The Jungle Book
jungle. Bring me food, or give me leave to hunt here.”
Twenty or thirty monkeys bounded away to bring him nuts and wild
pawpaws. But they fell to fighting on the road, and it was too much
trouble to go back with what was left of the fruit. Mowgli was sore and
angry as well as hungry, and he roamed through the empty city giving the
Strangers’ Hunting Call from time to time, but no one answered him, and
Mowgli felt that he had reached a very bad place indeed. “All that Baloo
has said about the Bandar-log is true,” he thought to himself. “They
have no Law, no Hunting Call, and no leaders--nothing but foolish words
and little picking thievish hands. So if I am starved or killed here,
it will be all my own fault. But I must try to return to my own jungle.
Baloo will surely beat me, but that is better than chasing silly rose
leaves with the Bandar-log.”
No sooner had he walked to the city wall than the monkeys pulled him
back, telling him that he did not know how happy he was, and pinching
him to make him grateful. He set his teeth and said nothing, but went
with the shouting monkeys to a terrace above the red sandstone
reservoirs that were half-full of rain water. There was a ruined
summer-house of white marble in the center of the terrace, built for
queens dead a hundred years ago. The domed roof had half fallen in and
blocked up the underground passage from the palace by which the queens
used to enter. But the walls were made of screens of marble
tracery--beautiful milk-white fretwork, set with agates and cornelians
and jasper and lapis lazuli, and as the moon came up behind the hill it
shone through the open work, casting shadows on the ground like black
velvet embroidery. Sore, sleepy, and hungry as he was, Mowgli could not
help laughing when the Bandar-log began, twenty at a time, to tell him
how great and wise and strong and gentle they were, and how foolish he
was to wish to leave them. “We are great. We are free. We are
wonderful. We are the most wonderful people in all the jungle! We all
say so, and so it must be true,” they shouted. “Now as you are a new
listener and can carry our words back to the Jungle-People so that they
may notice us in future, we will tell you all about our most excellent
selves.” Mowgli made no objection, and the monkeys gathered by hundreds
and hundreds on the terrace to listen to their own speakers singing the
praises of the Bandar-log, and whenever a speaker stopped for want of
breath they would all shout together: “This is true; we all say so.”
Mowgli nodded and blinked, and said “Yes” when they asked him a
question, and his head spun with the noise. “Tabaqui the Jackal must
have bitten all these people,” he said to himself, “and now they have
madness. Certainly this is _dewanee_, the madness. Do they never go to
sleep? Now there is a cloud coming to cover that moon. If it were only
a big enough cloud I might try to run away in the darkness. But I am
tired.”
That same cloud was being watched by two good friends in the ruined
ditch below the city wall, for Bagheera and Kaa, knowing well how
dangerous the Monkey-People were in large numbers, did not wish to run
any risks. The monkeys never fight unless they are a hundred to one, and
few in the jungle care for those odds.
“I will go to the west wall,” Kaa whispered, “and come down swiftly with
the slope of the ground in my favor. They will not throw themselves upon
my back in their hundreds, but--”
“I know it,” said Bagheera. “Would that Baloo were here, but we must do
what we can. When that cloud covers the moon I shall go to the terrace.
They hold some sort of council there over the boy.”
“Good hunting,” said Kaa grimly, and glided away to the west wall. That
happened to be the least ruined of any, and the big snake was delayed
awhile before he could find a way up the stones. The cloud hid the moon,
and as Mowgli wondered what would come next he heard Bagheera’s light
feet on the terrace. The Black Panther had raced up the slope almost
without a sound and was striking--he knew better than to waste time in
biting--right and left among the monkeys, who were seated round Mowgli
in circles fifty and sixty deep. There was a howl of fright and rage,
and then as Bagheera tripped on the rolling kicking bodies beneath him,
a monkey shouted: “There is only one here! Kill him! Kill.” A scuffling
mass of monkeys, biting, scratching, tearing, and pulling, closed over
Bagheera, while five or six laid hold of Mowgli, dragged him up the wall
of the summerhouse and pushed him through the hole of the broken dome.
A man-trained boy would have been badly bruised, for the fall was a
good fifteen feet, but Mowgli fell as Baloo had taught him to fall, and
landed on his feet.
“Stay there,” shouted the monkeys, “till we have killed thy friends, and
later we will play with thee--if the Poison-People leave thee alive.”
“We be of one blood, ye and I,” said Mowgli, quickly giving the Snake’s
Call. He could hear rustling and hissing in the rubbish all round him
and gave the Call a second time, to make sure.
“Even ssso! Down hoods all!” said half a dozen low voices (every ruin
in India becomes sooner or later a dwelling place of snakes, and the old
summerhouse was alive with cobras). “Stand still, Little Brother, for
thy feet may do us harm.”
Mowgli stood as quietly as he could, peering through the open work and
listening to the furious din of the fight round the Black Panther--the
yells and chatterings and scufflings, and Bagheera’s deep, hoarse cough
as he backed and bucked and twisted and plunged under the heaps of his
enemies. For the first time since he was born, Bagheera was fighting for
his life.
“Baloo must be at hand; Bagheera would not have come alone,” Mowgli
thought. And then he called aloud: “To the tank, Bagheera. Roll to the
water tanks. Roll and plunge! Get to the water!”
Bagheera heard, and the cry that told him Mowgli was safe gave him new
courage. He worked his way desperately, inch by inch, straight for the
reservoirs, halting in silence. Then from the ruined wall nearest the
jungle rose up the rumbling war-shout of Baloo. The old Bear had done
his best, but he could not come before. “Bagheera,” he shouted, “I am
here. I climb! I haste! Ahuwora! The stones slip under my feet! Wait my
coming, O most infamous Bandar-log!” He panted up the terrace only
to disappear to the head in a wave of monkeys, but he threw himself
squarely on his haunches, and, spreading out his forepaws, hugged as
many as he could hold, and then began to hit with a regular bat-bat-bat,
like the flipping strokes of a paddle wheel. A crash and a splash told
Mowgli that Bagheera had fought his way to the tank where the monkeys
could not follow. The Panther lay gasping for breath, his head just
out of the water, while the monkeys stood three deep on the red steps,
dancing up and down with rage, ready to spring upon him from all sides
if he came out to help Baloo. It was then that Bagheera lifted up his
dripping chin, and in despair gave the Snake’s Call for protection--“We
be of one blood, ye and I”--for he believed that Kaa had turned tail
at the last minute. Even Baloo, half smothered under the monkeys on
the edge of the terrace, could not help chuckling as he heard the Black
Panther asking for help.
Kaa had only just worked his way over the west wall, landing with a
wrench that dislodged a coping stone into the ditch. He had no intention
of losing any advantage of the ground, and coiled and uncoiled himself
once or twice, to be sure that every foot of his long body was in
working order. All that while the fight with Baloo went on, and the
monkeys yelled in the tank round Bagheera, and Mang the Bat, flying to
and fro, carried the news of the great battle over the jungle, till even
Hathi the Wild Elephant trumpeted, and, far away, scattered bands of
the Monkey-Folk woke and came leaping along the tree-roads to help their
comrades in the Cold Lairs, and the noise of the fight roused all the
day birds for miles round. Then Kaa came straight, quickly, and anxious
to kill. The fighting strength of a python is in the driving blow of
his head backed by all the strength and weight of his body. If you can
imagine a lance, or a battering ram, or a hammer weighing nearly half
a ton driven by a cool, quiet mind living in the handle of it, you can
roughly imagine what Kaa was like when he fought. A python four or five
feet long can knock a man down if he hits him fairly in the chest, and
Kaa was thirty feet long, as you know. His first stroke was delivered
into the heart of the crowd round Baloo. It was sent home with shut
mouth in silence, and there was no need of a second. The monkeys
scattered with cries of--“Kaa! It is Kaa! Run! Run!”
Generations of monkeys had been scared into good behavior by the stories
their elders told them of Kaa, the night thief, who could slip along the
branches as quietly as moss grows, and steal away the strongest monkey
that ever lived; of old Kaa, who could make himself look so like a dead
branch or a rotten stump that the wisest were deceived, till the branch
caught them. Kaa was everything that the monkeys feared in the jungle,
for none of them knew the limits of his power, none of them could look
him in the face, and none had ever come alive out of his hug. And so
they ran, stammering with terror, to the walls and the roofs of the
houses, and Baloo drew a deep breath of relief. His fur was much thicker
than Bagheera’s, but he had suffered sorely in the fight. Then Kaa
opened his mouth for the first time and spoke one long hissing word, and
the far-away monkeys, hurrying to the defense of the Cold Lairs, stayed
where they were, cowering, till the loaded branches bent and crackled
under them. The monkeys on the walls and the empty houses stopped
their cries, and in the stillness that fell upon the city Mowgli heard
Bagheera shaking his wet sides as he came up from the tank. Then the
clamor broke out again. The monkeys leaped higher up the walls. They
clung around the necks of the big stone idols and shrieked as they
skipped along the battlements, while Mowgli, dancing in the summerhouse,
put his eye to the screenwork and hooted owl-fashion between his front
teeth, to show his derision and contempt.
“Get the man-cub out of that trap; I can do no more,” Bagheera gasped.
“Let us take the man-cub and go. They may attack again.”
“They will not move till I order them. Stay you sssso!” Kaa hissed, and
the city was silent once more. “I could not come before, Brother, but I
think I heard thee call”--this was to Bagheera.
“I--I may have cried out in the battle,” Bagheera answered. “Baloo, art
thou hurt?
“I am not sure that they did not pull me into a hundred little
bearlings,” said Baloo, gravely shaking one leg after the other. “Wow! I
am sore. Kaa, we owe thee, I think, our lives--Bagheera and I.”
“No matter. Where is the manling?”
“Here, in a trap. I cannot climb out,” cried Mowgli. The curve of the
broken dome was above his head.
“Take him away. He dances like Mao the Peacock. He will crush our
young,” said the cobras inside.
“Hah!” said Kaa with a chuckle, “he has friends everywhere, this
manling. Stand back, manling. And hide you, O Poison People. I break
down the wall.”
Kaa looked carefully till he found a discolored crack in the marble
tracery showing a weak spot, made two or three light taps with his head
to get the distance, and then lifting up six feet of his body clear
of the ground, sent home half a dozen full-power smashing blows,
nose-first. The screen-work broke and fell away in a cloud of dust and
rubbish, and Mowgli leaped through the opening and flung himself between
Baloo and Bagheera--an arm around each big neck.
“Art thou hurt?” said Baloo, hugging him softly.