THE JUNGLE BOOK (1893 DRAFT)

 

Autographed to Susan Bishop by Rudyard Kipling. Transcript and comparison to published text is below. Note that the sections do not appear in the same order and that the original draft is much more wordy. Illustrations are from the 1896 first edition.

Transcript

It was about seven o' clock of a very warm evening among the Aravulli hills when the Father Wolf woke up from his day's sleep, stretched himself, yawned and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepiness in their tips.  The Mother Wolf lay with her big grey nose across the four tumbling, squealing little cubs, and the moon was just beginning to shine into the mouth of the cave where the family kept house.

"Augh!" said the Father Wolf, "It is time to eat again.  Mother, canst thou not go with me tonight to scare the black buck downwind?  I am tired of hunting alone."

"They are so little--so very little," said the Mother Wolf without raising her head.  "Even when I run to the stream for a drink of water they cry; and, remember, everyone does not love our children."

The wolves were talking in their own language, but the way in which animals talk is very much the same as the way in which the men around them talk.  So these wolves spoke like the Mewari herdsmen whose goats they stole.

"Well.  Then I must hunt alone once more." The Father Wolf picked himself up limb by limb to leave the cave when a little grey shadow with a bushy tail stopped in the moonlight and said whiningly, "Good luck go with you, O Chief of the Wolves and good luck and strong white teeth go with the noble children, that they may never forget the hungry in the world."

It was Tabaqui, the dish-licker, and the wolves of India look down upon the jackal because he has no more caste than a barber or a musician and runs about telling tales and eating rags and pieces of old hide.

"Saalam," said the Father Wolf, stiffly.  "There is no thing here to eat, Tabaqui."

"For a wolf, no.  But for so mean a person as myself a dry bone is a good feast.  Who are we, the Guidur-log (the Jackal folk) to pick and choose?"

"Enter then and look," said the Father Wolf and Tabaqui crawled into the cave and scuttled away to the pile of dried bones at the back where he found the leg bone of a buck with some meat on it.

Much as the wolves hate the jackal they are afraid of him, because he more than anyone else in the forests is liable to go mad and then he forgets that he ever was afraid and sweeps through the wood in attack, snapping and biting everything in his way.  Even the tiger runs and hides when little Tabaqui goes mad, for madness is the most disgraceful thing that can happen to any wild beast.  We call it hydrophobia, but they call it dewanee--the madness--and run.

Published Text

It was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke up from his day's rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big gray nose dropped across her four tumbling, squealing cubs, and the moon shone into the mouth of the cave where they all lived.

"Augrh!" said Father Wolf. "It is time to hunt again." He was going to spring down hill when a little shadow with a bushy tail crossed the threshold and whined: "Good luck go with you, O Chief of the Wolves. And good luck and strong white teeth go with noble children that they may never forget the hungry in this world."

It was the jackal--Tabaqui, the Dish-licker--and the wolves of India despise Tabaqui because he runs about making mischief, and telling tales, and eating rags and pieces of leather from the village rubbish-heaps. But they are afraid of him too, because Tabaqui, more than anyone else in the jungle, is apt to go mad, and then he forgets that he was ever afraid of anyone, and runs through the forest biting everything in his way. Even the tiger runs and hides when little Tabaqui goes mad, for madness is the most disgraceful thing that can overtake a wild creature. We call it hydrophobia, but they call it dewanee--the madness-- and run.

"Enter, then, and look," said Father Wolf stiffly, "but there is no food here."

"For a wolf, no," said Tabaqui, "but for so mean a person as myself a dry bone is a good feast. Who are we, the Gidur-log [the jackal people], to pick and choose?"