I think that on its own terms this is a fine poem, with its echoes of the old border ballads. Of course, you may dislike those terms, you may throw up your hands and say ‘Huh, Kipling, colonialism’, but I think to do so would be to miss the fact that Kipling here, as in his masterpiece ‘Kim’, is in fact showing love and respect for the people of India, even for those who kicked against the rule of the Raj.
The poem does not appear to be based on an actual incident, but instead is a reworking of a story that had long been in circulation. It seems reasonable to ask how plausible the story is. While one my feel that the Colonel’s son is pushing his luck in places, I think one can accept the basic premise of the poem, that a code of honour and respect for an adversary’s courage really did exist at that time among the wild tribes of the border. I am reminded of the scene in George Macdonald Fraser’s excellent historical novel, ‘Black Ajax’, where the two pugilists Tom Molineaux and Tom Cribb, of totally different backgrounds and ethnicities, Molineaux an ex-slave and Cribb an oaken Englishman, nod to one another over the heads of the crowd as they are about to fight, two strong men bound by mutual respect and by the kind of shared experience known to few.
I do have niggling reservations about some of the detail. We are told how Kamal and the Colonel’s son ride half the night and every rock and thorn-tree they pass, so Kamal boasts, had one of Kamal’s men behind it. Just how many men did Kamal have? It must have taken a lot of organizing. ‘Remind me again why I’m crouching behind this rock’. ‘It’s just in case some mad bastard might take it into his head to chase after Kamal and Kamal might want him shot’. ‘Oh, right’.
I worry too about this business of ‘turning the calkins’ on the mare’s feet, in the hope of confusing pursuers with tracks apparently going the wrong way. This is an idea associated with the old border reivers, but I strongly suspect it belongs to folklore rather than reality. Calkins were a kind of horseshoe, fairly primitive but even so there was a right and wrong way to put them on, and putting them on back to front would surely risk injury to the horse or at very least slow it down, and yet, we are told, the mare flies over the rough terrain ‘like a new-roused fawn’. Also, you surely wouldn’t want to spend time messing about with hooves when you were supposed to making a quick getaway But still, for me any such reservations are swept away by the sheer bravura back-and-forth of the piece.the Guides: a famous regiment of the Indian Army under the British.
ressaldar: a mid-level Indian cavalry officer.
pickets: small parties of troops sent out as scouts to report sightings of the enemy.
breech-bolt: part of the mechanism of a rifle, that makes a clicking sound when operated.
dun: a brownish-grey horse.
the mouth of a bell: presumably means having a hard mouth and so being difficult to control.
the head of a gallows-tree: a slightly puzzling image: I think it just means the horse was ugly-looking.
a stag of ten: an impressive stag with ten tines or points on his antlers, five on each side.
snaffle-bars: parts of the bit used in the mouth to control the horse.
belike: most likely.
a lifter’s dower: a ‘lifter’ in this context is a cattle-stealer; dower is another form of dowry, money given along with a bride to her husband on marriage.
Ling: strictly speaking a kind of heather, Calluna vulgaris, but as this does not grow in India I think here it just means ground cover of whatever kind.
White Queen: Queen Victoria (1819-1901), Empress of India.
Khyber knife: a long Indian knife with a triangular blade.
the Wondrous Names of God: as listed in the Qu’ran: ‘He is Allah, The Creator, The Originator, The Fashioner, To Him belong the most Beautiful Names. Whatever is in the Heavens and on Earth, Do Declare His Praises and Glory, And He is the Exalted in Might, The Wise.’
the Quarter-Guard: in an Indian Army camp a garrison, providing an armed party ready at all times for action in an emergency.
Peshawur: capital of the North-West Frontier Province of Pakistan.
The Ballad of East and West
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border-side,
And he has lifted the Colonel’s mare that is the Colonel’s pride,
He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day,
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away.
Then up and spoke the Colonel’s son that led a troop of the Guides:
‘Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?’
Then up and spoke Mohammed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar:
‘If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.
At dusk he harries the Abazai — at dawn he is into Bonair,
But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,
So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,
By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai.
But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,
For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown with Kamal’s men.
There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen.’
The Colonel’s son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell and the head of the gallows-tree.
The Colonel’s son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat –
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
He’s up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father’s mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware of his father’s mare with Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
‘Ye shoot like a soldier,’ Kamal said. ‘Show now if ye can ride.’
It’s up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go,
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho’ never a man was seen.
They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell at a water-course – in a woeful heap fell he,
And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand – small room was there to strive,
‘’Twas only by favour of mine,’ quoth he, ‘ye rode so long alive:
There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row.
If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly.’
Lightly answered the Colonel’s son: ‘Do good to bird and beast,
But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away,
Belike the price of a jackal’s meal were more than a thief could pay.
They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain,
The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
But if thou thinkest the price be fair, – thy brethren wait to sup,
The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, – howl, dog, and call them up!
And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
Give me my father’s mare again, and I’ll fight my own way back!’
Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet.
‘No talk shall be of dogs,’ said he, ‘when wolf and gray wolf meet.
May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath;
What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?’
Lightly answered the Colonel’s son: ‘I hold by the blood of my clan:
Take up the mare for my father’s gift – by God, she has carried a man!’
The red mare ran to the Colonel’s son, and nuzzled against his breast;
‘We be two strong men,’ said Kamal then, ‘but she loveth the younger best.
So she shall go with a lifter’s dower, my turquoise-studded rein,
My ’broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain.’
The Colonel’s son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end,
‘Ye have taken the one from a foe,’ said he; ‘Will ye take the mate from a friend?’
‘A gift for a gift,’ said Kamal straight; ‘a limb for the risk of a limb.
Thy father has sent his son to me, I’ll send my son to him!’
With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest –
He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest.
‘Now here is thy master,’ Kamal said, ‘who leads a troop of the Guides,
And thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder rides.
Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed,
Thy life is his – thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.
So, thou must eat the White Queen’s meat, and all her foes are thine,
And thou must harry thy father’s hold for the peace of the Border-line,
And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power –
Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur.’
They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault,
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt:
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod,
On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God.
The Colonel’s son he rides the mare and Kamal’s boy the dun,
And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one.
And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear –
There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer.
‘Ha’ done! ha’ done!’ said the Colonel’s son. ‘Put up the steel at your sides!
Last night ye had struck at a Border thief – to-night ’tis a man of the Guides!’
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
Rudyard Kipling
