Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream Story
    The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream Story
    The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream Story
    Ebook79 pages1 hour

    The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream Story

    By H. Rider Haggard

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    H. Rider Haggard was an English author known for adventure novels set in exotic locations.  Haggard is considered to be one of the first writers of the Lost World genre.  Haggard's novel She: A History of Adventure is a first-person narrative of 2 men in a lost kingdom.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKrill Press
    Release dateDec 24, 2015
    ISBN9781518346859
    The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream Story
    Author

    H. Rider Haggard

    H. Rider Haggard (1856–1925) was an English adventure novelist. Haggard studied law, but rather than pursuing a legal career took a secretarial position in what is now South Africa. His time there provided the inspiration for some of his most popular novels, including She (1887), an early classic of the lost world fantasy genre and one of the bestselling books of all time.

    Read more from H. Rider Haggard

    Related to The Mahatma and the Hare

    Related ebooks

    Action & Adventure Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Two Poems by Phillip B. Williams

      Dec 15, 2017

      The masters are yet dead. Wanting to be human,I tried to rewrite The Waste Land. The canon’s reachcasts ruinous light. The masters’ pens breachthis page where, above, my own hand spectates. Babylonrisen, exorcism in reverse, whose nature upended now?

      6 min read

    • Article

      Nick Laird

      Dec 15, 2017

      I was trying to write like an adult.I had children.I was at the end of something. As I waited at my table by the window for the coffee,I saw that the sirocco had depositeda scrim of dust on the sill overnight,and it was the dark red of powdered blood

      3 min read

    • Article

      Collins Ferry Landing

      Jul 1, 2020

      for my father Only rivers bottom out like this.Only rivers bottom out with this kind of conviction.Not humans, or, at least, not humans asindisputably human as you were,trapped in consciousness’s surplus, exilic,animalized absurdity, writhing in its

      5 min read

    • Article

      The Inventions of Witches

      Oct 30, 2017

      The Inventions of Witches
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Hidden Origins of Mankind

      Nov 12, 2019

      The Hidden Origins of Mankind
      8 min read

    • Article

      Insurgent Hoop

      Sep 2, 2022

      Insurgent Hoop
      12 min read

    • Article

      Hate the Sin, Not the Book

      Sep 6, 2020

      Hate the Sin, Not the Book
      4 min read

    • Article

      On Writing Poems Facing Into The Broken World

      Mar 1, 2020

      Kaveh Akbar and Jane Hirshfield have been in a running e-mail conversation since January 2016, when Akbar first contacted Hirshfield about doing an interview in his Divedapper series, before his first, widely acclaimed book, Calling a Wolf a Wolf (Al

      16 min read

    • Article

      Shelf Life

      Sep 2, 2021

      Shelf Life
      4 min read

    • Article

      A Year in Reading: Dustin Kurtz

      Dec 23, 2019

      Chalk it up in the How Books Are Bad column, I guess: They shore you up as a reading subject instead of letting you blur out. What a misdeed. The post A Year in Reading: Dustin Kurtz appeared first on The Millions.

      8 min read

    • Article

      A Year in Reading: Nick Moran

      Dec 8, 2019

      All of us are viewing but one face of the cultural sphere. The one I see will always be different from yours, but damned if I won't try to show it to you. The post A Year in Reading: Nick Moran appeared first on The Millions.

      8 min read

    • Article

      John Fram

      Jun 10, 2020

      John Fram
      7 min read

    • Article

      Read a (Love) Letter From Herman Melville to Nathaniel Hawthorne

      Mar 16, 2017

      167 years ago today, Ticknor, Reed & Fields published The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s classic novel of repentance and slut-shaming. But actually, this isn’t about The Scarlet Letter—it’s about one of the most fascinating friendships in lite

      5 min read

    • Article

      Eating Oatmeal with Alasdair Gray

      Jan 1, 2020

      Alasdair Gray as a young man. Photo provided by the author in 2016.  The Scottish writer Alasdair Gray died on December 29th, at the age of eighty-five, four years after a fall from the outside steps of his house left him with a spinal injury that co

      5 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Mahatma and the Hare

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      The Mahatma and the Hare - H. Rider Haggard

      THE MAHATMA AND THE HARE: A DREAM STORY

      ..................

      H. Rider Haggard

      PHANTASMO PRESS

      Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.

      This book is a work of fiction; its contents are wholly imagined.

      All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

      Copyright © 2015 by H. Rider Haggard

      Interior design by Pronoun

      Distribution by Pronoun

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      THE MAHATMA*

      The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream Story

      By

      H. Rider Haggard

      The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream Story

      Published by Phantasmo Press

      New York City, NY

      First published circa 1925

      Copyright © Phantasmo Press, 2015

      All rights reserved

      Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

      About Phantasmo Press

      People have always fantasized about far away lands, and some of the best books ever written brought new worlds to life, from Narnia to Middle Earth. Phantasmo Press has collected all of the best fantasy stories and novels ever written and has digitally reproduced them for readers who want to revisit them or experience them for the first time.

      THE MAHATMA*

      ..................

      .     Thibet.—     preter-natural powers, imagined to exist in India and     [*] Mahatma, great-souled. One of a class of persons with

      EVERYONE HAS SEEN A HARE, either crouched or running in the fields, or hanging dead in a poulterer’s shop, or lastly pathetic, even dreadful-looking and in this form almost indistinguishable from a skinned cat, on the domestic table. But not many people have met a Mahatma, at least to their knowledge. Not many people know even who or what a Mahatma is. The majority of those who chance to have heard the title are apt to confuse it with another, that of Mad Hatter.

      This is even done of malice prepense (especially, for obvious reasons, if a hare is in any way concerned) in scorn, not in ignorance, by persons who are well acquainted with the real meaning of the word and even with its Sanscrit origin. The truth is that an incredulous Western world puts no faith in Mahatmas. To it a Mahatma is a kind of spiritual Mrs. Harris, giving an address in Thibet at which no letters are delivered. Either, it says, there is no such person, or he is a fraudulent scamp with no greater occult powers—well, than a hare.

      I confess that this view of Mahatmas is one that does not surprise me in the least. I never met, and I scarcely expect to meet, an individual entitled to set Mahatma after his name. Certainly I have no right to do so, who only took that title on the spur of the moment when the Hare asked me how I was called, and now make use of it as a nom-de-plume. It is true there is Jorsen, by whose order, for it amounts to that, I publish this history. For aught I know Jorsen may be a Mahatma, but he does not in the least look the part.

      Imagine a bluff person with a strong, hard face, piercing grey eyes, and very prominent, bushy eyebrows, of about fifty or sixty years of age. Add a Scotch accent and a meerschaum pipe, which he smokes even when he is wearing a frock coat and a tall hat, and you have Jorsen. I believe that he lives somewhere in the country, is well off, and practises gardening. If so he has never asked me to his place, and I only meet him when he comes to Town, as I understand, to visit flower-shows.

      Then I always meet him because he orders me to do so, not by letter or by word of mouth but in quite a different way. Suddenly I receive an impression in my mind that I am to go to a certain place at a certain hour, and that there I shall find Jorsen. I do go, sometimes to an hotel, sometimes to a lodging, sometimes to a railway station or to the corner of a particular street and there I do find Jorsen smoking his big meerschaum pipe. We shake hands and he explains why he has sent for me, after which we talk of various things. Never mind what they are, for that would be telling Jorsen’s secrets as well as my own, which I must not do.

      It may be asked how I came to know Jorsen. Well, in a strange way. Nearly thirty years ago a dreadful thing happened to me. I was married and, although still young, a person of some mark in literature. Indeed even now one or two of the books which I wrote are read and remembered, although it is supposed that their author has long left the world.

      The thing which happened was that my wife and our daughter were coming over from the Channel Islands, where they had been on a visit (she was a Jersey woman), and, and—well, the ship was lost, that’s all. The shock broke my heart, in such a way that it has never been mended again, but unfortunately did not kill me.

      Afterwards I took to drink and sank, as drunkards do. Then the river began to draw me. I had a lodging in a poor street at Chelsea, and I could hear the river calling me at night, and—I wished to die as the others had died. At last I yielded, for the drink had rotted out all my moral sense. About one o’clock of a wild, winter morning I went to a bridge I knew where in those days policemen rarely came, and listened to that call of the water.

      Come! it seemed to say. This world is the real hell, ending in the eternal naught. The dreams of a life beyond and of re-union there are but a demon’s mocking breathed into the mortal heart, lest by its universal suicide mankind should rob him of his torture-pit. There is no truth in all your father taught you (he was a clergyman and rather eminent in his profession), "there is no hope for man, there is nothing

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1