The Great Game Term Analysis

Kim warmed to the game, for it reminded him of experiences in the letter-carrying line, when, for the sake of a few pice, he pretended to know more than he knew. But now he was playing for larger things — the sheer excitement and the sense of power.

‘I am very old,’ he thought sleepily. ‘Every month I become a year more old. I was very young, and a fool to boot, when I took Mahbub’s message to Umballa. Even when I was with that white regiment I was very young and had no wisdom. But now I learn every day and in three years the Colonel will take me out of the madrissah and let me go upon the road with Mahbub hunting for horses’ pedigrees, or maybe I shall go by myself; or maybe I shall find the lama and go with him. Yes; that is best. To walk again as a chela with my lama when he comes back to Benares.’

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‘Is he by chance’ – he lowered his voice – ‘one of us?’

‘What is this talk of us, Sahib?’ Mahbub Ali returned, in the tone he used towards Europeans. ‘I am a Pathan, thou art a Sahib and the son of a Sahib. Lurgan Sahib has a shop among the European shops. All Simla knows it. Ask there… and, Friend of all the World, he is one to be obeyed to the last wink of his eyelashes. Men say he does magic, but that should not touch thee. Go up the hill and ask. Here begins the Great Game.’

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‘I was made wise by thee, Holy One,’ said Kim, forgetting the little play just ended; forgetting St. Xavier’s; forgetting his white blood; forgetting even the Great Game as he stooped Mohammedan-fashion, to touch his master’s feet in the dust of the Jain temple. ‘My teaching I owe to thee. I have eaten thy bread three years. My time is finished. I am loosed from the schools. I come to thee.’

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‘Thy Gods are lies; thy works are lies; thy words are lies. There are no gods under all the Heavens. I know it… But for a while I thought it was my Sahib come back, and he was my God.’

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