“Till that night never one of us had died, and the First of the Tigers, seeing what he had done, and being made foolish by the scent of the blood, ran away into the Marshes of the North, and we of the jungle, left without a judge, fell to fighting among ourselves. Tha heard the noise of it and came back. And some of us said this and some of us said that, but he saw the dead buck among the flowers, and asked who had killed, and we of the jungle would not tell because the smell of the blood made us foolish, even as that same smell makes us foolish to-day. We ran to and fro in circles, capering and crying out and shaking our heads. So therefore Tha gave an order to the trees that hang low, and to the trailing creepers of the jungle, that they should mark the killer of the buck that he should know him again. And Tha said: ‘Who will now be master of the Jungle-People?’ Then up leaped the grey ape who lives in the branches, and said: ‘I will now be master of the jungle.’ At this Tha laughed, and said: ‘So be it,’ and went away very angry.
“Children, ye know the grey ape. He was then as he is now. At the first he made a wise face for himself, but in a little while he began to scratch and to leap up and down, and when Tha returned he found the grey ape hanging, head down, from a bough, mocking those who stood below; and they mocked him again. And so there was no Law in the jungle—only foolish talk and senseless words.
“Then Tha called us all together and said: ‘The first of your masters has brought Death into the jungle, and the second Shame. Now it is time there was a Law, and a Law that ye may not break. Now ye shall know Fear, and when ye have found him ye shall know that he is your master, and the rest shall follow.’ Then we of the jungle said: ‘What is Fear?’ And Tha said: ‘Seek till ye find.’ So we went up and down the jungle seeking for Fear, and presently the buffaloes—”
“Ugh!” said Mysa, the leader of the buffaloes, from their sandbank.
“Yes, Mysa, it was the buffaloes. They came back with the news that in a cave in the jungle sat Fear, and that he had no hair, and went upon his hind legs. Then we of the jungle followed the herd till we came to that cave, and Fear stood at the mouth of it, and he was, as the buffaloes had said, hairless, and he walked upon his hinder legs. When he saw us he cried out, and his voice filled us with the fear that we have now, and we ran away, tramping upon and tearing each other because we were afraid. That night, it was told to me, we of the jungle did not lie down together as used to be our custom, but each tribe drew off by itself—the pig with the pig, the deer with the deer; horn to horn, hoof to hoof—like keeping to like, and so lay shaking in the jungle.
“Only the First of the Tigers was not with us, for he was still hidden in the Marshes of the North, and when word was brought to him of the Thing we had seen in the cave, he said: ‘I will go to this Thing and break his neck.’ So he ran all the night till he came to the cave, but the trees and the creepers on his path, remembering the order Tha had given, let down their branches and marked him as he ran, drawing their fingers across his back, his flank, his forehead, and his jowl. Wherever they touched him there was a mark and a stripe upon his yellow hide. And those stripes do his children wear to this day! When he came to the cave, Fear, the Hairless One, put out his hand and called him ‘the Striped One That Comes by Night,’ and the First of the Tigers was afraid of the Hairless One, and ran back to the swamps howling.”
Mowgli chuckled quietly here, his chin in the water.
“So loud did he howl that Tha heard him and said: ‘What is the sorrow?’ And the First of the Tigers, lifting up his muzzle to the new-made sky, which is now so old, said: ‘Give me back my power, O Tha. I am made ashamed before all the jungle, and I have run away from a Hairless One, and he has called me a shameful name.’ ‘And why?’ said Tha. ‘Because I am smeared with the mud of the marshes,’ said the First of the Tigers. ‘Swim, then, and roll on the wet grass, and if it be mud it will surely wash away,’ said Tha. And the First of the Tigers swam, and rolled, and rolled, till the jungle ran round and round before his eyes, but not one little bar upon his hide was changed, and Tha, watching him, laughed. Then the First of the Tigers said: ‘What have I done that this comes to me?’ Tha said: ‘Thou hast killed the buck, and thou hast let Death loose in the jungle, and with Death has come Fear, so that the people of the jungle are afraid one of the other as thou art afraid of the Hairless One.’ The First of the Tigers said: ‘They will never fear me, for I knew them since the beginning.’ Tha said: ‘Go and see.’ And the First of the Tigers ran to and fro, calling aloud to the deer and the pig and the sambur and the porcupine and all the Jungle-Peoples, but they all ran away from him who had been their judge, because they were afraid.
“Then the First of the Tigers came back, his pride was broken in him, and, beating his head upon the ground, he tore up the earth with all his feet and said: ‘Remember that I was once the master of the jungle! Do not forget me, O Tha. Let my children remember that I was once without shame or fear!’ And Tha said: ‘This much will I do, because thou and I together saw the jungle made. For one night of each year it shall be as it was before the buck was killed—for thee and for thy children. In that one night, if ye meet the Hairless One—and his name is Man—ye shall not be afraid of him, but he shall be afraid of you as though ye were judges of the jungle and masters of all things. Show him mercy in that night of his fear, for thou hast known what Fear is.’
“Then the First of the Tigers answered: ‘I am content.’ But when next he drank he saw the black stripes upon his flank and his side, and he remembered the name that the Hairless One had given him, and he was angry. For a year he lived in the marshes, waiting till Tha should keep his promise. And upon a night when the Jackal of the Moon [the Evening Star] stood clear of the jungle, he felt that his night was upon him, and he went to that cave to meet the Hairless One. Then it happened as Tha promised, for the Hairless One fell down before him and lay along the ground, and the First of the Tigers struck him and broke his back, for he thought that there was but one such a Thing in the jungle, and that he had killed Fear. Then, nosing above the kill, he heard Tha coming down from the woods of the North, and presently the voice of the First of the Elephants, which is the voice that we hear now—”
The thunder was rolling up and down the dry, scarred hills, but it brought no rain—only heat-lightning that flickered behind the ridges—and Hathi went on:
“That was the voice he heard, and it said: ‘Is this thy mercy?’ The First of the Tigers licked his lips and said: ‘What matter? I have killed Fear.’ And Tha said: ‘O blind and foolish! Thou hast untied the feet of Death, and he will follow thy trail till thou diest. Thou hast taught Man to kill!’
“The First of the Tigers, standing stiffly to his kill, said: ‘He is as the buck was. There is no Fear. Now I will judge the Jungle-Peoples once more.’
“And Tha said: ‘Never again shall the Jungle-Peoples come to thee. They shall never cross thy trail, nor sleep near thee, nor follow after thee, nor browse by thy lair. Only Fear shall follow thee, and with a blow that thou canst not see shall bid thee wait his pleasure. He shall make the ground to open under thy feet, and the creeper to twist about thy neck, and the tree-trunks to grow together about thee higher than thou canst leap, and at the last he shall take thy hide to wrap his cubs when they are cold. Thou hast shown him no mercy, and none will he show thee.’
“The First of the Tigers was very bold, for his night was still on him, and he said: ‘The promise of Tha is the promise of Tha. He will not take away my night?’ And Tha said: ‘Thy one night is thine, as I have said, but there is a price to pay. Thou hast taught Man to kill, and he is no slow learner.’
“The First of the Tigers said: ‘He is here under my foot, where his back is broken. Let the jungle know that I have killed Fear.’
“Then Tha laughed and said: ‘Thou hast killed one of many, but thou thyself shall tell the jungle—for thy night is ended!’
“So the day came, and from the mouth of the cave went out another Hairless One, and he saw the kill i
n the path, and the First of the Tigers above it, and he took a pointed stick—”
“They throw a thing that cuts now,” said Sahi, rustling down the bank, for Sahi was considered uncommonly good eating by the Gonds—they called him Ho-Igoo—and he knew something of the wicked little Gondi axe that whirls across a clearing like a dragon-fly.
“It was a pointed stick, such as they set in the foot of a pit-trap,” said Hathi. “And throwing it, he struck the First of the Tigers deep in the flank. Thus it happened as Tha said, for the First of the Tigers ran howling up and down the jungle till he tore out the stick, and all the jungle knew that the Hairless One could strike from far off, and they feared more than before. So it came about that the First of the Tigers taught the Hairless One to kill—and ye know what harm that has since done to all our peoples—through the noose, and the pitfall, and the hidden trap, and the flying stick, and the stinging fly that comes out of white smoke [Hathi meant the rifle], and the Red Flower that drives us into the open. Yet for one night in the year the Hairless One fears the tiger, as Tha promised, and never has the tiger given him cause to be less afraid. Where he finds him, there he kills him, remembering how the First of the Tigers was made ashamed. For the rest, Fear walks up and down the jungle by day and by night.”
“Ahi! Aoo!” said the deer, thinking of what it all meant to them.
“And only when there is one great Fear over all, as there is now, can we of the jungle lay aside our little fears, and meet together in one place as we do now.”
“For one night only does Man fear the tiger?” said Mowgli.
“For one night only,” said Hathi.
“But I—but we—but all the jungle knows that Shere Khan kills Man twice and thrice in a moon.”
“Even so. Then he springs from behind and turns his head aside as he strikes, for he is full of fear. If Man looked at him he would run. But on his night he goes openly down to the village. He walks between the houses and thrusts his head into the doorway, and the men fall on their faces, and there he does his kill. One kill in that night.”
“Oh!” said Mowgli to himself, rolling over in the water. “Now I see why Shere Khan bade me look at him. He got no good of it, for he could not hold his eyes steady, and—and I certainly did not fall down at his feet. But then I am not a man, being of the Free People.”
“Umm!” said Bagheera deep in his furry throat. “Does the tiger know his night?”
“Never till the Jackal of the Moon stands clear of the evening mist. Sometimes it falls in the dry summer and sometimes in the wet rains—this one night of the tiger. But for the First of the Tigers this would never have been, nor would any of us have known fear.”
The deer grunted sorrowfully, and Bagheera’s lips curled in a wicked smile. “Do men know this—tale?” said he.
“None know it except the tigers, and we, the elephants—the children of Tha. Now ye by the pools have heard it, and I have spoken.”
Hathi dipped his trunk into the water as a sign that he did not wish to talk.
“But—but—but,” said Mowgli, turning to Baloo, “why did not the First of the Tigers continue to eat grass and leaves and trees? He did but break the buck’s neck. He did not eat. What led him to the hot meat?”
“The trees and the creepers marked him, Little Brother, and made him the striped thing that we see. Never again would he eat their fruit, but from that day he revenged himself upon the deer, and the others, the Eaters of Grass,” said Baloo.
“Then thou knowest the tale. Heh? Why have I never heard?”
“Because the jungle is full of such tales. If I made a beginning there would never be an end to them. Let go my ear, Little Brother.”
THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE
Just to give you an idea of the immense variety of the Jungle Law, I have translated into verse (Baloo always recited them in a sort of sing-song) a few of the laws that apply to the wolves. There are, of course, hundreds and hundreds more, but these will serve as specimens of the simpler rulings.
Now this is the Law of the Jungle—as old and as true as the sky;
And the wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the wolf that shall break it must die.
As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back—
For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.
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 with the 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 MIRACLE OF PURUN BHAGAT
The night we felt the Earth would move
We stole and plucked him by the hand,
Because we loved him with the love
That knows but cannot understand.
And when the roaring hillside broke,
And all our world fell down in rain,
We saved him, we the Little-Folk;
But lo! he will not come again!
Mourn now, we saved him for the sake
Of such poor love as wild ones may.
Mourn ye! Our brother does not wake
And his own kind drive us away!
Dirge of the Langurs
THERE was once a man in India who was Prime Minister of one of the semi-independent native states in the north-western part of the country. He was a Brahmin, so high-caste that caste ceased to have any particular meaning for
him, and his father had been an important official in the gay-coloured tag-rag and bob-tail of an old-fashioned Hindu Court. But as Purun Dass grew up he realised that the ancient order of things was changing, and that if any one wished to get on he must stand well with the English, and imitate all the English believed to be good. At the same time a native official must keep his own master’s favour. This was a difficult game, but the quiet, close-mouthed young Brahmin, helped by a good English education at a Bombay university, played it coolly, and rose, step by step, to be Prime Minister of the kingdom. That is to say, he held more real power than his master, the Maharajah.
When the old king—who was suspicious of the English, their railways and telegraphs—died, Purun Dass stood high with his young successor, who had been tutored by an Englishman. And between them, though he always took care that his master should have the credit, they established schools for little girls, made roads; and started State dispensaries and shows of agricultural implements, and published a yearly blue-book on the “Moral and Material Progress of the State,” and the Foreign Office and the Government of India were delighted. Very few native states take up English progress without reservations, for they will not believe, as Purun Dass showed he did, that what is good for the Englishman must be twice as good for the Asiatic. The Prime Minister became the honoured friend of viceroys and governors, and lieutenant-governors, and medical missionaries, and common missionaries, and hard-riding English officers who came to shoot in the State preserves, as well as of whole hosts of tourists who travelled up and down India in the cold weather, showing how things ought to be managed. In his spare time he would endow scholarships for the study of medicine and manufactures on strictly English lines, and write letters to the Pioneer, the greatest Indian daily paper, explaining his master’s aims and objects.