Why this book

India near the close of the last century lay under British rule, and along its northern frontier two empires spied upon each other. Kipling called this shadow-war the Great Game, and into it he set a child who belonged to every world and none.

The Story

In the old city of Lahore sat Kim, orphaned son of an Irish soldier, so burned brown by the sun that no one guessed his blood. He begged, ran errands, and knew every secret of the streets, therefore the whole bazaar named him the Friend of all the World.

One day an old Tibetan lama, red-robed and weary, wandered into the city, unlike anything Kim had seen. The holy man sought a sacred river, the River of the Arrow, whose waters would wash away all sin. Kim's endless curiosity flared, therefore he chose to follow this strange pilgrim.

The lama needed a disciple to guide him through the plains, and Kim needed a road to wander, therefore the boy became his chela, his student. The old man saw in Kim a bright, loyal spirit; the boy saw in the lama a father and a mystery. So the two set out together.

But before leaving, Kim ran an errand for Mahbub Ali, a bold Afghan horse-trader who was secretly a British spy. Mahbub gave him a folded note to carry to an officer in the south, calling it the pedigree of a white stallion. Kim did not know he now carried a thread of the Great Game.

Therefore Kim and the lama joined the Grand Trunk Road, the mighty river of humanity flowing across India. Soldiers, priests, farmers, merchants, and beggars streamed past in endless color and noise. The boy drank in every face and tongue with joy, while the old lama walked serene, his eyes fixed beyond the world.

Along the way, the lama's holy calm drew food and shelter from strangers, while Kim's sharp tongue and quick wit smoothed every trouble. The old man begged blessings; the boy begged bread. Therefore master and disciple fed each other's needs, one with the world, the other with the spirit.

Kim's dead father had left a strange prophecy: that a red bull on a green field would one day raise the boy up. Then, camped in a field, Kim saw that very sign — the flag of an Irish regiment, his father's old army. His curiosity pulled him toward their tents, but danger waited there.

The regiment's priests caught Kim sneaking among the tents and found the papers proving his father was one of their soldiers. Suddenly the street-boy was revealed as a white child, a Sahib by birth. They meant to make a proper English boy of him, therefore they held him fast, though his heart rebelled.

Kim smuggled word to the lama that he was taken. But rather than lose his chela, the old man made a selfless vow: he would pay from his small savings to send Kim to the finest school. The lama believed learning would free the boy's soul, therefore he sacrificed his coin for love.

Meanwhile Mahbub Ali spoke of the clever boy to Colonel Creighton, a British officer who secretly ran the Great Game. Creighton saw Kim's rare gift for languages and disguise and marked him as a future spy. Therefore, behind the schooling, a second, hidden education was already being planned.

At St. Xavier's school in Lucknow, Kim learned to read, write, and measure like a Sahib, but the walls chafed him. So each holiday he shed his uniform, darkened his skin, and vanished back into the bazaars in disguise. In this way he lived as two people — English student and Indian boy — at once.

Between terms, Creighton sent Kim to Lurgan Sahib, a strange master in Simla who trained spies. Lurgan drilled the boy in memory and observation with a game of jewels: glance at a tray, then recall every stone exactly. Kim's sharp mind delighted him, therefore Lurgan honed him into a watcher who missed nothing.

Kim also met Hurree Babu, a plump, talkative Bengali who was another player in the Great Game. Beneath his nervous chatter, Hurree was fearless and brilliant, and he taught Kim the secret signs and codes of the service. Therefore Kim, still only a youth, was finally ready to enter the shadow-war himself.

His schooling done, Kim went straight back to the old lama, who had waited faithfully all those years. The two rejoiced, and the boy took up his chela's staff again, therefore master and disciple set off north together. Yet this time Kim carried a second, secret duty for the Great Game.

On the northern road, Kim proved his training, gathering whispers and passing coded word to the Game's agents while still tending the lama. He wore a dozen faces and slipped through every crowd unseen. Therefore the boy became a true player, serving two masters — the empire and the holy man — at once.

In the northern hills, two foreign agents — a Russian and a Frenchman — were secretly mapping the mountain passes for their empire. Colonel Creighton wanted their plans, therefore Hurree Babu was sent to shadow them, and Kim's road was quietly steered toward the same high country.

Therefore Kim and the lama climbed into the great Himalayas, where the old man grew strong again among his native heights. But the thin air and steep trails slowly drained Kim, a boy of the hot plains. Still they pressed on, one seeking his river, the other watching for the foreign spies.

Up among the snows and pines, the world fell away to silence and immense blue distance. The lama walked lighter here, near the roof of the world he had left as a young man. But Kim shivered and tired, therefore the boy learned that even paradise can wear a body thin.

High on a ridge, the two foreign agents met the pair, and one of them struck the holy lama and tore his sacred painted chart. The old man fell, wounded in body and spirit. Rage seized Kim, but he mastered it, for a cooler plan was forming in his trained mind.

The angry hill-people drove the foreigners off, and in the chaos Kim quietly seized the agents' baggage — the very maps and letters of their spying. He hid the precious papers in his basket, therefore the secrets of the enemy's survey now rode in the hands of a boy.

Meanwhile Hurree Babu appeared and cunningly attached himself to the stranded foreigners, playing the fool to lead them safely away from Kim. So the enemy never guessed their papers were gone. But now Kim had to carry the heavy load of documents down out of the mountains, and the burden was crushing.

The wounded lama saw at last that the cold hills were not his place; his river lay below, in the plains. Therefore the old man asked to go down, and Kim, half-broken with exhaustion, guided him gently back toward the warm lowlands. Each now carried the other, in body and in soul.

Reaching the plains, Kim finally collapsed, worn to nothing by the long ordeal and the weight he had borne. A kindly old widow, the Sahiba, took the pair into her house and nursed the boy like her own son. Therefore Kim slept for days while his strained body slowly mended.

While Kim lay weak, Hurree Babu arrived at the house, and Kim gladly passed him the hidden bundle of enemy papers. The secrets were safe at last, and the Great Game was won. But the boy, emptied of his mission, felt strangely lost, unsure who he truly was.

Lying in the sun, Kim asked the oldest question of his life: what am I — Sahib or native, spy or chela? For a moment the whole world felt unreal, a puzzle with no answer. Then, slowly, the earth and the road and his own body settled back into place, and he was simply Kim again.

The old lama, meanwhile, had reached his goal at last. Fasting and meditating near the Sahiba's house, he found his River of the Arrow — a small brook by the road — and felt his soul break free of all sin and sorrow. He had won the salvation he sought across a thousand miles.

What it means

But at the very edge of freedom, the lama would not cross over alone. For love of his chela, the old man turned back from paradise to draw Kim across with him. Therefore he had found not only his own salvation, but a way to share it with the boy he loved.

And so Kim holds two roads in one heart: the Great Game of the busy world and the quiet Way of the spirit. Kipling's tale insists a person can belong wholly to both, loving the roaring life of the road and still reaching for something beyond it. That is the boy's gift, and India's.

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