The Bhisti

The other day I was reading the book "The Great Indian Novel" by Sashi Tharoor. While reading through the second chapter, I happened to notice the word "Bhisti". The term, literally means, a water carrier to a household or an army regiment. Primarily prevalent during the days of the British Raj and in the caste-ridden societies, the Bhisti's were people from the lower caste who used to supply drinking water to members of the household or the regiment.

As to why I suddenly got interested in this term is a different matter altogether. During our school days in the 12th standard there was a syllabus book titled "Anthology of Poems" which was a collection of poems by poets of different eras. Understandably, we had to study only a selected few from that book. Of the poems we were not taught, was one by Rudyard Kipling titled "Gunga Din". I am not of the poetry lover type, but this poem somehow caught my attention.

This poem talks about a Bhisti serving the British regiment in India. Frequently rebuked, ridiculed and shouted at by the army officer (the narrator), he is finally acknowledged for his kindness, hard work and valour by the very person in a tragic climax. Kipling brings out the fact that though he is from a lower-caste, he shows valour and loyalty at a level not expected even from that of people supposedly superior to him.

The poem starts in a sort of prose style and gradually the situations are described. One of the reasons I tend to ignore reading poems is because of the difficult subtleties and metaphors they use. But this poem is written in such an easy-to-understand style that anyone who reads it for the first time would get hooked on to it. It is Kipling's take on vintage pre-Independent India.
But for me the real message was the one in the very last line. Read it and share your experience. I guarantee you an enjoyable time!

P.S: Critics claim that Kipling was a racist (regarding this poem it could be the way he addresses Gunga Din at times), but as Wikipedia says, the racism is exhibited only by the fictional charcaters of Kipling's works. Infact Kipling could be ridiculing the mentality of the British Raj through his very works.

The Poem



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 onAt 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!