Kim

Salaam.

This tale begins in the year 1885...

when Alexander lll was czar of Russia...

and Victoria of England

was also empress of India.

India, gateway to the East...

empire of magnificent pageantry

and exotic color...

the jewel of the Orient,

land of mysticism and reality...

whose history is filled with the romance...

and the intrigue of the 19th century...

which already belongs to a legendary past.

To the romantic domain

of Rudyard Kipling...

to the days when the white man

was called "sahib. "

These were the days

of turmoil and bloodshed...

caste against caste, creed against creed.

At this time, all eyes would turn

to the warlike hillmen...

who continually swept down to battle.

To prevent massacres,

there was banded together...

a small group of men.

Some were native-born, others rich.

Heading this secret service

was a certain Colonel Creighton.

He called their work the "Great Game"...

and the history books tell us

that many died playing it.

In this year of unrest,

in the city of Lahore...

one starlit night...

among the rooftop quarters

of the women...

who were well-guarded from all eyes,

save those of their lords and masters...

there roamed a small boy known as Kim.

A product of the gutters and bazaars...

an orphan waif,

who lived by his shrewdness and cunning.

Having known only poverty...

Kim was ever-willing to risk his neck

for a copper coin...

or for a good friend.

- Laluli?

- Yes? Who are you?

I bear a message.

The Red Beard chooses well,

flower of delight.

Since when does the Red Beard

risk the life of a boy? Go home.

Oh, no. In truth, I was sent by Mahbub Ali,

the Red Beard.

What is the message?

He trades horses on the Kulu Road.

He'll come to see thee tomorrow evening.

Give him this key.

My lord and master journeys

to another city.

Tell the Red Beard he may come in safety.

Caution him to wait

until the moon has fallen.

Keep thy beauty in the shade,

O dispenser of delights.

The red-bearded goat

comes tomorrow night.

You will make him very welcome

when he comes.

He is but a horse trader.

Why not cut him down in some alley?

We begin to think this Red Beard

is a different kind of horse trader.

Tell her for what she must search.

He may carry upon his person

a certain parchment...

which if decoded

would show our enemies...

the five points

from which we plan to strike.

Should this reach the Creighton sahib...

there will be soldiers maneuvering,

and we will again have to wait.

The Czar's emissaries become impatient.

You see?

A sultry night, perfumed brandy...

it should be easy.

I understand.

But I like it not.

Defiler of the faith! Beggar's brat!

Imp of the devil!

May you be reborn a gnat!

Kim found it more convenient

to pose as an Indian...

because the missionaries

sent white boys to school.

But on occasions such as this,

when it suited his purpose...

he would don the dress and manners

of his own race.

Who are you looking for?

A defiler of the women's quarters.

- Defiler of the rooftops.

- No less.

I saw a fleeting shadow go that way.

But run not the wind from your belly.

I hear many whispers from the bazaars.

His name I will reveal to you.

You are my friend.

Does a cheroot go with your gratitude?

Have you a taper?

Mahbub Ali.

Well, little sahib. What have you for me?

Tomorrow night. She bid you wait

until the moon has fallen.

Well done, friend of all the world.

Well done.

Gratitude is good for the ear,

but a rupee is better for the stomach.

One day, you'll make a great trader.

And ride horses

and wear a cloak like that?

No, there's but one Mahbub Ali.

Besides, such a cloak costs many rupees.

I'm no camel. I can earn rupees.

So you can.

Come to me tomorrow,

the Kashmir Serai Gate.

One hour before the sun sets.

Boy, I'm falling!

It's mine! Come on!

Boy, give it back to me! I paid for it!

What's the matter with you?

I got it!

Perhaps it is a man.

Without a doubt.

But he's no man of India I have ever seen.

He is a foreigner.

He is a wandering priest.

Look, he carries praying beads.

What is your caste?

Where is your house?

Have you come far?

From the hills of Tibet...

where the air and the water

are fresh and cool.

A holy man?

Priest of the Lord Buddha, living in peace.

But I came forth

to find the River of the Arrow.

River? That's not difficult to find.

Then thou knowest

the River of the Arrow?

What is the River of the Arrow?

The Lord Buddha shot an arrow.

Where it touched the earth,

there broke out a stream...

whose virtue is that whoever bathes in it

washes away all taint of sin.

Is that all?

My dream told me to find it.

- For years I have searched.

- Years?

How do you fare on the road?

On charity.

What is the custom of charity

in this town?

In silence or aloud?

Those who beg in silence starve in silence.

I beg as the master begged.

Even as he went, so go I.

It is past midday.

If you would eat, you must hurry.

That I cannot do.

The rule demands

that my chela beg for me.

- Chela?

- Disciple.

A helper.

I see. Where is your chela?

Alas, he left me three days ago.

Since then, I have not eaten.

If you had a chela,

would he share your charity?

How else would he live?

Give me your bowl. Rest, thou.

I know the people of this city.

They're broken.

It is of no consequence,

since my eyes have long outaged them.

I beg for a holy man.

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