This Folio edition like that of The Jungle Book, is gorgeous with some fantastic illustrations. It also contains some of my favorite Mowgli stories and like its prequel has both stories from Mowgli's world as well as independent stories involving animals. Other than classics such as 'How Fear Came,' 'Letting in the Jungle,' 'The King's Ankus,' and 'Red Dog' - some of these visually etched in my memory from childhood due to Classics Illustrated comics - it also contains 'The Miracle of Puran Bhagat,' 'The Undertakers,' 'Quiquern,' and 'The Spring Running.' Each story is succeeded by a poem on its central theme.
'How Fear Came' is perhaps the most reflective piece, and its preoccupation is once more the Law.
"Law was like the Giant Creeper, because it dropped across everyone's back and no-one could escape."
Though in the context of the Law of the Jungle and referring to when in a situation of extreme drought (Kipling's description of the advent of drought is masterful) a Water Truce is declared so that it is forbidden to kill at the drinking places, it is resonant with deeper meanings about the role of law in society in general. Interspersed with Kipling's particular humor it underlines the value and need to live by certain laws and then narrates a story from the earliest times when no Fear existed amongst the creatures of the jungle; and, how the First of Tigers killed a buck and thereby lost his position as a judge, introduced the smell of blood and the notion of killing and death to the jungle, and got his stripes as the trees and creepers marked him as the culprit. The Gray Ape proved an unworthy successor being foolish and senseless. After killing and shame, Fear then came to the jungle. It had no hair and walked on hind legs. He feared the animals and they were wary of him. The jungle deity Tha ordained that he was not to be harmed and shown mercy. The First of Tigers again disobeyed and killed the Hairless One and thereby taught Man to kill without mercy, in new and inventive ways, to the eternal anguish of animals. All the animals now feared him, except for one night in the year (at different times of the year) when he is fearful of them.
'The Miracle of Puran Bhagat' is about a westernized, astute, powerful and highly successful man of the world who turns ascetic and traces his journey to a remote refuge, his kindness to all, his affinity with animals and his ultimate sacrifice for those who had come to revere him deeply. The descriptions are lovely:
"Through three good months the valley was wrapped in cloud and soaking mist - steady, unrelenting downfall, breaking into thunder-shower after thunder-shower. Kali's shrine stood about the clouds, for the most part, and there was a whole month in which the Bhagat never caught glimpse of his village."
Exploring and seemingly reconciling the paradox of modernity and traditional spirituality this is an unexpected tale where rather than being skeptical Kipling appears to be valorizing the decision of Puran Bhagat to turn his back to the world, leaving its roar behind after all his successes, and seek an inward life which nevertheless manifested in largesse for all those around him.
In "Letting in the Jungle" Mowgli gets fully disenchanted with the cruelty of the Man-Pack that he scorns for killining not for food but for sport, and seeks to rescue as well as seek revenge for the persecution of the woman Messua and her husband who were kind to him. Though dark in its mood particularly entertaining are the scenes involving the terrifying of Buldeo the village hunter. Directed by Mowgli and led by the elephants a vast number and variety of herbivores and carnivores join forces and lay waste the village crop fields and grazing grounds, destroyed the grain stores, and forced the inhabitants through starvation and intimidation to abandon village, trampled by the elephants as they retreated through the rain. There is an interesting mention of Gonds - aboriginal tribals - whom the villagers ask if they have somehow angered their gods. The old gods. There is also the usual sense of racial superiority - "...when the Jungle moves only the white man can hope to turn it aside." The Gonds concluded that now only the wild gourd would grow where they had worshipped their God - "And the Karela, the bitter Karela/Shall cover it all." The metaphor here of nature striking back when humans become undeserving of occupying a space is a poignant one.
The Undertakers presents a wickedly humorous engagement between a mangy jackal, an adjutant-crane and a wily, huge and ancient crocodile Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut - all three hungry, conniving, false and looking for a kill and coming up with delightful puns, proverbs, veiled ridicule, repartee, flattery and cunning attempts at manipulation. There are interesting descriptions of places, people, terms, flora and fauna local and the usual extolling of English Law - it is eventually the white face as it is shown, that brings accountability, whether to man or beast.
'The King's Ankus' too lives in the mind for its brilliant depiction of death leaving its trail in murder after murder due to greed for a jeweled ankus that comes to embody death, and the menacing great white Cobra, sitting on a heap of bleached human bones, resolutely guarding the treasure in its subterranean vault below the deserted city of Cold Lairs. The story shows Mowgli growing in courage and strength and also teh close bond between him and Kaa and their constant banter.
'Quiquern' shifts the scene to the icy, desolate northern lands of the Inuit - at the back of everything in the world. Evocative in its description of the snowy landscape, Inuit living, customs, lore, and superstitions, and hunting for seals in sleighs pulled by dogs, it is a story of survival in the harshest of environments.
'Red Dog' is what has etched in my mind the image of the Indian wild, red dog or the Dhole of the Dekkan and its voracious hunting in merciless packs that the entire jungle fears. Mowlgi has to use great agility and ingenuity to save the jungle inhabitants from this bane and it is a particularly thrilling story full of action. Passages where Mowgli mocks and goads the Dhole and leads them into his trap are particularly entertaining.
'The Spring Running' is where Mowgli enters young adulthood. It has some beautiful descriptive passages that bring to life the Jungle and all that makes it dear to Mowgli. This is a story of pain and longing with Mowgli deciding where to live as he is good reasons to move on from the jungle but to also stay away from the habitations of men. Here are some lovely excerpts:
"They were lying out far up the side of a hill overlooking the Waingunga, and the morning mists hung below them in bands of white and green. As the sun rose it changed into bubbling seas of red gold, churned off, and let the low rays stripe the dried grass on which Mowgli and Bagheera were resting. It was the end of the cold weather, the leaves and the trees looked worn and faded, and there was a dry, ticking rustle everywhere when the wind blew. A little leaf tap-tap-tapped furiously against a twig, as a single leaf caught in a current will."
"In an Indian Jungle the seasons slide one into the other almost without division. There seem to be only two—the wet and the dry; but if you look closely below the torrents of rain and the clouds of char and dust you will find all four going round in their regular ring. Spring is the most wonderful, because she has not to cover a clean, bare field with new leaves and flowers, but to drive before her and to put away the hanging-on, over-surviving raffle of half-green things which the gentle winter has suffered to live, and to make the partly-dressed stale earth feel new and young once more. And this she does so well that there is no spring in the world like the Jungle spring.
There is one day when all things are tired, and the very smells, as they drift on the heavy air, are old and used. One cannot explain this, but it feels so. Then there is another day—to the eye nothing whatever has changed—when all the smells are new and delightful, and the whiskers of the Jungle People quiver to their roots, and the winter hair comes away from their sides in long, draggled locks. Then, perhaps, a little rain falls, and all the trees and the bushes and the bamboos and the mosses and the juicy-leaved plants wake with a noise of growing that you can almost hear, and under this noise runs, day and night, a deep hum. That is the noise of the spring—a vibrating boom which is neither bees, nor falling water, nor the wind in tree-tops, but the purring of the warm, happy world."
"All green things seemed to have made a month’s growth since the morning. The branch that was yellow-leaved the day before dripped sap when Mowgli broke it. The mosses curled deep and warm over his feet, the young grass had no cutting edges, and all the voices of the Jungle boomed like one deep harpstring touched by the moon—the Moon of New Talk, who splashed her light full on rock and pool, slipped it between trunk and creeper, and sifted it through a million leaves. Forgetting his unhappiness, Mowgli sang aloud with pure delight as he settled into his stride. It was more like flying than anything else, for he had chosen the long downward slope that leads to the Northern Marshes through the heart of the main Jungle, where the springy ground deadened the fall of his feet. A man-taught man would have picked his way with many stumbles through the cheating moonlight, but Mowgli’s muscles, trained by years of experience, bore him up as though he were a feather."
"There were still, hot hollows surrounded by wet rocks where he could hardly breathe for the heavy scents of the night flowers and the bloom along the creeper buds; dark avenues where the moonlight lay in belts as regular as checkered marbles in a church aisle; thickets where the wet young growth stood breast-high about him and threw its arms round his waist; and hilltops crowned with broken rock, where he leaped from stone to stone above the lairs of the frightened little foxes."
I went back to The Second Jungle Book for the sheer beauty of many passages that describe the Central Indian Jungle, its denizens and its seasons. To get inspired. I was not disappointed.