The Poetry Foundation

Gunga Din

2015-06-02 · 00:00 UTC ·2 min read

Brief

This is Kipling's most famous poem about British colonial military service in India, written in soldier's dialect and structured as a tribute to an Indian water-carrier (bhisti) who served with British forces. The poem presents a complex colonial perspective - the narrator and his fellow soldiers routinely abuse and demean Gunga Din with racial slurs and physical violence, yet the poem ultimately celebrates Din's courage and moral superiority. The central narrative describes how Din saved the narrator's life during combat, providing water when he was wounded and dying while helping evacuate him to safety. The poem's famous concluding lines acknowledge Din's moral superiority despite the systemic racism of the colonial military structure. While celebrated for its recognition of individual heroism across racial lines, the poem has been criticized for its colonial perspective and the way it frames respect for the colonized subject as exceptional rather than questioning the underlying system of oppression.

Why it matters

Rudyard Kipling's famous 1890 poem about a British soldier's tribute to an Indian water-carrier during colonial military service:

Key details

  • [narrative] Told from perspective of British soldier who mistreated but ultimately respected Gunga Din
  • [heroism] Din saves the narrator's life by providing water and medical aid under enemy fire
  • [sacrifice] Din dies while evacuating the wounded narrator to safety
  • [recognition] Concludes with famous line acknowledging Din as 'a better man than I am'
Cleaned source text

title: Gunga Din

content_type: article

publication: The Poetry Foundation

published: 2015-06-02T00:00:00

source_url: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46783/gunga-din

word_count: 558

Gunga Din

You may talk o’ gin and beer

When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,

An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;

But when 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 blackfaced crew

The finest man I knew

Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,

He was ‘Din! Din! Din!

‘You limpin’ 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 piece o’ twisty 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 hear the front-ranks shout,

‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’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’ he plugged me where I bled,

An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.

It was crawlin’ and 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