who says he belongs to any speecific organization. You
see? You say then when you are in tight place, ‘I am Son of the Charm’,
and you get—perhaps—ah—your second wind. That is only in extreme
instances, or to open negotiations with a stranger. Can you quite see?
Verree good. But suppose now, I, or any one of the Department, come to
you dressed quite different. You would not know me at all unless I
choose, I bet you. Some day I will prove it. I come as Ladakhi
trader—oh, anything—and I say to you: ‘You want to buy precious
stones?’ You say: ‘Do I look like a man who buys precious stones?’ Then
I say: ‘Even verree poor man can buy a turquoise or _tarkeean_.’”