Gunga Din - Rudyard Kipling

Gunga Din
In modern free verse


You may talk of gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out there,
And you are sent to penny-fights and Aldershot it;
But if come to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
And you’ll lick the blooming boots of him that’s got it.
Now in India’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
And serving Her Majesty, the Queen.
Of all them black-faced crew
The fines man I knew
Was our regimental ‘bhisti’, Gunga Din.
It was “Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump of brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! ‘slippy hitherao’!
Water, get it! ‘panee lao’!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!”

The uniform he wore
Was nothing much before,
And rather less than half of that behind,
For a twisty piece of rag
And a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment he could find.
When the sweating troop-train lay
In a siding through the day,
Where the heat would make your blooming eyebrows crawl,
We shouted “ Harry By”!
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we whipped him because he couldn’t serve us all.

It was “Din! Din! Din!
You heathen, where the mischief have 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!”

He would run and carry on
Till the longest day was done,
And he didn’t know the name of fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your blooming nut,
He would be waiting fifty paces right flank rear.
With his ‘mussick’ on his back,
He would skip with our attack,
And watch us till the bugle made “Retire’.
And for all his dirty hide,
He was white, clear white, inside
When he went to tend the wounded under fire!

It was “Din! Din! Din!”
With the bullets kicking dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout:
“Hi! Ammunition-mules and Gunga Din!”

I shall not forget the night
When I dropped behind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should have been
I was choking mad with thirst,
And the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinning, grunting Gunga Din.

He lifted up my head,
And he plugged me where I bled,
And he gave me half-a pint of water—green;
It was crawling and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m grateful to one from Gunga Din.

It was “Din! Din! Din!
There’s a beggar with bullet through his spleen;
He’s chewing up the ground and he’s kicking all around;
For God’s sake, get water, Gunga Din!”

He carried me away
To where a “dooli’ lay,
And a bullet came and drilled the beggar clean.
He put me safe inside,
And just before he died:
“I hope you liked your drink,” says Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet him later on
In the place where he’s gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen;
He will be squatting on the coals
Giving drink to poor damned souls,
And I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the living God that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!


*****

Original:

Gunga Din

YOU may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if 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 black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.

It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy 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 twisty piece o' 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 'ear the front-files shout:
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n'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' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;
It was crawlin' an' 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
In 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 pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!

Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

Rudyard Kipling (1868- )