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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Bridge-Builders + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +Release Date: February 25, 2006 [EBook #2163] +Last Updated: October 7, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDGE-BUILDERS *** + + + + +Produced by Bill Stoddard and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE BRIDGE-BUILDERS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Rudyard Kipling + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + The least that Findlayson, of the Public Works Department, expected was a + C.I.E.; he dreamed of a C.S.I. Indeed, his friends told him that he + deserved more. For three years he had endured heat and cold, + disappointment, discomfort, danger, and disease, with responsibility + almost to top-heavy for one pair of shoulders; and day by day, through + that time, the great Kashi Bridge over the Ganges had grown under his + charge. Now, in less than three months, if all went well, his Excellency + the Viceroy would open the bridge in state, an archbishop would bless it, + and the first trainload of soldiers would come over it, and there would be + speeches. + </p> + <p> + Findlayson, C. E., sat in his trolley on a construction line that ran + along one of the main revetments—the huge stone-faced banks that + flared away north and south for three miles on either side of the river + and permitted himself to think of the end. With its approaches, his work + was one mile and three-quarters in length; a lattice-girder bridge, + trussed with the Findlayson truss standing on seven-and-twenty brick + piers. Each one of those piers was twenty-four feet in diameter, capped + with red Agra stone and sunk eighty feet below the shifting sand of the + Ganges’ bed. Above them was a railway-line fifteen feet broad; above that, + again, a cart-road of eighteen feet, flanked with footpaths. At either end + rose towers, of red brick, loopholed for musketry and pierced for big + guns, and the ramp of the road was being pushed forward to their haunches. + The raw earth-ends were crawling and alive with hundreds upon hundreds of + tiny asses climbing out of the yawning borrow-pit below with sackfuls of + stuff; and the hot afternoon air was filled with the noise of hooves, the + rattle of the drivers’ sticks, and the swish and roll-down of the dirt. + The river was very low, and on the dazzling white sand between the three + centre piers stood squat cribs of railway-sleepers, filled within and + daubed without with mud, to support the last of the girders as those were + riveted up. In the little deep water left by the drought, an overhead + crane travelled to and fro along its spile-pier, jerking sections of iron + into place, snorting and backing and grunting as an elephant grunts in the + timberyard. Riveters by the hundred swarmed about the lattice side-work + and the iron roof of the railway line hung from invisible staging under + the bellies of the girders, clustered round the throats of the piers, and + rode on the overhang of the footpath-stanchions; their fire-pots and the + spurts of flame that answered each hammer-stroke showing no more than pale + yellow in the sun’s glare. East and west and north and south the + construction-trains rattled and shrieked up and down the embankments, the + piled trucks of brown and white stone banging behind them till the + side-boards were unpinned, and with a roar and a grumble a few thousand + tons’ more material were flung out to hold the river in place. + </p> + <p> + Findlayson, C. E., turned on his trolley and looked over the face of the + country that he had changed for seven miles around. Looked back on the + humming village of five thousand work-men; up stream and down, along the + vista of spurs and sand; across the river to the far piers, lessening in + the haze; overhead to the guard-towers—and only he knew how strong + those were—and with a sigh of contentment saw that his work was + good. There stood his bridge before him in the sunlight, lacking only a + few weeks’ work on the girders of the three middle piers—his bridge, + raw and ugly as original sin, but pukka—permanent—to endure + when all memory of the builder, yea, even of the splendid Findlayson + truss, has perished. Practically, the thing was done. + </p> + <p> + Hitchcock, his assistant, cantered along the line on a little + switch-tailed Kabuli pony who through long practice could have trotted + securely over trestle, and nodded to his chief. + </p> + <p> + “All but,” said he, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been thinking about it,” the senior answered. “Not half a bad job + for two men, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “One—and a half. ‘Gad, what a Cooper’s Hill cub I was when I came on + the works!” Hitchcock felt very old in the crowded experiences of the past + three years, that had taught him power and responsibility. + </p> + <p> + “You were rather a colt,” said Findlayson. “I wonder how you’ll like going + back to office-work when this job’s over.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall hate it!” said the young man, and as he went on his eye followed + Findlayson’s, and he muttered, “Isn’t it damned good?” + </p> + <p> + “I think we’ll go up the service together,” Findlayson said to himself. + “You’re too good a youngster to waste on another man. Cub thou wast; + assistant thou art. Personal assistant, and at Simla, thou shalt be, if + any credit comes to me out of the business!” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, the burden of the work had fallen altogether on Findlayson and his + assistant, the young man whom he had chosen because of his rawness to + break to his own needs. There were labour contractors by the half-hundred—fitters + and riveters, European, borrowed from the railway workshops, with, + perhaps, twenty white and half-caste subordinates to direct, under + direction, the bevies of workmen—but none knew better than these + two, who trusted each other, how the underlings were not to be trusted. + They had been tried many times in sudden crises—by slipping of + booms, by breaking of tackle, failure of cranes, and the wrath of the + river—but no stress had brought to light any man among men whom + Findlayson and Hitchcock would have honoured by working as remorselessly + as they worked them-selves. Findlayson thought it over from the beginning: + the months of office-work destroyed at a blow when the Government of + India, at the last moment, added two feet to the width of the bridge, + under the impression that bridges were cut out of paper, and so brought to + ruin at least half an acre of calculations—and Hitchcock, new to + disappointment, buried his head in his arms and wept; the heart-breaking + delays over the filling of the contracts in England; the futile + correspondences hinting at great wealth of commissions if one, only one, + rather doubtful consignment were passed; the war that followed the + refusal; the careful, polite obstruction at the other end that followed + the war, till young Hitchcock, putting one month’s leave to another month, + and borrowing ten days from Findlayson, spent his poor little savings of a + year in a wild dash to London, and there, as his own tongue asserted and + the later consignments proved, put the fear of God into a man so great + that he feared only Parliament and said so till Hitchcock wrought with him + across his own dinner table, and—he feared the Kashi Bridge and all + who spoke in its name. Then there was the cholera that came in the night + to the village by the bridge works; and after the cholera smote the + small-pox. The fever they had always with them. Hitchcock had been + appointed a magistrate of the third class with whipping powers, for the + better government of the community, and Findlayson watched him wield his + powers temperately, learning what to overlook and what to look after. It + was a long, long reverie, and it covered storm, sudden freshets, death in + every manner and shape, violent and awful rage against red tape half + frenzying a mind that knows it should be busy on other things; drought, + sanitation, finance; birth, wedding, burial, and riot in the village of + twenty warring castes; argument, expostulation, persuasion, and the blank + despair that a man goes to bed upon, thankful that his rifle is all in + pieces in the gun-case. Behind everything rose the black frame of the + Kashi Bridge—plate by plate, girder by girder, span by span—and + each pier of it recalled Hitchcock, the all-round man, who had stood by + his chief without failing from the very first to this last. + </p> + <p> + So the bridge was two men’s work—unless one counted Peroo, as Peroo + certainly counted himself. He was a Lascar, a Kharva from Bulsar, familiar + with every port between Rockhampton and London, who had risen to the rank + of serang on the British India boats, but wearying of routine musters and + clean clothes, had thrown up the service and gone inland, where men of his + calibre were sure of employment. For his knowledge of tackle and the + handling of heavy weights, Peroo was worth almost any price he might have + chosen to put upon his services; but custom decreed the wage of the + overhead-men, and Peroo was not within many silver pieces of his proper + value. Neither running water nor extreme heights made him afraid; and, as + an ex-serang, he knew how to hold authority. No piece of iron was so big + or so badly placed that Peroo could not devise a tackle to lift it—a + loose-ended, sagging arrangement, rigged with a scandalous amount of + talking, but perfectly equal to the work in hand. It was Peroo who had + saved the girder of Number Seven pier from destruction when the new + wire-rope jammed in the eye of the crane, and the huge plate tilted in its + slings, threatening to slide out sideways. Then the native workmen lost + their heads with great shoutings, and Hitchcock’s right arm was broken by + a falling T-plate, and he buttoned it up in his coat and swooned, and came + to and directed for four hours till Peroo, from the top of the crane, + reported “All’s well,” and the plate swung home. There was no one like + Peroo, serang, to lash, and guy, and hold, to control the donkey-engines, + to hoist a fallen locomotive craftily out of the borrow-pit into which it + had tumbled; to strip, and dive, if need be, to see how the concrete + blocks round the piers stood the scouring of Mother Gunga, or to adventure + upstream on a monsoon night and report on the state of the + embankment-facings. He would interrupt the field-councils of Findlayson + and Hitchcock without fear, till his wonderful English, or his still more + wonderful linguafranca, half Portuguese and half Malay, ran out and he was + forced to take string and show the knots that he would recommend. He + controlled his own gang of tackle men—mysterious relatives from + Kutch Mandvi gathered month by month and tried to the uttermost. No + consideration of family or kin allowed Peroo to keep weak hands or a giddy + head on the pay-roll. “My honour is the honour of this bridge,” he would + say to the about-to-be-dismissed. “What do I care for your honour? Go and + work on a steamer. That is all you are fit for.” + </p> + <p> + The little cluster of huts where he and his gang lived centred round the + tattered dwelling of a sea-priest—one who had never set foot on + black water, but had been chosen as ghostly counsellor by two generations + of sea-rovers all unaffected by port missions or those creeds which are + thrust upon sailors by agencies along Thames bank. The priest of the + Lascars had nothing to do with their caste, or indeed with anything at + all. He ate the offerings of his church, and slept and smoked, and slept + again, “for,” said Peroo, who had haled him a thousand miles inland, “he + is a very holy man. He never cares what you eat so long as you do not eat + beef, and that is good, because on land we worship Shiva, we Kharvas; but + at sea on the Kumpani’s boats we attend strictly to the orders of the + Burra Malum [the first mate], and on this bridge we observe what Finlinson + Sahib says.” + </p> + <p> + Finlinson Sahib had that day given orders to clear the scaffolding from + the guard-tower on the right bank, and Peroo with his mates was casting + loose and lowering down the bamboo poles and planks as swiftly as ever + they had whipped the cargo out of a coaster. + </p> + <p> + From his trolley he could hear the whistle of the serang’s silver pipe and + the creek and clatter of the pulleys. Peroo was standing on the top-most + coping of the tower, clad in the blue dungaree of his abandoned service, + and as Findlayson motioned to him to be careful, for his was no life to + throw away, he gripped the last pole, and, shading his eyes ship-fashion, + answered with the long-drawn wail of the fo’c’sle lookout: “Ham dekhta + hai” (“I am looking out”). + </p> + <p> + Findlayson laughed and then sighed. It was years since he had seen a + steamer, and he was sick for home. As his trolley passed under the tower, + Peroo descended by a rope, ape-fashion, and cried: “It looks well now, + Sahib. Our bridge is all but done. What think you Mother Gunga will say + when the rail runs over?” + </p> + <p> + “She has said little so far. It was never Mother Gunga that delayed us.” + </p> + <p> + “There is always time for her; and none the less there has been delay. Has + the Sahib forgotten last autumn’s flood, when the stone-boats were sunk + without warning—or only a half-day’s warning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but nothing save a big flood could hurt us now. The spurs are + holding well on the West Bank.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother Gunga eats great allowances. There is always room for more stone + on the revetments. I tell this to the Chota Sahib,”—he meant + Hitchcock—“and he laughs.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter, Peroo. Another year thou wilt be able to build a bridge in + thine own fashion.” + </p> + <p> + The Lascar grinned. “Then it will not be in this way—with stonework + sunk under water, as the Qyetta was sunk. I like sus-sus-pen-sheen bridges + that fly from bank to bank with one big step, like a gang-plank. Then no + water can hurt. When does the Lord Sahib come to open the bridge?” + </p> + <p> + “In three months, when the weather is cooler.” + </p> + <p> + “Ho! ho! He is like the Burra Malum. He sleeps below while the work is + being done. Then he comes upon the quarter-deck and touches with his + finger, and says: ‘This is not clean! Dam jibboonwallah!’” + </p> + <p> + “But the Lord Sahib does not call me a dam jibboonwallah, Peroo.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Sahib; but he does not come on deck till the work is all finished. + Even the Burra Malum of the Nerbudda said once at Tuticorin—” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! Go! I am busy.” + </p> + <p> + “I, also!” said Peroo, with an unshaken countenance. “May I take the light + dinghy now and row along the spurs?” + </p> + <p> + “To hold them with thy hands? They are, I think, sufficiently heavy.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, Sahib. It is thus. At sea, on the Black Water, we have room to be + blown up and down without care. Here we have no room at all. Look you, we + have put the river into a dock, and run her between stone sills.” + </p> + <p> + Findlayson smiled at the “we.” + </p> + <p> + “We have bitted and bridled her. She is not like the sea, that can beat + against a soft beach. She is Mother Gunga—in irons.” His voice fell + a little. + </p> + <p> + “Peroo, thou hast been up and down the world more even than I. Speak true + talk, now. How much dost thou in thy heart believe of Mother Gunga?” + </p> + <p> + “All that our priest says. London is London, Sahib. Sydney is Sydney, and + Port Darwin is Port Darwin. Also Mother Gunga is Mother Gunga, and when I + come back to her banks I know this and worship. In London I did poojah to + the big temple by the river for the sake of the God within. . . . Yes, I + will not take the cushions in the dinghy.” + </p> + <p> + Findlayson mounted his horse and trotted to the shed of a bungalow that he + shared with his assistant. The place had become home to him in the last + three years. He had grilled in the heat, sweated in the rains, and + shivered with fever under the rude thatch roof; the lime-wash beside the + door was covered with rough drawings and formulae, and the sentry-path + trodden in the matting of the verandah showed where he had walked alone. + There is no eight-hour limit to an engineer’s work, and the evening meal + with Hitchcock was eaten booted and spurred: over their cigars they + listened to the hum of the village as the gangs came up from the river-bed + and the lights began to twinkle. + </p> + <p> + “Peroo has gone up the spurs in your dinghy. He’s taken a couple of + nephews with him, and he’s lolling in the stern like a commodore,” said + Hitchcock. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right. He’s got something on his mind. You’d think that ten + years in the British India boats would have knocked most of his religion + out of him.” + </p> + <p> + “So it has,” said Hitchcock, chuckling. “I overheard him the other day in + the middle of a most atheistical talk with that fat old guru of theirs. + Peroo denied the efficacy of prayer; and wanted the guru to go to sea and + watch a gale out with him, and see if he could stop a monsoon.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same, if you carried off his guru he’d leave us like a shot. He + was yarning away to me about praying to the dome of St. Paul’s when he was + in London.” + </p> + <p> + “He told me that the first time he went into the engine-room of a steamer, + when he was a boy, he prayed to the low-pressure cylinder.” + </p> + <p> + “Not half a bad thing to pray to, either. He’s propitiating his own Gods + now, and he wants to know what Mother Gunga will think of a bridge being + run across her. Who’s there?” A shadow darkened the doorway, and a + telegram was put into Hitchcock’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “She ought to be pretty well used to it by this time. Only a tar. It ought + to be Ralli’s answer about the new rivets. . . . Great Heavens!” Hitchcock + jumped to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said the senior, and took the form. “That’s what Mother + Gunga thinks, is it,” he said, reading. “Keep cool, young ‘un. We’ve got + all our work cut out for us. Let’s see. Muir wired half an hour ago: + ‘Floods on the Ramgunga. Look out.’ Well, that gives us—one, two—nine + and a half for the flood to reach Melipur Ghaut and seven’s sixteen and a + half to Lataoli—say fifteen hours before it comes down to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Curse that hill-fed sewer of a Ramgunga! Findlayson, this is two months + before anything could have been expected, and the left bank is littered up + with stuff still. Two full months before the time!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s why it comes. I’ve only known Indian rivers for five-and-twenty + years, and I don’t pretend to understand. Here comes another tar.” + Findlayson opened the telegram. “Cockran, this time, from the Ganges + Canal: ‘Heavy rains here. Bad.’ He might have saved the last word. Well, + we don’t want to know any more. We’ve got to work the gangs all night and + clean up the riverbed. You’ll take the east bank and work out to meet me + in the middle. Get everything that floats below the bridge: we shall have + quite enough river-craft coming down adrift anyhow, without letting the + stone-boats ram the piers. What have you got on the east bank that needs + looking after? + </p> + <p> + “Pontoon—one big pontoon with the overhead crane on it. T’other + overhead crane on the mended pontoon, with the cart-road rivets from + Twenty to Twenty-three piers—two construction lines, and a + turning-spur. The pilework must take its chance,” said Hitchcock. + </p> + <p> + “All right. Roll up everything you can lay hands on. We’ll give the gang + fifteen minutes more to eat their grub.” + </p> + <p> + Close to the verandah stood a big night-gong, never used except for flood, + or fire in the village. Hitchcock had called for a fresh horse, and was + off to his side of the bridge when Findlayson took the cloth-bound stick + and smote with the rubbing stroke that brings out the full thunder of the + metal. + </p> + <p> + Long before the last rumble ceased every night-gong in the village had + taken up the warning. To these were added the hoarse screaming of conches + in the little temples; the throbbing of drums and tom-toms; and, from the + European quarters, where the riveters lived, McCartney’s bugle, a weapon + of offence on Sundays and festivals, brayed desperately, calling to + “Stables.” Engine after engine toiling home along the spurs at the end of + her day’s work whistled in answer till the whistles were answered from the + far bank. Then the big gong thundered thrice for a sign that it was flood + and not fire; conch, drum, and whistle echoed the call, and the village + quivered to the sound of bare feet running upon soft earth. The order in + all cases was to stand by the day’s work and wait instructions. The gangs + poured by in the dusk; men stopping to knot a loin-cloth or fasten a + sandal; gang-foremen shouting to their subordinates as they ran or paused + by the tool-issue sheds for bars and mattocks; locomotives creeping down + their tracks wheel-deep in the crowd; till the brown torrent disappeared + into the dusk of the river-bed, raced over the pilework, swarmed along the + lattices, clustered by the cranes, and stood still—each man in his + place. + </p> + <p> + Then the troubled beating of the gong carried the order to take up + everything and bear it beyond high-water mark, and the flare-lamps broke + out by the hundred between the webs of dull iron as the riveters began a + night’s work, racing against the flood that was to come. The girders of + the three centre piers—those that stood on the cribs—were all + but in position. They needed just as many rivets as could be driven into + them, for the flood would assuredly wash out their supports, and the + ironwork would settle down on the caps of stone if they were not blocked + at the ends. A hundred crowbars strained at the sleepers of the temporary + line that fed the unfinished piers. It was heaved up in lengths, loaded + into trucks, and backed up the bank beyond flood-level by the groaning + locomotives. The tool-sheds on the sands melted away before the attack of + shouting armies, and with them went the stacked ranks of Government + stores, iron-bound boxes of rivets, pliers, cutters, duplicate parts of + the riveting-machines, spare pumps and chains. The big crane would be the + last to be shifted, for she was hoisting all the heavy stuff up to the + main structure of the bridge. The concrete blocks on the fleet of + stone-boats were dropped overside, where there was any depth of water, to + guard the piers, and the empty boats themselves were poled under the + bridge down-stream. It was here that Peroo’s pipe shrilled loudest, for + the first stroke of the big gong had brought the dinghy back at racing + speed, and Peroo and his people were stripped to the waist, working for + the honour and credit which are better than life. + </p> + <p> + “I knew she would speak,” he cried. “I knew, but the telegraph gives us + good warning. O sons of unthinkable begetting—children of + unspeakable shame—are we here for the look of the thing?” It was two + feet of wire-rope frayed at the ends, and it did wonders as Peroo leaped + from gunnel to gunnel, shouting the language of the sea. + </p> + <p> + Findlayson was more troubled for the stoneboats than anything else. + McCartney, with his gangs, was blocking up the ends of the three doubtful + spans, but boats adrift, if the flood chanced to be a high one, might + endanger the girders; and there was a very fleet in the shrunken channel. + </p> + <p> + “Get them behind the swell of the guardtower,” he shouted down to Peroo. + “It will be dead-water there. Get them below the bridge.” + </p> + <p> + “Accha! [Very good.] I know; we are mooring them with wire-rope,” was the + answer. “Heh! Listen to the Chota Sahib. He is working hard.” + </p> + <p> + From across the river came an almost continuous whistling of locomotives, + backed by the rumble of stone. Hitchcock at the last minute was spending a + few hundred more trucks of Tarakee stone in reinforcing his spurs and + embankments. + </p> + <p> + “The bridge challenges Mother Gunga,” said Peroo, with a laugh. “But when + she talks I know whose voice will be the loudest.” + </p> + <p> + For hours the naked men worked, screaming and shouting under the lights. + It was a hot, moonless night; the end of it was darkened by clouds and a + sudden squall that made Findlayson very grave. + </p> + <p> + “She moves!” said Peroo, just before the dawn. “Mother Gunga is awake! + Hear!” He dipped his hand over the side of a boat and the current mumbled + on it. A little wave hit the side of a pier with a crisp slap. + </p> + <p> + “Six hours before her time,” said Findlayson, mopping his forehead + savagely. + </p> + <p> + “Now we can’t depend on anything. We’d better clear all hands out of the + riverbed.” + </p> + <p> + Again the big gong beat, and a second time there was the rushing of naked + feet on earth and ringing iron; the clatter of tools ceased. In the + silence, men heard the dry yawn of water crawling over thirsty sand. + </p> + <p> + Foreman after foreman shouted to Findlayson, who had posted himself by the + guard-tower, that his section of the river-bed had been cleaned out, and + when the last voice dropped Findlayson hurried over the bridge till the + iron plating of the permanent way gave place to the temporary plank-walk + over the three centre piers, and there he met Hitchcock. + </p> + <p> + “‘All clear your side?” said Findlayson. The whisper rang in the box of + lattice work. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and the east channel’s filling now. We’re utterly out of our + reckoning. When is this thing down on us?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no saying. She’s filling as fast as she can. Look!” Findlayson + pointed to the planks below his feet, where the sand, burned and defiled + by months of work, was beginning to whisper and fizz. + </p> + <p> + “What orders?” said Hitchcock. + </p> + <p> + “Call the roll—count stores sit on your hunkers—and pray for + the bridge. That’s all I can think of Good night. Don’t risk your life + trying to fish out anything that may go downstream.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll be as prudent as you are! ‘Night. Heavens, how she’s filling! + Here’s the rain in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + Findlayson picked his way back to his bank, sweeping the last of + McCartney’s riveters before him. The gangs had spread themselves along the + embankments, regardless of the cold rain of the dawn, and there they + waited for the flood. Only Peroo kept his men together behind the swell of + the guard-tower, where the stone-boats lay tied fore and aft with hawsers, + wire-rope, and chains. + </p> + <p> + A shrill wail ran along the line, growing to a yell, half fear and half + wonder: the face of the river whitened from bank to hank between the stone + facings, and the far-away spurs went out in spouts of foam. Mother Gunga + had come bank-high in haste, and a wall of chocolate-coloured water was + her messenger. There was a shriek above the roar of the water, the + complaint of the spans coming down on their blocks as the cribs were + whirled out from under their bellies. The stone-boats groaned and ground + each other in the eddy that swung round the abutment, and their clumsy + masts rose higher and higher against the dim sky-line. + </p> + <p> + “Before she was shut between these walls we knew what she would do. Now + she is thus cramped God only knows what she will do!” said Peroo, watching + the furious turmoil round the guard-tower. “Ohe’! Fight, then! Fight hard, + for it is thus that a woman wears herself out.” + </p> + <p> + But Mother Gunga would not fight as Peroo desired. After the first + down-stream plunge there came no more walls of water, but the river lifted + herself bodily, as a snake when she drinks in midsummer, plucking and + fingering along the revetments, and banking up behind the piers till even + Findlayson began to recalculate the strength of his work. + </p> + <p> + When day came the village gasped. “Only last night,” men said, turning to + each other, “it was as a town in the river-bed! Look now!” + </p> + <p> + And they looked and wondered afresh at the deep water, the racing water + that licked the throat of the piers. The farther bank was veiled by rain, + into which the bridge ran out and vanished; the spurs up-stream were + marked by no more than eddies and spoutings, and down-stream the pent + river, once freed of her guide-lines, had spread like a sea to the + horizon. Then hurried by, rolling in the water, dead men and oxen + together, with here and there a patch of thatched roof that melted when it + touched a pier. + </p> + <p> + “Big flood,” said Peroo, and Findlayson nodded. It was as big a flood as + he had any wish to watch. His bridge would stand what was upon her now, + but not very much more, and if by any of a thousand chances there happened + to be a weakness in the embankments, Mother Gunga would carry his honour + to the sea with the other raffle. Worst of all, there was nothing to do + except to sit still; and Findlayson sat still under his macintosh till his + helmet became pulp on his head, and his boots were over-ankle in mire. He + took no count of time, for the river was marking the hours, inch by inch + and foot by foot, along the embankment, and he listened, numb and hungry, + to the straining of the stone-boats, the hollow thunder under the piers, + and the hundred noises that make the full note of a flood. Once a dripping + servant brought him food, but he could not eat; and once he thought that + he heard a faint toot from a locomotive across the river, and then he + smiled. The bridge’s failure would hurt his assistant not a little, but + Hitchcock was a young man with his big work yet to do. For himself the + crash meant everything—everything that made a hard life worth the + living. They would say, the men of his own profession . . . he remembered + the half-pitying things that he himself had said when Lockhart’s new + waterworks burst and broke down in brick-heaps and sludge, and Lockhart’s + spirit broke in him and he died. He remembered what he himself had said + when the Sumao Bridge went out in the big cyclone by the sea; and most he + remembered poor Hartopp’s face three weeks later, when the shame had + marked it. His bridge was twice the size of Hartopp’s, and it carried the + Findlayson truss as well as the new pier-shoe—the Findlayson bolted + shoe. There were no excuses in his service. Government might listen, + perhaps, but his own kind would judge him by his bridge, as that stood or + fell. He went over it in his head, plate by plate, span by span, brick by + brick, pier by pier, remembering, comparing, estimating, and + recalculating, lest there should be any mistake; and through the long + hours and through the flights of formulae that danced and wheeled before + him a cold fear would come to pinch his heart. His side of the sum was + beyond question; but what man knew Mother Gunga’s arithmetic? Even as he + was making all sure by the multiplication table, the river might be + scooping a pot-hole to the very bottom of any one of those eighty-foot + piers that carried his reputation. Again a servant came to him with food, + but his mouth was dry, and he could only drink and return to the decimals + in his brain. And the river was still rising. Peroo, in a mat shelter + coat, crouched at his feet, watching now his face and now the face of the + river, but saying nothing. + </p> + <p> + At last the Lascar rose and floundered through the mud towards the + village, but he was careful to leave an ally to watch the boats. + </p> + <p> + Presently he returned, most irreverently driving before him the priest of + his creed—a fat old man, with a grey beard that whipped the wind + with the wet cloth that blew over his shoulder. Never was seen so + lamentable a guru. + </p> + <p> + “What good are offerings and little kerosene lamps and dry grain,” shouted + Peroo, “if squatting in the mud is all that thou canst do? Thou hast dealt + long with the Gods when they were contented and well-wishing. Now they are + angry. Speak to them!” + </p> + <p> + “What is a man against the wrath of Gods?” whined the priest, cowering as + the wind took him. “Let me go to the temple, and I will pray there.” + </p> + <p> + “Son of a pig, pray here! Is there no return for salt fish and curry + powder and dried onions? Call aloud! Tell Mother Gunga we have had enough. + Bid her be still for the night. I cannot pray, but I have been serving in + the Kumpani’s boats, and when men did not obey my orders I—” A + flourish of the wire-rope colt rounded the sentence, and the priest, + breaking free from his disciple, fled to the village. + </p> + <p> + “Fat pig!” said Peroo. “After all that we have done for him! When the + flood is down I will see to it that we get a new guru. Finlinson Sahib, it + darkens for night now, and since yesterday nothing has been eaten. Be + wise, Sahib. No man can endure watching and great thinking on an empty + belly. Lie down, Sahib. The river will do what the river will do.” + </p> + <p> + “The bridge is mine; I cannot leave it.” + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou hold it up with thy hands, then?” said Peroo, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “I was troubled for my boats and sheers before the flood came. Now we are + in the hands of the Gods. The Sahib will not eat and lie down? Take these, + then. They are meat and good toddy together, and they kill all weariness, + besides the fever that follows the rain. I have eaten nothing else to-day + at all.” + </p> + <p> + He took a small tin tobacco-box from his sodden waist-belt and thrust it + into Findlayson’s hand, saying: “Nay, do not be afraid. It is no more than + opium—clean Malwa opium.” + </p> + <p> + Findlayson shook two or three of the dark-brown pellets into his hand, and + hardly knowing what he did, swallowed them. The stuff was at least a good + guard against fever—the fever that was creeping upon him out of the + wet mud—and he had seen what Peroo could do in the stewing mists of + autumn on the strength of a dose from the tin box. + </p> + <p> + Peroo nodded with bright eyes. “In a little—in a little the Sahib + will find that he thinks well again. I too will—” He dived into his + treasure-box, resettled the rain-coat over his head, and squatted down to + watch the boats. It was too dark now to see beyond the first pier, and the + night seemed to have given the river new strength. Findlayson stood with + his chin on his chest, thinking. There was one point about one of the + piers—the seventh—that he had not fully settled in his mind. + The figures would not shape themselves to the eye except one by one and at + enormous intervals of time. There was a sound rich and mellow in his ears + like the deepest note of a double-bass—an entrancing sound upon + which he pondered for several hours, as it seemed. Then Peroo was at his + elbow, shouting that a wire hawser had snapped and the stone-boats were + loose. Findlayson saw the fleet open and swing out fanwise to a long-drawn + shriek of wire straining across gunnels. + </p> + <p> + “A tree hit them. They will all go,” cried Peroo. “The main hawser has + parted. What does the Sahib do?” + </p> + <p> + An immensely complex plan had suddenly flashed into Findlayson’s mind. He + saw the ropes running from boat to boat in straight lines and angles—each + rope a line of white fire. But there was one rope which was the master + rope. He could see that rope. If he could pull it once, it was absolutely + and mathematically certain that the disordered fleet would reassemble + itself in the backwater behind the guard-tower. But why, he wondered, was + Peroo clinging so desperately to his waist as he hastened down the bank? + It was necessary to put the Lascar aside, gently and slowly, because it + was necessary to save the boats, and, further, to demonstrate the extreme + ease of the problem that looked so difficult. And then—but it was of + no conceivable importance—a wire-rope raced through his hand, + burning it, the high bank disappeared, and with it all the slowly + dispersing factors of the problem. He was sitting in the rainy darkness—sitting + in a boat that spun like a top, and Peroo was standing over him. + </p> + <p> + “I had forgotten,” said the Lascar, slowly, “that to those fasting and + unused, the opium is worse than any wine. Those who die in Gunga go to the + Gods. Still, I have no desire to present myself before such great ones. + Can the Sahib swim?” + </p> + <p> + “What need? He can fly—fly as swiftly as the wind,” was the thick + answer. + </p> + <p> + “He is mad!” muttered Peroo, under his breath. “And he threw me aside like + a bundle of dung-cakes. Well, he will not know his death. The boat cannot + live an hour here even if she strike nothing. It is not good to look at + death with a clear eye.” + </p> + <p> + He refreshed himself again from the tin box, squatted down in the bows of + the reeling, pegged, and stitched craft, staring through the mist at the + nothing that was there. A warm drowsiness crept over Findlayson, the Chief + Engineer, whose duty was with his bridge. The heavy raindrops struck him + with a thousand tingling little thrills, and the weight of all time since + time was made hung heavy on his eyelids. He thought and perceived that he + was perfectly secure, for the water was so solid that a man could surely + step out upon it, and, standing still with his legs apart to keep his + balance—this was the most important point—would be borne with + great and easy speed to the shore. But yet a better plan came to him. It + needed only an exertion of will for the soul to hurl the body ashore as + wind drives paper, to waft it kite-fashion to the bank. Thereafter—the + boat spun dizzily—suppose the high wind got under the freed body? + Would it tower up like a kite and pitch headlong on the far-away sands, or + would it duck about, beyond control, through all eternity? Findlayson + gripped the gunnel to anchor himself, for it seemed that he was on the + edge of taking the flight before he had settled all his plans. Opium has + more effect on the white man than the black. Peroo was only comfortably + indifferent to accidents. “She cannot live,” he grunted. “Her seams open + already. If she were even a dinghy with oars we could have ridden it out; + but a box with holes is no good. Finlinson Sahib, she fills.” + </p> + <p> + “Accha! I am going away. Come thou also.” In his mind, Findlayson had + already escaped from the boat, and was circling high in air to find a rest + for the sole of his foot. His body—he was really sorry for its gross + helplessness—lay in the stern, the water rushing about its knees. + </p> + <p> + “How very ridiculous!” he said to himself from his eyrie—“that—is + Findlayson—chief of the Kashi Bridge. The poor beast is going to be + drowned, too. Drowned when it’s close to shore. I’m—I’m on shore + already. Why doesn’t it come along?” + </p> + <p> + To his intense disgust, he found his soul back in his body again, and that + body spluttering and choking in deep water. The pain of the reunion was + atrocious, but it was necessary, also, to fight for the body. He was + conscious of grasping wildly at wet sand, and striding prodigiously, as + one strides in a dream, to keep foothold in the swirling water, till at + last he hauled himself clear of the hold of the river, and dropped, + panting, on wet earth. + </p> + <p> + “Not this night,” said Peroo, in his ear. “The Gods have protected us.” + The Lascar moved his feet cautiously, and they rustled among dried stumps. + “This is some island of last year’s indigo-crop,” he went on. “We shall + find no men here; but have great care, Sahib; all the snakes of a hundred + miles have been flooded out. Here comes the lightning, on the heels of the + wind. Now we shall be able to look; but walk carefully.” + </p> + <p> + Findlayson was far and far beyond any fear of snakes, or indeed any merely + human emotion. He saw, after he had rubbed the water from his eyes, with + an immense clearness, and trod, so it seemed to himself with + world-encompassing strides. Somewhere in the night of time he had built a + bridge—a bridge that spanned illimitable levels of shining seas; but + the Deluge had swept it away, leaving this one island under heaven for + Findlayson and his companion, sole survivors of the breed of Man. + </p> + <p> + An incessant lightning, forked and blue, showed all that there was to be + seen on the little patch in the flood—a clump of thorn, a clump of + swaying creaking bamboos, and a grey gnarled peepul overshadowing a Hindoo + shrine, from whose dome floated a tattered red flag. The holy man whose + summer resting-place it was had long since abandoned it, and the weather + had broken the red-daubed image of his god. The two men stumbled, + heavy-limbed and heavy-eyed, over the ashes of a brick-set cooking-place, + and dropped down under the shelter of the branches, while the rain and + river roared together. + </p> + <p> + The stumps of the indigo crackled, and there was a smell of cattle, as a + huge and dripping Brahminee bull shouldered his way under the tree. The + flashes revealed the trident mark of Shiva on his flank, the insolence of + head and hump, the luminous stag-like eyes, the brow crowned with a wreath + of sodden marigold blooms, and the silky dewlap that almost swept the + ground. There was a noise behind him of other beasts coming up from the + flood-line through the thicket, a sound of heavy feet and deep breathing. + </p> + <p> + “Here be more beside ourselves,” said Findlayson, his head against the + treepole, looking through half-shut eyes, wholly at ease. + </p> + <p> + “Truly,” said Peroo, thickly, “and no small ones.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they, then? I do not see clearly.” + </p> + <p> + “The Gods. Who else? Look!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, true! The Gods surely—the Gods.” Findlayson smiled as his head + fell forward on his chest. Peroo was eminently right. After the Flood, who + should be alive in the land except the Gods that made it—the Gods to + whom his village prayed nightly—the Gods who were in all men’s + mouths and about all men’s ways. He could not raise his head or stir a + finger for the trance that held him, and Peroo was smiling vacantly at the + lightning. + </p> + <p> + The Bull paused by the shrine, his head lowered to the damp earth. A green + Parrot in the branches preened his wet wings and screamed against the + thunder as the circle under the tree filled with the shifting shadows of + beasts. There was a black Buck at the Bull’s heels-such a Buck as + Findlayson in his far-away life upon earth might have seen in dreams—a + Buck with a royal head, ebon back, silver belly, and gleaming straight + horns. Beside him, her head bowed to the ground, the green eyes burning + under the heavy brows, with restless tail switching the dead grass, paced + a Tigress, full-bellied and deep-jowled. + </p> + <p> + The Bull crouched beside the shrine, and there leaped from the darkness a + monstrous grey Ape, who seated himself man-wise in the place of the fallen + image, and the rain spilled like jewels from the hair of his neck and + shoulders. Other shadows came and went behind the circle, among them a + drunken Man flourishing staff and drinking-bottle. Then a hoarse bellow + broke out from near the ground. “The flood lessens even now,” it cried. + “Hour by hour the water falls, and their bridge still stands!” + </p> + <p> + “My bridge,” said Findlayson to himself “That must be very old work now. + What have the Gods to do with my bridge?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes rolled in the darkness following the roar. A Mugger—the + blunt-nosed, ford-haunting Mugger of the Ganges—draggled herself + before the beasts, lashing furiously to right and left with her tail. + </p> + <p> + “They have made it too strong for me. In all this night I have only torn + away a handful of planks. The walls stand. The towers stand. They have + chained my flood, and the river is not free any more. Heavenly Ones, take + this yoke away! Give me clear water between bank and bank! It is I, Mother + Gunga, that speak. The Justice of the Gods! Deal me the Justice of the + Gods!” + </p> + <p> + “What said I?” whispered Peroo. “This is in truth a Punchayet of the Gods. + Now we know that all the world is dead, save you and I, Sahib.” + </p> + <p> + The Parrot screamed and fluttered again, and the Tigress, her ears flat to + her head, snarled wickedly. + </p> + <p> + Somewhere in the shadow, a great trunk and gleaming tusks swayed to and + fro, and a low gurgle broke the silence that followed on the snarl. + </p> + <p> + “We be here,” said a deep voice, “the Great Ones. One only and very many. + Shiv, my father, is here, with Indra. Kali has spoken already. Hanuman + listens also.” + </p> + <p> + “Kashi is without her Kotwal to-night,” shouted the Man with the + drinking-bottle, flinging his staff to the ground, while the island rang + to the baying of hounds. “Give her the Justice of the Gods.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye were still when they polluted my waters,” the great Crocodile + bellowed. “Ye made no sign when my river was trapped between the walls. I + had no help save my own strength, and that failed—the strength of + Mother Gunga failed—before their guard-towers. What could I do? I + have done everything. Finish now, Heavenly Ones!” + </p> + <p> + “I brought the death; I rode the spotted sick-ness from hut to hut of + their workmen, and yet they would not cease.” A nose-slitten, hide-worn + Ass, lame, scissor-legged, and galled, limped forward. “I cast the death + at them out of my nostrils, but they would not cease.” + </p> + <p> + Peroo would have moved, but the opium lay heavy upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” he said, spitting. “Here is Sitala herself; Mata—the + small-pox. Has the Sahib a handkerchief to put over his face?” + </p> + <p> + “Little help! They fed me the corpses for a month, and I flung them out on + my sand-bars, but their work went forward. Demons they are, and sons of + demons! And ye left Mother Gunga alone for their fire-carriage to make a + mock of The Justice of the Gods on the bridge-builders!” + </p> + <p> + The Bull turned the cud in his mouth and answered slowly: “If the Justice + of the Gods caught all who made a mock of holy things there would be many + dark altars in the land, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “But this goes beyond a mock,” said the Tigress, darting forward a griping + paw. “Thou knowest, Shiv, and ye, too, Heavenly Ones; ye know that they + have defiled Gunga. Surely they must come to the Destroyer. Let Indra + judge.” + </p> + <p> + The Buck made no movement as he answered: “How long has this evil been? + </p> + <p> + “Three years, as men count years,” said the Mugger, close pressed to the + earth. + </p> + <p> + “Does Mother Gunga die, then, in a year, that she is so anxious to see + vengeance now? The deep sea was where she runs but yesterday, and + to-morrow the sea shall cover her again as the Gods count that which men + call time. Can any say that this their bridge endures till to-morrow?” + said the Buck. + </p> + <p> + There was a long hush, and in the clearing of the storm the full moon + stood up above the dripping trees. + </p> + <p> + “Judge ye, then,” said the River, sullenly. “I have spoken my shame. The + flood falls still. I can do no more.” + </p> + <p> + “For my own part,”—it was the voice of the great Ape seated within + the shrine—“it pleases me well to watch these men, remembering that + I also builded no small bridge in the world’s youth.” + </p> + <p> + “They say, too,” snarled the Tiger, “that these men came of the wreck of + thy armies, Hanuman, and therefore thou hast aided—” + </p> + <p> + “They toil as my armies toiled in Lanka, and they believe that their toil + endures. Indra is too high, but Shiv, thou knowest how the land is + threaded with their fire-carriages.” + </p> + <p> + “Yea, I know,” said the Bull. “Their Gods instructed them in the matter.” + </p> + <p> + A laugh ran round the circle. + </p> + <p> + “Their Gods! What should their Gods know? They were born yesterday, and + those that made them are scarcely yet cold,” said the Mugger. “To-morrow + their Gods will die.” + </p> + <p> + “Ho!” said Peroo. “Mother Gunga talks good talk. I told that to the + padre-sahib who preached on the Mombassa, and he asked the Burra Malum to + put me in irons for a great rudeness.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely they make these things to please their Gods,” said the Bull again. + </p> + <p> + “Not altogether,” the Elephant rolled forth. “It is for the profit of my + mahajuns—my fat money-lenders that worship me at each new year, when + they draw my image at the head of the account-books. I, looking over their + shoulders by lamplight, see that the names in the books are those of men + in far places—for all the towns are drawn together by the + fire-carriage, and the money comes and goes swiftly, and the account-books + grow as fat as—myself. And I, who am Ganesh of Good Luck, I bless my + peoples.” + </p> + <p> + “They have changed the face of the land-which is my land. They have killed + and made new towns on my banks,” said the Mugger. + </p> + <p> + “It is but the shifting of a little dirt. Let the dirt dig in the dirt if + it pleases the dirt,” answered the Elephant. + </p> + <p> + “But afterwards?” said the Tiger. “Afterwards they will see that Mother + Gunga can avenge no insult, and they fall away from her first, and later + from us all, one by one. In the end, Ganesh, we are left with naked + altars.” + </p> + <p> + The drunken Man staggered to his feet, and hiccupped vehemently. + </p> + <p> + “Kali lies. My sister lies. Also this my stick is the Kotwal of Kashi, and + he keeps tally of my pilgrims. When the time comes to worship Bhairon-and + it is always time—the fire-carriages move one by one, and each bears + a thousand pilgrims. They do not come afoot any more, but rolling upon + wheels, and my honour is increased.” + </p> + <p> + “Gunga, I have seen thy bed at Pryag black with the pilgrims,” said the + Ape, leaning forward, “and but for the fire-carriage they would have come + slowly and in fewer numbers. Remember.” + </p> + <p> + “They come to me always,” Bhairon went on thickly. “By day and night they + pray to me, all the Common People in the fields and the roads. Who is like + Bhairon to-day? What talk is this of changing faiths? Is my staff Kotwal + of Kashi for nothing? He keeps the tally, and he says that never were so + many altars as today, and the fire-carriage serves them well. Bhairon am I—Bhairon + of the Common People, and the chiefest of the Heavenly Ones to-day. Also + my staff says—” + </p> + <p> + “Peace, thou,” lowed the Bull. “The worship of the schools is mine, and + they talk very wisely, asking whether I be one or many, as is the delight + of my people, and ye know what I am. Kali, my wife, thou knowest also.” + </p> + <p> + “Yea, I know,” said the Tigress, with lowered head. + </p> + <p> + “Greater am I than Gunga also. For ye know who moved the minds of men that + they should count Gunga holy among the rivers. Who die in that water—ye + know how men say—come to us without punishment, and Gunga knows that + the fire-carriage has borne to her scores upon scores of such anxious + ones; and Kali knows that she has held her chiefest festivals among the + pilgrimages that are fed by the fire-carriage. Who smote at Pooree, under + the Image there, her thousands in a day and a night, and bound the + sickness to the wheels of the fire-carriages, so that it ran from one end + of the land to the other? Who but Kali? Before the fire-carriage came it + was a heavy toil. The fire-carriages have served thee well, Mother of + Death. But I speak for mine own altars, who am not Bhairon of the Common + Folk, but Shiv. Men go to and fro, making words and telling talk of + strange Gods, and I listen. Faith follows faith among my people in the + schools, and I have no anger; for when all words are said, and the new + talk is ended, to Shiv men return at the last.” + </p> + <p> + “True. It is true,” murmured Hanuman. “To Shiv and to the others, mother, + they return. I creep from temple to temple in the North, where they + worship one God and His Prophet; and presently my image is alone within + their shrines.” + </p> + <p> + “Small thanks,” said the Buck, turning his head slowly. “I am that One and + His Prophet also.” + </p> + <p> + “Even so, father,” said Hanuman. “And to the South I go who am the oldest + of the Gods as men know the Gods, and presently I touch the shrines of the + New Faith and the Woman whom we know is hewn twelve-armed, and still they + call her Mary.” + </p> + <p> + “Small thanks, brother,” said the Tigress. “I am that Woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Even so, sister; and I go West among the fire-carriages, and stand before + the bridge-builders in many shapes, and because of me they change their + faiths and are very wise. Ho! ho! I am the builder of bridges, indeed—bridges + between this and that, and each bridge leads surely to Us in the end. Be + content, Gunga. Neither these men nor those that follow them mock thee at + all.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I alone, then, Heavenly Ones? Shall I smooth out my flood lest + unhappily I bear away their walls? Will Indra dry my springs in the hills + and make me crawl humbly between their wharfs? Shall I bury me in the sand + ere I offend?” + </p> + <p> + “And all for the sake of a little iron bar with the fire-carriage atop. + Truly, Mother Gunga is always young!” said Ganesh the Elephant. “A child + had not spoken more foolishly. Let the dirt dig in the dirt ere it return + to the dirt. I know only that my people grow rich and praise me. Shiv has + said that the men of the schools do not forget; Bhairon is content for his + crowd of the Common People; and Hanuman laughs.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely I laugh,” said the Ape. “My altars are few beside those of Ganesh + or Bhairon, but the fire-carriages bring me new worshippers from beyond + the Black Water—the men who believe that their God is toil. I run + before them beckoning, and they follow Hanuman.” + </p> + <p> + “Give them the toil that they desire, then,” said the River. “Make a bar + across my flood and throw the water back upon the bridge. Once thou wast + strong in Lanka, Hanuman. Stoop and lift my bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Who gives life can take life.” The Ape scratched in the mud with a long + forefinger. “And yet, who would profit by the killing? Very many would + die.” + </p> + <p> + There came up from the water a snatch of a love-song such as the boys sing + when they watch their cattle in the noon heats of late spring. The Parrot + screamed joyously, sidling along his branch with lowered head as the song + grew louder, and in a patch of clear moonlight stood revealed the young + herd, the darling of the Gopis, the idol of dreaming maids and of mothers + ere their children are born Krishna the Well-beloved. He stooped to knot + up his long wet hair, and the Parrot fluttered to his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Fleeting and singing, and singing and fleeting,” hiccupped Bhairon. + “Those make thee late for the council, brother.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” said Krishna, with a laugh, throwing back his head. “Ye can do + little without me or Karma here.” He fondled the Parrot’s plumage and + laughed again. “What is this sitting and talking together? I heard Mother + Gunga roaring in the dark, and so came quickly from a hut where I lay + warm. And what have ye done to Karma, that he is so wet and silent? And + what does Mother Gunga here? Are the heavens full that ye must come + paddling in the mud beast-wise? Karma, what do they do?” + </p> + <p> + “Gunga has prayed for a vengeance on the bridge-builders, and Kali is with + her. Now she bids Hanuman whelm the bridge, that her honour may be made + great,” cried the Parrot. “I waited here, knowing that thou wouldst come, + O my master! + </p> + <p> + “And the Heavenly Ones said nothing? Did Gunga and the Mother of Sorrows + out-talk them? Did none speak for my people?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Ganesh, moving uneasily from foot to foot; “I said it was but + dirt at play, and why should we stamp it flat?” + </p> + <p> + “I was content to let them toil—well content,” said Hanuman. + </p> + <p> + “What had I to do with Gunga’s anger?” said the Bull. + </p> + <p> + “I am Bhairon of the Common Folk, and this my staff is Kotwal of all + Kashi. I spoke for the Common People.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou?” The young God’s eyes sparkled. + </p> + <p> + “Am I not the first of the Gods in their mouths to-day?” returned Bhairon, + unabashed. “For the sake of the Common People I said—very many wise + things which I have now forgotten, but this my staff-” + </p> + <p> + Krishna turned impatiently, saw the Mugger at his feet, and kneeling, + slipped an arm round the cold neck. “Mother,” he said gently, “get thee to + thy flood again. The matter is not for thee. What harm shall thy honour + take of this live dirt? Thou hast given them their fields new year after + year, and by thy flood they are made strong. They come all to thee at the + last. What need to slay them now? Have pity, mother, for a little—and + it is only for a little.” + </p> + <p> + “If it be only for a little,” the slow beast began. + </p> + <p> + “Are they Gods, then?” Krishna returned with a laugh, his eyes looking + into the dull eyes of the River. “Be certain that it is only for a little. + The Heavenly Ones have heard thee, and presently justice will be done. Go + now, mother, to the flood again. Men and cattle are thick on the waters—the + banks fall—the villages melt because of thee.” + </p> + <p> + “But the bridge—the bridge stands.” The Mugger turned grunting into + the undergrowth as Krishna rose. + </p> + <p> + “It is ended,” said the Tigress, viciously. “There is no more justice from + the Heavenly Ones. Ye have made shame and sport of Gunga, who asked no + more than a few score lives.” + </p> + <p> + “Of my people—who lie under the leaf-roofs of the village yonder—of + the young girls, and the young men who sing to them in the dark—of + the child that will be born next morn—of that which was begotten + to-night,” said Krishna. “And when all is done, what profit? To-morrow + sees them at work. Ay, if ye swept the bridge out from end to end they + would begin anew. Hear me! Bhairon is drunk always. Hanuman mocks his + people with new riddles.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but they are very old ones,” the Ape said, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Shiv hears the talk of the schools and the dreams of the holy men; Ganesh + thinks only of his fat traders; but I—I live with these my people, + asking for no gifts, and so receiving them hourly.” + </p> + <p> + “And very tender art thou of thy people,” said the Tigress. + </p> + <p> + “They are my own. The old women dream of me turning in their sleep; the + maids look and listen for me when they go to fill their lotahs by the + river. I walk by the young men waiting without the gates at dusk, and I + call over my shoulder to the white-beards. Ye know, Heavenly Ones, that I + alone of us all walk upon the earth continually, and have no pleasure in + our heavens so long as a green blade springs here, or there are two voices + at twilight in the standing crops. Wise are ye, but ye live far off; + forgetting whence ye came. So do I not forget. And the fire-carriage feeds + your shrines, ye say? And the fire-carriages bring a thousand pilgrims + where but ten came in the old years? True. That is true, to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “But to-morrow they are dead, brother,” said Ganesh. + </p> + <p> + “Peace!” said the Bull, as Hanuman leaned forward again. “And to-morrow, + beloved—what of to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “This only. A new word creeping from mouth to mouth among the Common Folk—a + word that neither man nor God can lay hold of—an evil word—a + little lazy word among the Common Folk, saying (and none know who set that + word afoot) that they weary of ye, Heavenly Ones.” + </p> + <p> + The Gods laughed together softly. “And then, beloved,” they said. + </p> + <p> + “And to cover that weariness they, my people, will bring to thee, Shiv, + and to thee, Ganesh, at first greater offerings and a louder noise of + worship. But the word has gone abroad, and, after, they will pay fewer + dues to your fat Brahmins. Next they will forget your altars, but so + slowly that no man can say how his forgetfulness began.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew—I knew! I spoke this also, but they would not hear,” said + the Tigress. “We should have slain-we should have slain!” + </p> + <p> + “It is too late now. Ye should have slain at the beginning when the men + from across the water had taught our folk nothing. Now my people see their + work, and go away thinking. They do not think of the Heavenly Ones + altogether. They think of the fire-carriage and the other things that the + bridge-builders have done, and when your priests thrust forward hands + asking alms, they give a little unwillingly. That is the beginning, among + one or two, or five or ten—for I, moving among my people, know what + is in their hearts.” + </p> + <p> + “And the end, Jester of the Gods? What shall the end be?” said Ganesh. + </p> + <p> + “The end shall be as it was in the beginning, O slothful son of Shiv! The + flame shall die upon the altars and the prayer upon the tongue till ye + become little Gods again—Gods of the jungle—names that the + hunters of rats and noosers of dogs whisper in the thicket and among the + caves—rag-Gods, pot Godlings of the tree, and the village-mark, as + ye were at the beginning. That is the end, Ganesh, for thee, and for + Bhairon—Bhairon of the Common People.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very far away,” grunted Bhairon. “Also, it is a lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Many women have kissed Krishna. They told him this to cheer their own + hearts when the grey hairs came, and he has told us the tale,” said the + Bull, below his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Their Gods came, and we changed them. I took the Woman and made her + twelve-armed. So shall we twist all their Gods,” said Hanuman. + </p> + <p> + “Their Gods! This is no question of their Gods—one or three—man + or woman. The matter is with the people. I move, and not the Gods of the + bridge-builders,” said Krishna. + </p> + <p> + “So be it. I have made a man worship the fire-carriage as it stood still + breathing smoke, and he knew not that he worshipped me,” said Hanuman the + Ape. “They will only change a little the names of their Gods. I shall lead + the builders of the bridges as of old; Shiv shall be worshipped in the + schools by such as doubt and despise their fellows; Ganesh shall have his + mahajuns, and Bhairon the donkey-drivers, the pilgrims, and the sellers of + toys. Beloved, they will do no more than change the names, and that we + have seen a thousand times.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely they will do no more than change the names,” echoed Ganesh; but + there was an uneasy movement among the Gods. + </p> + <p> + “They will change more than the names. Me alone they cannot kill, so long + as a maiden and a man meet together or the spring follows the winter + rains. Heavenly Ones, not for nothing have I walked upon the earth. My + people know not now what they know; but I, who live with them, I read + their hearts. Great Kings, the beginning of the end is born already. The + fire-carriages shout the names of new Gods that are not the old under new + names. Drink now and eat greatly! Bathe your faces in the smoke of the + altars before they grow cold! Take dues and listen to the cymbals and the + drums, Heavenly Ones, while yet there are flowers and songs. As men count + time the end is far off; but as we who know reckon it is to-day. I have + spoken.” + </p> + <p> + The young God ceased, and his brethren looked at each other long in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “This I have not heard before,” Peroo whispered in his companion’s ear. + “And yet sometimes, when I oiled the brasses in the engine-room of the + Goorkha, I have wondered if our priests were so wise—so wise. The + day is coming, Sahib. They will be gone by the morning.” + </p> + <p> + A yellow light broadened in the sky, and the tone of the river changed as + the darkness withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the Elephant trumpeted aloud as though man had goaded him. + </p> + <p> + “Let Indra judge. Father of all, speak thou! What of the things we have + heard? Has Krishna lied indeed? Or—-” + </p> + <p> + “Ye know,” said the Buck, rising to his feet. “Ye know the Riddle of the + Gods. When Brahm ceases to dream, the Heavens and the Hells and Earth + disappear. Be content. Brahm dreams still. The dreams come and go, and the + nature of the dreams changes, but still Brahm dreams. Krishna has walked + too long upon earth, and yet I love him the more for the tale he has told. + The Gods change, beloved—all save One!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, all save one that makes love in the hearts of men,” said Krishna, + knotting his girdle. “It is but a little time to wait, and ye shall know + if I lie. Truly it is but a little time, as thou sayest, and we shall + know. Get thee to thy huts again, beloved, and make sport for the young + things, for still Brahm dreams. Go, my children! Brahm dreams and till he + wakes the Gods die not.” + </p> + <p> + “Whither went they?” said the Lascar, awe-struck, shivering a little with + the cold. + </p> + <p> + “God knows!” said Findlayson. The river and the island lay in full + daylight now, and there was never mark of hoof or pug on the wet earth + under the peepul. Only a parrot screamed in the branches, bringing down + showers of water-drops as he fluttered his wings. + </p> + <p> + “Up! We are cramped with cold! Has the opium died out. Canst thou move, + Sahib?” + </p> + <p> + Findlayson staggered to his feet and shook himself. His bead swam and + ached, but the work of the opium was over, and, as he sluiced his forehead + in a pool, the Chief Engineer of the Kashi Bridge was wondering how he had + managed to fall upon the island, what chances the day offered of return, + and, above all, how his work stood. + </p> + <p> + “Peroo, I have forgotten much I was under the guard-tower watching the + river; and then—Did the flood sweep us away?” + </p> + <p> + “No. The boats broke loose, Sahib, and,” (if the Sahib had forgotten about + the opium, decidedly Peroo would not remind him) “in striving to retie + them, so it seemed to me but it was dark—a rope caught the Sahib and + threw him upon a boat. Considering that we two, with Hitchcock Sahib, + built, as it were, that bridge, I came also upon the boat, which came + riding on horseback, as it were, on the nose of this island, and so, + splitting, cast us ashore. I made a great cry when the boat left the wharf + and without doubt Hitchcock Sahib will come for us. As for the bridge, so + many have died in the building that it cannot fall.” A fierce sun, that + drew out all the smell of the sodden land, had followed the storm, and in + that clear light there was no room for a man to think of the dreams of the + dark. Findlayson stared upstream, across the blaze of moving water, till + his eyes ached. There was no sign of any bank to the Ganges, much less of + a bridge-line. + </p> + <p> + “We came down far,” he said. “It was wonderful that we were not drowned a + hundred times.” + </p> + <p> + “That was the least of the wonder, for no man dies before his time. I have + seen Sydney, I have seen London, and twenty great ports, but,”—Peroo + looked at the damp, discoloured shrine under the peepul—“never man + has seen that we saw here.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Has the Sahib forgotten; or do we black men only see the Gods?” + </p> + <p> + “There was a fever upon me.” Findlayson was still looking uneasily across + the water. “It seemed that the island was full of beasts and men talking, + but I do not remember. A boat could live in this water now, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! Then it is true. ‘When Brahm ceases to dream, the Gods die.’ Now I + know, indeed, what he meant. Once, too, the guru said as much to me; but + then I did not understand. Now I am wise.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Findlayson, over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Peroo went on as if he were talking to himself “Six—seven—ten + monsoons since, I was watch on the fo’c’sle of the Rewah—the + Kumpani’s big boat—and there was a big tufan; green and black water + beating, and I held fast to the life-lines, choking under the waters. Then + I thought of the Gods—of Those whom we saw to-night,”—he + stared curiously at Findlayson’s back, but the white man was looking + across the flood. “Yes, I say of Those whom we saw this night past, and I + called upon Them to protect me. And while I prayed, still keeping my + lookout, a big wave came and threw me forward upon the ring of the great + black bow-anchor, and the Rewah rose high and high, leaning towards the + left-hand side, and the water drew away from beneath her nose, and I lay + upon my belly, holding the ring, and looking down into those great deeps. + Then I thought, even in the face of death: If I lose hold I die, and for + me neither the Rewah nor my place by the galley where the rice is cooked, + nor Bombay, nor Calcutta, nor even London, will be any more for me. ‘How + shall I be sure,’ I said, ‘that the Gods to whom I pray will abide at + all?’ This I thought, and the Rewah dropped her nose as a hammer falls, + and all the sea came in and slid me backwards along the fo’c’sle and over + the break of the fo’c’sle, and I very badly bruised my shin against the + donkey-engine: but I did not die, and I have seen the Gods. They are good + for live men, but for the dead. . . . They have spoken Themselves. + Therefore, when I come to the village I will beat the guru for talking + riddles which are no riddles. When Brahm ceases to dream the Gods go.” + </p> + <p> + “Look up-stream. The light blinds. Is there smoke yonder?” + </p> + <p> + Peroo shaded his eyes with his hands. “He is a wise man and quick. + Hitchcock Sahib would not trust a rowboat. He has borrowed the Rao Sahib’s + steam-launch, and comes to look for us. I have always said that there + should have been a steam-launch on the bridge works for us.” + </p> + <p> + The territory of the Rao of Baraon lay within ten miles of the bridge; and + Findlayson and Hitchcock had spent a fair portion of their scanty leisure + in playing billiards and shooting blackbuck with the young man. He had + been bearded by an English tutor of sporting tastes for some five or six + years, and was now royally wasting the revenues accumulated during his + minority by the Indian Government. His steam-launch, with its + silver-plated rails, striped silk awning, and mahogany decks, was a new + toy which Findlayson had found horribly in the way when the Rao came to + look at the bridge works. + </p> + <p> + “It’s great luck,” murmured Findlayson, but he was none the less afraid, + wondering what news might be of the bridge. + </p> + <p> + The gaudy blue-and-white funnel came downstream swiftly. They could see + Hitchcock in the bows, with a pair of opera-glasses, and his face was + unusually white. Then Peroo hailed, and the launch made for the tail of + the island. The Rao Sahib, in tweed shooting-suit and a seven-hued turban, + waved his royal hand, and Hitchcock shouted. But he need have asked no + questions, for Findlayson’s first demand was for his bridge. + </p> + <p> + “All serene! ‘Gad, I never expected to see you again, Findlayson. You’re + seven koss downstream. Yes; there’s not a stone shifted anywhere; but how + are you? I borrowed the Rao Sahib’s launch, and he was good enough to come + along. Jump in. Ah, Finlinson, you are very well, eh? That was most + unprecedented calamity last night, eh? My royal palace, too, it leaks like + the devil, and the crops will also be short all about my country. Now you + shall back her out, Hitchcock. I—I do not understand steam-engines. + You are wet? You are cold, Finlinson? I have some things to eat here, and + you will take a good drink.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m immensely grateful, Rao Sahib. I believe you’ve saved my life. How + did Hitchcock—” + </p> + <p> + “Oho! His hair was upon end. He rode to me in the middle of the night and + woke me up in the arms of Morpheus. I was most truly concerned, Finlinson, + so I came too. My head-priest he is very angry just now. We will go quick, + Mister Hitchcock. I am due to attend at twelve forty-five in the state + temple, where we sanctify some new idol. If not so I would have asked you + to spend the day with me. They are dam-bore, these religious ceremonies, + Finlinson, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Peroo, well known to the crew, had possessed himself of the inlaid wheel, + and was taking the launch craftily up-stream. But while he steered he was, + in his mind, handling two feet of partially untwisted wire-rope; and the + back upon which he beat was the back of his guru. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bridge-Builders, by Rudyard Kipling + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIDGE-BUILDERS *** + +***** This file should be named 2163-h.htm or 2163-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/6/2163/ + +Produced by Bill Stoddard and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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