A Man of No Importance
“Most people, in most places, in most times, are of inferior status. And most people, even now, even in ‘the free world’, even in ‘the home of the free’, consider this state of affairs, or certain elements of it, as natural, necessary, and unchangeable. They hold it to be the way it has always been and therefore the way it must be.”
-Ursula K. Le Guin
Human beings have a tendency to categorize people into those with a higher status and those with a lower status. The measuring scale varies from time to time and place to place, but some or the other category of people has always been considered too inferior to be of any importance. At the time of British colonial rule in India, the deciding factor was a person’s race.
Joseph Rudyard Kipling was born in India in 1865. He was a supporter of imperialism and as the world around him changed, his fame gradually dwindled. However, in one of his famous poems, he expressed how false this narrative of British superiority actually was.
The poem ‘Gunga Din’, is based on an Indian man whose job was to carry water to British soldiers. He was, what is called in the Hindi language, a ‘bhishti’ or water carrier. The poem gives a rather accurate description of how Gunga Din was treated by the soldiers, complete with racial slurs and insults. As a result, it is considered to be an offensive and racist poem by some critics. Yet, the poem is just attempting to give an authentic representation of the relationship between Indians and their British rulers at that time in history. Being a poor man of a lower caste made Gunga Din even more unimportant than an average Indian in the eyes of the soldiers. In fact, it is a poem written in praise of an ‘unimportant’ man, who despite ill-treatment patiently did his job and when it was needed of him, went above and beyond the call of duty.
The poem is in the public domain and is reproduced below:
“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!”
Kipling described how in the hot climate of India, water is what could make or break an army. Gunga Din equipped with only a “goatskin water-bag” provided just that to the narrator’s regiment. At the time of battle, it was Gunga Din who turned out to be the purest person the narrator had ever known. He not only saved the narrator’s life but even with his dying breath showed concern for his comfort. The narrator realized that despite the indoctrination regarding the superiority of his own race, it was clear that the selfless bhishti was a better man than he could ever be.
And so it is with the status stories that we grow up listening to. The constant and strident refrain of how ‘they’ are different from ‘us’ is essential for those who wish to maintain the status quo. Because like the narrator, if any one of us actually happens to closely interact with one of ‘them’, we might find out that there is no difference between ‘them’ and ‘us’ at all. It may even turn out that one of ‘them’ is far better than one of ‘us’.
There are good and bad people in every social stratum. Adversity brings out the worst in some people and the best in others. The response to adversity is a far better judge of a human being than the irrational status bestowed by the society.
