gunga din

Gunga Din, a poem by Rudyard Kipling.
It was made into a great feature length film; one that I saw many times as a child. I think of my dad when I think of the movie. He loves it and first showed it to me.
The bugle is so clear in my memory and, naturally, I think of my sister. There once was a motivational audio tape that my father's company used to inspire a 'never give up' attitude in the employees. It was an unintentionally humorous account of the story of Gunga Din. Over the rumble of charging horses, Gunga Din heroically sounds the alarm until his last breath is spent, thus saving the British army and aiding in their conquest of the Thugs. Why so humorous? On the tape, Gunga Din is shot dozens of times and still keeps trying to play that damn bugle. Near the end, each note sounds like the call of some sort of prehistoric animal. We must have listened to that cassette 50 times the day my dad first brought it home. To us, it was absolutely hilarious. Days later when we played it for my grandparents in their backyard, my sister laughed so hard that she fell from the bench on which she had been standing, hitting her head on the concrete patio. But she kept right on laughing. Minutes afterward, once we were satisfied that she was ok, we came to realize that the cassette was still playing in the background with good old Gunga Din trying to belt out just one more cautionary note before he perished. And we laughed some more.

On another occasion, I acted out the parts of the Gunga Din audio cassette for guests of my parents. It was probably a bit obnoxious to have to watch a five year old boy dressed in his Mickey Mouse pajamas act out a redundant story like that. Getting shot and falling down some 30 times. I imagine at some point they were hoping the bullets would start coming in for real. I would have.

This poem came to mind back in January when my grandfather passed away. Though I didn't know it by heart, I had seen the film often enough to remember the last few lines. I wished above all other wishes that I could write something with emotion that spoke to my grandfather's greatness as the last few lines of this poem speak to Gunga Din's. Someday I hope to still.

You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I'll marrow you this minute
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone --
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!