پلوپونی

CHAPTER SIX

The Polo-Pony

The next day the soldiers took all the tents down, and the mavericks marched to Umballa. Kim walked with them. In the afternoon father victor rode up to him.

‘How did you know? How did you know we were going to war?’

Kim did not answer. He just looked mysteriously into the distance.

The next day the Mavericks left Umballa for the war. A drummer boy guarded Kim.

‘How far away am I allowed to walk?’ asked Kim, as they stood in front of the empty barracks.

‘You can walk as far as that tree down there,’ answered the drummer boy.

Kim, who was now wearing stiff army clothes, did not have the energy to run. He walked towards the tree. A servant walked by and insulted Kim in Hindustani: he did not think Kim could understand him. Kim invented a series of insults in Hindustani as an answer. The native servant was amazed.

‘And now,’ said Kim to the servant, ‘go and call me a letter- writer.’

Soon the letter-writer came - he was curious to see this strange English boy who could speak Hindustani so well. The letter he wrote for Kim finished with: ‘The clothes are very heavy and my heart is heavy too. I do not like the air and water here. Come and help me, Mahbub Ali, or send me some money because I do not have enough to pay the writer who writes this.’

When the letter-writer discovered that Mahbub Ali was Kim’s friend, he agreed to post the letter for Kim and wait for his payment.

Kim went back to the drummer boy. After lunch he was very happy when a soldier came and took him to see Father Victor.

‘I have received a letter from your friend, the lama,’ he said with amazement.

‘Where is he? Is he well? Oh! If he can write a letter, all is well,’ said Kim.

‘You are fond of him then?’ asked Father Victor.

‘Of course I am fond of him. He is fond of me,’ replied Kim.

‘He can’t write English, can he?’ asked the priest.

‘Oh no. But of course he found a letter-writer,’ answered Kim.

‘Well, he wrote me a most incredible letter from the Jain Temple of Benares where he is staying. He says that he will send you the three hundred rupees a year for you to attend St Xavier’s. This is incredible! Is this true, Kim?’

‘If he says he will give me three hundred rupees a year, then he will do it,’ answered Kim calmly.

‘Well, we were going to send you to the military orphanage, but now I will wait for three days. I really do not believe this is true. But I will wait three days,’ decided Father Victor.

Four days later, Father Victor had two more surprises. First, he received another letter from the lama with a cheque for three hundred rupees.

‘The lama, who is just a street beggar, has enough money to send a white boy to an expensive school!’ he thought. Just then the drummer boy came running to him.

‘The boy is gone,’ he cried, ‘a strange man with a red beard riding a stallion came. He hit me and then pulled that boy up. Then they rode away!’

‘What other strange people does this boy know?’ said Father Victor to no one in particular.

The man with a red beard, Mahbub Ali, rode a short distance with Kim, and said, ‘Little Friend of all the World, I cannot take you away. Everybody saw me hit that drummer boy and take you. If I don’t take you back, they will put me in jail.’

‘Please, let me escape,’ begged Kim, ‘I want to go back to my lama!’

Just then an Englishman rode up on a small polo-pony.

‘Oh, here you are! I have looked for you everywhere!’ said the Englishman. ‘What horses have you got for sale these days?’

‘I have a wonderful young horse, perfect for the delicate and difficult game of polo - there is no other horse like it,’ said Mahbub.

‘Of course, you always say that,’ said the Englishman. ‘And what on earth is this?’

‘A boy,’ said Mahbub seriously, ‘he is an orphan. His father was a soldier.’

‘Let him go then,’ said the Englishman. ‘He will certainly come back when he is hungry.’

‘Oh no,’ explained Mahbub, ‘ he is a clever little boy. He has friends. He changes his clothing and becomes, as if by magic, a little Hindu boy or a Muslim boy!’

‘Really!’ said the English man, who looked carefully at the boy. Kim became very angry: Mahbub was making fun of him.

‘They will send him to school,’ said Mahbub, ‘and put heavy boots on his feet. Then he will forget everything he knows. Now which barracks is yours?’ Kim was so angry now that he could not speak: he pointed to where Father Victor lived.

‘Well,’ continued Mahbub, ‘perhaps he will make a good soldier. He will make a good servant at least. I sent him once to deliver a message about a white stallion.’

Kim did not say a word but he thought, ‘Me just a servant! Just a common soldier! I delivered that important message to this Englishman. Now I recognise him. Was that the work of a servant? Doesn’t the Englishman recognise me? That horrible Mahbub!’

And Mahbub stared at the Englishman, who was Colonel Creighton. Colonel Creighton stared at Kim, who was silent.

‘My horse is well trained,’ said Mahbub. ‘You see it doesn’t kick!’ Mahbub, of course, was really talking about Kim. He wanted Colonel Creighton to see that Kim knew not to talk about important things - never - even if he was terribly provoked. In other words, Kim could become a great secret agent. Colonel Creighton was, after all, the head of the British spies in India.

‘Ah,’ said Colonel Creighton. ‘Who will make this boy a soldier?’

‘He says the regiment that found him and especially the priest,’ answered Mahbub.

‘There is the priest!’ shouted Kim, as Father Victor came down from his veranda.

‘Incredible, O’Hara!’ said the priest, when he saw Kim on Mahbub’s stallion. ‘How many more friends have you got?’

So, Kim went to the St Xavier’s in Lucknow. Before he went, Mahbub explained to Kim that he too could become a secret agent. Anyway, the school was not so bad as Kim had thought. The other boys there were born in India just like Kim. So, Kim studied and began to learn about making maps. This was very important if he wanted to travel and collect information for the Government as a secret agent. But after his first year of school, Kim wanted to be free again, at least for his school holidays. So, he ran off and found Mahbub. The two travelled together, but finally Mahbub took Kim up to Simla, a town in the hills.

When they arrived there, Mahbub said, ‘I have heard from Colonel Creighton. He says you have not come back to school.’

‘School in the summer?’ said Kim. ‘The holidays are mine!’

‘Perhaps,’ continued Mahbub, ‘but now Colonel Creighton says you must stay at Lurgan Sahib’s house until it is time to go back to school in Lucknow.’

‘I would prefer to stay with you,’ said Kim.

‘This is a great honour,’ said Mahbub, ‘Lurgan Sahib himself asked for you. You will go up the hill and find his house. Then you must forget that you have ever known Mahbub Ali, who sells horses to Creighton Sahib, whom you also do not know. Remember this order.’

‘Good,’ said Kim, ‘I will not forget. Who is Lurgan Sahib? Is he one of us?’

‘What talk is this of “us”, Sahib?’ Mahbub Ali, now talked to Kim as he usually talked to Europeans. ‘I am a Pashtun, you are a Sahib and a friend of a Sahib. Lurgan Sahib has a shop. You must obey him completely. Some people say that he does magic. Go up the hill and ask. The Great Game begins here and now.’