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The Jungle Book Online For Free by Rudyard Kipling VideoThe Jungle Book [Full Audiobook] by Rudyard Kipling
There are going to be lots of games and we are sure that if you can play them all you can get into the highest ranks and show us what does a true gamer like you in such situations.
Try to be the one that is going to become the best at all these games and figure out all the details from here so that you are not going to lose, because you are definitely a winner and nothing could ever harm you.
If you do not know a lot about the story we are going to be telling you then let us a few moments so that you are going to hear about every single character around there.
First of all, we have the main character of the story and we are reffering to Mowgli. We are sure that you have heard about him, and that he is a small child whose parents lost him and that is why he has to figure out everything in order to become the best at it.
He was found by a family of wolves and that is how he had been raised. Show us the things that really matter over there and try to share a little compassion in every single matter.
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Enter your email and we will send you a link to reset your password. We call it hydrophobia, but they call it dewanee—the madness— and run. Who are we, the Gidur-log [the jackal people], to pick and choose?
Yes, and there are lots of amazing stories in the book, so many more than those that made it into movies! Say the word for the Hunting-People, then—great scholar.
What is all this dancing up and down? That is great shame. No one else cared. The cool of the summer sun! And then, man-cub? They have always lied.
Why have I never been taken among the Monkey People? They stand on their feet as I do. They do not hit me with their hard paws.
They play all day. Let me get up! Bad Baloo, let me up! I will play with them again. They have no law. They are outcasts. They have no speech of their own, but use the stolen words which they overhear when they listen, and peep, and wait up above in the branches.
Their way is not our way. They are without leaders. They have no remembrance. They boast and chatter and pretend that they are a great people about to do great affairs in the jungle, but the falling of a nut turns their minds to laughter and all is forgotten.
We of the jungle have no dealings with them. We do not drink where the monkeys drink; we do not go where the monkeys go; we do not hunt where they hunt; we do not die where they die.
Hast thou ever heard me speak of the Bandar-log till today? They are very many, evil, dirty, shameless, and they desire, if they have any fixed desire, to be noticed by the Jungle People.
But we do not notice them even when they throw nuts and filth on our heads. He had hardly spoken when a shower of nuts and twigs spattered down through the branches; and they could hear coughings and howlings and angry jumpings high up in the air among the thin branches.
How was I to guess he would play with such dirt. The Monkey People! A fresh shower came down on their heads and the two trotted away, taking Mowgli with them.
What Baloo had said about the monkeys was perfectly true. But whenever they found a sick wolf, or a wounded tiger, or bear, the monkeys would torment him, and would throw sticks and nuts at any beast for fun and in the hope of being noticed.
Then they would howl and shriek senseless songs, and invite the Jungle-People to climb up their trees and fight them, or would start furious battles over nothing among themselves, and leave the dead monkeys where the Jungle-People could see them.
None of the beasts could reach them, but on the other hand none of the beasts would notice them, and that was why they were so pleased when Mowgli came to play with them, and they heard how angry Baloo was.
They never meant to do any more—the Bandar-log never mean anything at all; but one of them invented what seemed to him a brilliant idea, and he told all the others that Mowgli would be a useful person to keep in the tribe, because he could weave sticks together for protection from the wind; so, if they caught him, they could make him teach them.
The Monkey-People, watching in the trees, considered his play most wonderful. This time, they said, they were really going to have a leader and become the wisest people in the jungle—so wise that everyone else would notice and envy them.
Therefore they followed Baloo and Bagheera and Mowgli through the jungle very quietly till it was time for the midday nap, and Mowgli, who was very much ashamed of himself, slept between the Panther and the Bear, resolving to have no more to do with the Monkey People.
The next thing he remembered was feeling hands on his legs and arms—hard, strong, little hands—and then a swash of branches in his face, and then he was staring down through the swaying boughs as Baloo woke the jungle with his deep cries and Bagheera bounded up the trunk with every tooth bared.
Bagheera has noticed us. All the Jungle-People admire us for our skill and our cunning. They have their regular roads and crossroads, up hills and down hills, all laid out from fifty to seventy or a hundred feet above ground, and by these they can travel even at night if necessary.
Two of the strongest monkeys caught Mowgli under the arms and swung off with him through the treetops, twenty feet at a bound.
Sick and giddy as Mowgli was he could not help enjoying the wild rush, though the glimpses of earth far down below frightened him, and the terrible check and jerk at the end of the swing over nothing but empty air brought his heart between his teeth.
His escort would rush him up a tree till he felt the thinnest topmost branches crackle and bend under them, and then with a cough and a whoop would fling themselves into the air outward and downward, and bring up, hanging by their hands or their feet to the lower limbs of the next tree.
Sometimes he could see for miles and miles across the still green jungle, as a man on the top of a mast can see for miles across the sea, and then the branches and leaves would lash him across the face, and he and his two guards would be almost down to earth again.
So, bounding and crashing and whooping and yelling, the whole tribe of Bandar-log swept along the tree-roads with Mowgli their prisoner.
For a time he was afraid of being dropped. Then he grew angry but knew better than to struggle, and then he began to think.
The first thing was to send back word to Baloo and Bagheera, for, at the pace the monkeys were going, he knew his friends would be left far behind.
It was useless to look down, for he could only see the topsides of the branches, so he stared upward and saw, far away in the blue, Rann the Kite balancing and wheeling as he kept watch over the jungle waiting for things to die.
Rann saw that the monkeys were carrying something, and dropped a few hundred yards to find out whether their load was good to eat. Always pecking at new things are the Bandar-log.
This time, if I have any eye-sight, they have pecked down trouble for themselves, for Baloo is no fledgling and Bagheera can, as I know, kill more than goats.
Meantime, Baloo and Bagheera were furious with rage and grief. Bagheera climbed as he had never climbed before, but the thin branches broke beneath his weight, and he slipped down, his claws full of bark.
It would not tire a wounded cow. Teacher of the Law—cub-beater—a mile of that rolling to and fro would burst thee open. Sit still and think! Make a plan.
This is no time for chasing. They may drop him if we follow too close. They may have dropped him already, being tired of carrying him.
Who can trust the Bandar-log? Put dead bats on my head! Give me black bones to eat! Roll me into the hives of the wild bees that I may be stung to death, and bury me with the Hyaena, for I am most miserable of bears!
O Mowgli, Mowgli! Why did I not warn thee against the Monkey-Folk instead of breaking thy head? What would the jungle think if I, the Black Panther, curled myself up like Ikki the Porcupine, and howled?
He is wise and well taught, and above all he has the eyes that make the Jungle-People afraid. But and it is a great evil he is in the power of the Bandar-log, and they, because they live in trees, have no fear of any of our people.
He can climb as well as they can. He steals the young monkeys in the night. The whisper of his name makes their wicked tails cold.
Let us go to Kaa. He may be asleep now, and even were he awake what if he would rather kill his own goats? They found him stretched out on a warm ledge in the afternoon sun, admiring his beautiful new coat, for he had been in retirement for the last ten days changing his skin, and now he was very splendid—darting his big blunt-nosed head along the ground, and twisting the thirty feet of his body into fantastic knots and curves, and licking his lips as he thought of his dinner to come.
He is always a little blind after he has changed his skin, and very quick to strike. Kaa was not a poison snake—in fact he rather despised the poison snakes as cowards—but his strength lay in his hug, and when he had once lapped his huge coils round anybody there was no more to be said.
Like all snakes of his breed Kaa was rather deaf, and did not hear the call at first. Then he curled up ready for any accident, his head lowered.
Good hunting, Bagheera. One of us at least needs food. Is there any news of game afoot? A doe now, or even a young buck?
I am as empty as a dried well. He knew that you must not hurry Kaa. He is too big. The branches are not what they were when I was young. Rotten twigs and dry boughs are they all.
I came very near to falling on my last hunt—very near indeed—and the noise of my slipping, for my tail was not tight wrapped around the tree, waked the Bandar-log, and they called me most evil names.
Those nut-stealers and pickers of palm leaves have stolen away our man-cub of whom thou hast perhaps heard. Ikki is full of stories half heard and very badly told.
But a man-thing in their hands is in no good luck. They grow tired of the nuts they pick, and throw them down. They carry a branch half a day, meaning to do great things with it, and then they snap it in two.
That man-thing is not to be envied. We must help their wandering memories. Now, whither went they with the cub?
I take them when they come in my way, but I do not hunt the Bandar-log, or frogs—or green scum on a water-hole, for that matter.
Up, Up! Illo, look up, Baloo of the Seeonee Wolf Pack! Baloo looked up to see where the voice came from, and there was Rann the Kite, sweeping down with the sun shining on the upturned flanges of his wings.
He bade me tell you. I watched. The Bandar-log have taken him beyond the river to the monkey city—to the Cold Lairs.
They may stay there for a night, or ten nights, or an hour. I have told the bats to watch through the dark time.
That is my message. Good hunting, all you below! It is nothing. The boy held the Master Word. They all knew where that place was, but few of the Jungle People ever went there, because what they called the Cold Lairs was an old deserted city, lost and buried in the jungle, and beasts seldom use a place that men have once used.
The wild boar will, but the hunting tribes do not. Besides, the monkeys lived there as much as they could be said to live anywhere, and no self-respecting animal would come within eyeshot of it except in times of drought, when the half-ruined tanks and reservoirs held a little water.
Follow, Baloo. We must go on the quick-foot—Kaa and I. Baloo made one effort to hurry, but had to sit down panting, and so they left him to come on later, while Bagheera hurried forward, at the quick panther-canter.
Kaa said nothing, but, strive as Bagheera might, the huge Rock-python held level with him. When they came to a hill stream, Bagheera gained, because he bounded across while Kaa swam, his head and two feet of his neck clearing the water, but on level ground Kaa made up the distance.
They had brought the boy to the Lost City, and were very much pleased with themselves for the time. Mowgli had never seen an Indian city before, and though this was almost a heap of ruins it seemed very wonderful and splendid.
Some king had built it long ago on a little hill. You could still trace the stone causeways that led up to the ruined gates where the last splinters of wood hung to the worn, rusted hinges.
Trees had grown into and out of the walls; the battlements were tumbled down and decayed, and wild creepers hung out of the windows of the towers on the walls in bushy hanging clumps.
From the palace you could see the rows and rows of roofless houses that made up the city looking like empty honeycombs filled with blackness; the shapeless block of stone that had been an idol in the square where four roads met; the pits and dimples at street corners where the public wells once stood, and the shattered domes of temples with wild figs sprouting on their sides.
The monkeys called the place their city, and pretended to despise the Jungle-People because they lived in the forest.
And yet they never knew what the buildings were made for nor how to use them. They explored all the passages and dark tunnels in the palace and the hundreds of little dark rooms, but they never remembered what they had seen and what they had not; and so drifted about in ones and twos or crowds telling each other that they were doing as men did.
Mowgli, who had been trained under the Law of the Jungle, did not like or understand this kind of life. The monkeys dragged him into the Cold Lairs late in the afternoon, and instead of going to sleep, as Mowgli would have done after a long journey, they joined hands and danced about and sang their foolish songs.
Bring me food, or give me leave to hunt here. Twenty or thirty monkeys bounded away to bring him nuts and wild pawpaws.
But they fell to fighting on the road, and it was too much trouble to go back with what was left of the fruit. So if I am starved or killed here, it will be all my own fault.
But I must try to return to my own jungle. Baloo will surely beat me, but that is better than chasing silly rose leaves with the Bandar-log.
No sooner had he walked to the city wall than the monkeys pulled him back, telling him that he did not know how happy he was, and pinching him to make him grateful.
He set his teeth and said nothing, but went with the shouting monkeys to a terrace above the red sandstone reservoirs that were half-full of rain water.
There was a ruined summer-house of white marble in the center of the terrace, built for queens dead a hundred years ago. The domed roof had half fallen in and blocked up the underground passage from the palace by which the queens used to enter.
But the walls were made of screens of marble tracery—beautiful milk-white fretwork, set with agates and cornelians and jasper and lapis lazuli, and as the moon came up behind the hill it shone through the open work, casting shadows on the ground like black velvet embroidery.
Sore, sleepy, and hungry as he was, Mowgli could not help laughing when the Bandar-log began, twenty at a time, to tell him how great and wise and strong and gentle they were, and how foolish he was to wish to leave them.
We are free. We are wonderful. We are the most wonderful people in all the jungle! Certainly this is dewanee, the madness. Do they never go to sleep?
Now there is a cloud coming to cover that moon. If it were only a big enough cloud I might try to run away in the darkness.
But I am tired. That same cloud was being watched by two good friends in the ruined ditch below the city wall, for Bagheera and Kaa, knowing well how dangerous the Monkey-People were in large numbers, did not wish to run any risks.
The monkeys never fight unless they are a hundred to one, and few in the jungle care for those odds. When that cloud covers the moon I shall go to the terrace.
They hold some sort of council there over the boy. That happened to be the least ruined of any, and the big snake was delayed awhile before he could find a way up the stones.
The Black Panther had raced up the slope almost without a sound and was striking—he knew better than to waste time in biting—right and left among the monkeys, who were seated round Mowgli in circles fifty and sixty deep.
Kill him! A man-trained boy would have been badly bruised, for the fall was a good fifteen feet, but Mowgli fell as Baloo had taught him to fall, and landed on his feet.
He could hear rustling and hissing in the rubbish all round him and gave the Call a second time, to make sure.
Down hoods all! For the first time since he was born, Bagheera was fighting for his life. Roll to the water tanks. Roll and plunge!
Get to the water! Bagheera heard, and the cry that told him Mowgli was safe gave him new courage. He worked his way desperately, inch by inch, straight for the reservoirs, halting in silence.
Then from the ruined wall nearest the jungle rose up the rumbling war-shout of Baloo. The old Bear had done his best, but he could not come before.
I climb! I haste! The stones slip under my feet! Wait my coming, O most infamous Bandar-log! A crash and a splash told Mowgli that Bagheera had fought his way to the tank where the monkeys could not follow.
The Panther lay gasping for breath, his head just out of the water, while the monkeys stood three deep on the red steps, dancing up and down with rage, ready to spring upon him from all sides if he came out to help Baloo.
Even Baloo, half smothered under the monkeys on the edge of the terrace, could not help chuckling as he heard the Black Panther asking for help.
Kaa had only just worked his way over the west wall, landing with a wrench that dislodged a coping stone into the ditch. He had no intention of losing any advantage of the ground, and coiled and uncoiled himself once or twice, to be sure that every foot of his long body was in working order.
All that while the fight with Baloo went on, and the monkeys yelled in the tank round Bagheera, and Mang the Bat, flying to and fro, carried the news of the great battle over the jungle, till even Hathi the Wild Elephant trumpeted, and, far away, scattered bands of the Monkey-Folk woke and came leaping along the tree-roads to help their comrades in the Cold Lairs, and the noise of the fight roused all the day birds for miles round.
Then Kaa came straight, quickly, and anxious to kill. The fighting strength of a python is in the driving blow of his head backed by all the strength and weight of his body.
If you can imagine a lance, or a battering ram, or a hammer weighing nearly half a ton driven by a cool, quiet mind living in the handle of it, you can roughly imagine what Kaa was like when he fought.
A python four or five feet long can knock a man down if he hits him fairly in the chest, and Kaa was thirty feet long, as you know. His first stroke was delivered into the heart of the crowd round Baloo.
It was sent home with shut mouth in silence, and there was no need of a second. It is Kaa! Generations of monkeys had been scared into good behavior by the stories their elders told them of Kaa, the night thief, who could slip along the branches as quietly as moss grows, and steal away the strongest monkey that ever lived; of old Kaa, who could make himself look so like a dead branch or a rotten stump that the wisest were deceived, till the branch caught them.
Kaa was everything that the monkeys feared in the jungle, for none of them knew the limits of his power, none of them could look him in the face, and none had ever come alive out of his hug.
And so they ran, stammering with terror, to the walls and the roofs of the houses, and Baloo drew a deep breath of relief.
Then Kaa opened his mouth for the first time and spoke one long hissing word, and the far-away monkeys, hurrying to the defense of the Cold Lairs, stayed where they were, cowering, till the loaded branches bent and crackled under them.
The monkeys on the walls and the empty houses stopped their cries, and in the stillness that fell upon the city Mowgli heard Bagheera shaking his wet sides as he came up from the tank.
Then the clamor broke out again. The monkeys leaped higher up the walls. They clung around the necks of the big stone idols and shrieked as they skipped along the battlements, while Mowgli, dancing in the summerhouse, put his eye to the screenwork and hooted owl-fashion between his front teeth, to show his derision and contempt.
They may attack again. Stay you sssso! I am sore. Kaa, we owe thee, I think, our lives—Bagheera and I.
The curve of the broken dome was above his head. EPUB no images. Kindle with images. Kindle no images. Plain Text UTF Kipling, Rudyard,