I am Kim . I am Kim . And what is Kim ? ' His soul repeated it again and again . He did not want to cry -- had never felt less like crying in his life -- but of a sudden easy , stupid tears trickled down his nose , and with an almost audible click he felt the wheels of his being lock up anew on the world without . Things that rode meaningless on the eyeball an instant before slid into proper proportion . Roads were meant to be walked upon , houses to be lived in , cattle to be driven , fields to be tilled , and men and women to be talked to . They were all real and true -- solidly planted upon the feet -- perfectly comprehensible -- clay of his clay , neither more nor less . He shook himself like a dog with a flea in his ear , and rambled out of the gate . Said the Sahiba , to whom watchful eyes reported this move : ` Let him go . I have done my share . Mother Earth must do the rest . When the Holy One comes back from meditation , tell him . ' There stood an empty bullock-cart on a little knoll half a mile away , with a young banyan tree behind -- a look-out , as it were , above some new-ploughed levels ; and his eyelids , bathed in soft air , grew heavy as he neared it . The ground was good clean dust -- no new herbage that , living , is half-way to death already , but the hopeful dust that holds the seeds of all life . He felt it between his toes , patted it with his palms , and joint by joint , sighing luxuriously , laid him down full length along in the shadow of the wooden-pinned cart . And Mother Earth was as faithful as the Sahiba . She breathed through him to restore the poise he had lost lying so long on a cot cut off from her good currents . His head lay powerless upon her breast , and his opened hands surrendered to her strength . The many-rooted tree above him , and even the dead manhandled wood beside , knew what he sought , as he himself did not know .
Hour upon hour he XXXXX deeper than sleep .
am bathed comes go lay meant rambled slid talked walked