by Ruskin Bond
‘We won’t let her go anywhere. It’s a cruel world where you come from—cruel to those who are different from the rest. You would only put her in a circus!’ cried Chotu. ‘We are the witch’s servants, but otherwise we are free. We have our fields, our houses, our own small stream. Come, let us show you around.’
Willingly they led the boys through their orchards, loading them with pears, plums and peaches.
‘No bananas?’ asked Popat mischievously.
‘Too cold here for bananas. They have to be brought up from the valley.’
‘I know, we came with them,’ said Rusty. ‘And we hope to leave without them.’
In the fields there were turnips and potatoes, beetroots and beans. The little people appeared to be self-sufficient in the matter of food. But in other ways their lives were primitive. No light, no radio, no means of communication. But you don’t miss what you’ve never possessed.
As they tramped through one of the fields, there was a distinct tremor and the ground shook beneath their feet. Birds flew out of the trees and all the hens ran around in confusion while dogs barked and sheep bleated. Up at the palace, hundreds of crows rose into the air like a dark cloud, obscuring the sun. But a few minutes later, everything was still and silent again.
‘The old mountain is restless these days,’ observed Lumboo. ‘It has been many years since we had a big earthquake. Perhaps it is due again. The goddess of the mountain is angry with all that has happened here.’
‘The goddess? We saw no temple.’
‘Long gone, but our devi needs no temple. She is everywhere—in the air, in the sun, in the rain and the wind.’
‘It does look a bit like an old volcano,’ said Rusty, looking up. ‘Well, we shall have a closer look at it tomorrow when we climb to the top.’
Rusty and Reema
The rani was waiting for them at the top of the hill. Popat tried to sneak away, but her left arm shot out and followed him as he ran. There appeared to be no limit to the extent to which it grew! The claws gripped Popat by the collar. Then the arm contracted, dragging him back to the spot where he had, at first, been standing.
‘Impolite to turn your back on me, young man. Don’t they teach you manners at your school? A little magic now and then will turn you into a better man.
‘I have a small task for you,’ she continued, addressing the three of them. ‘My powers don’t extend beyond this palace, this hillside. Here I am omnipotent; all must obey me. But the summit of the mountain belongs to the gods and only the pure of heart can go there and return in safety. Are the three of you pure of heart?’
‘I think so,’ said Pitamber.
‘I hope so,’ said Rusty.
‘As pure as the purest ghee,’ said Popat, saluting.
‘You’ll do, I think,’ said the rani. ‘Tomorrow, when you get to the top of this mountain, you will find a large rock and on top of it, resting in a hollow, a beautiful purple stone—the size of your head, little boy, but smoother and rounder and far more attractive. It is made of the purest jade—not the cheap stuff you find in every bazaar—a very rare jade, the Fei Tsui jade, that only the Chinese emperors were allowed to own. And what makes it so very special? Not only is it the rarest of rare stones, but it is also a musical stone.’
‘How’s that?’ asked Rusty. ‘Does it have a purpose?’
‘Must everything have a purpose? Must a star have a purpose? Must a pretty sparkler have a purpose other than to emit light? Must a beautiful stone have a purpose? The stone has a number of little depressions running through it, and when the wind passes through those tiny passages it creates the most wonderful music—the music of the heavens!’
‘The stone of heaven!’ said Rusty. ‘I think that’s what the Ming emperors called it. I remember reading about it in a book. But how did it get here?’
‘There came a traveller from an ancient land . . . a long, long time ago. Yes, and you will bring it down for me. It may be a little heavy but your strong friend here’—indicating Pitamber—‘will carry it with ease. And you will be suitably rewarded for your trouble.’
‘You won’t turn us into crows?’ asked Popat, who felt he’d been subjected to more than his fair share of magic.
‘No. What do you want most in the world?’
‘A guitar,’ said Popat.
‘And you, strong man?’
‘A set of weights.’
‘You will be a champion weightlifter. And you, bright boy with the blue eyes?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Rusty. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Don’t think too much. Thinking is dangerous.’ And with a flap of her black cloak she left them and disappeared into the palace.
*
The boys were tired after their little excursion and went to their room to rest and talk over the situation. Rusty and Pitamber were ready to climb the mountain and bring back the wonderful stone. Popat wanted to get away as soon as possible; he didn’t believe in the promise of a guitar. The old rani didn’t seem the sort to keep her word.
Towards evening, feeling restless, Rusty slipped away on his own and wandered through the gardens until he came to a small pavilion perched on the edge of the cliff. Standing there, he watched the sun go down in all its crimson splendour, leaving a blood-red wound across the riven sky. The crows and other birds had settled down for the night. A deep silence fell upon the mountain. The evening star looked down upon an ageing planet.
The air was suddenly filled with the scent of roses, and standing beside Rusty, almost as though she had come from nowhere, was Princess Reema. A white rose glimmered in her long, black tresses. There was starlight in her eyes, the nectar of passion flowers on her lips. Rusty had never seen anyone so beautiful. He couldn’t be sure if she was real.
‘Don’t you feel lonely here?’ he asked her. ‘Have you no companions apart from the old rani?’
‘I have never known company so I do not miss it.’ She touched him gently on the cheek. ‘You can stay here if you like. You could be my companion . . .’
‘I could not stay here for long, cut off from the rest of the world. I want to be a writer, I want to travel, I want to be famous!’
‘Then this place is not for you. There is no fame to be found here. Only endless mountains and the empty sky. It is a place for wild creatures—leopards and wild lilies.’
‘And what of happiness? Is that to be found here?’
‘What is happiness? Tell me.’
‘It is like being in love.’
‘And what is love?’
He took her hand and kissed it—kissed the soft palm of her hand and then her fingers, one by one.
She laughed with delight. ‘Even if it isn’t love, it makes me happy.’
‘Come with us, then. Leave this place and come with us. I will do my best to make you happy.’ He kissed her gently on the lips. She returned the kiss—not passionately, but with the innocence of a child kissing a loving friend.
‘I cannot come with you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps some other time. But I will give you something of mine and in keeping it, you will have me beside you.’
She took a small mirror from the folds of her dress and gave it to Rusty.
‘Look into it,’ she said.
He looked into the little hand mirror and saw his own reflection.
‘What do you see?’ she asked.
‘My own stupid face.’
‘Look again,’ she said.
Rusty looked again. This time he saw her face in the mirror.
‘Keep it safely,’ she said. ‘And then I will be safe.’ She took his hand and kissed it in the way he had kissed hers. ‘I must go now. We will meet again tomorrow.’
She glided away, as lithe and graceful as a cat.
‘Princess!’ called Rusty. ‘Princess Reema—wait.’
But she had vanished into the darkness and only the starlight remained.
A Musical Stone
At first light, a cock crowed somewhere, pr
obably down in the dwarves’ colony. A pair of pigeons, who had made a nest in the skylight, welcomed the dawn with some mellow exchanges. Then the crows woke up, demanding breakfast, and their clamour drowned out all other sounds.
The boys were up and away before the sun was up. They did not want to see the rani first thing in the morning; it would have spoiled the day for them. So they stuffed some fruit and boiled potatoes into their backpacks and set out for the summit of the mountain.
It was a steep, winding path, and as they went higher, the air grew thinner and they found themselves gasping for air. After an hour of climbing they sat down on a grassy slope to rest. They were hungry too.
‘Mostly bananas,’ said Pitamber, emptying his bag.
‘I’ll settle for a banana,’ said Rusty. ‘I could even eat a crow.’
‘I’ll stick to potatoes,’ said Popat. ‘They are good with a little salt.’
‘Let’s play a game,’ said Rusty. ‘What’s your favourite food?’
‘Hot jalebis,’ said Popat. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Hot pakoras,’ said Rusty.
‘Not bad. What about Pitamber?’
‘Hot chapatis with lots of butter.’
‘Wah, wah,’ said Rusty. ‘Ten out of ten! Now think of all these favourite foods while I enjoy my banana!’
Rusty finished a banana. It is full of potassium, he told himself. Monkeys eat them all the time.
‘So—what did it taste like?’ asked Popat.
‘Just like fish and chips,’ said Rusty. ‘How’s your potato?’
‘Just like rasmalai.’
‘And my banana tastes like a banana,’ said Pitamber, who was the least imaginative of the three. ‘Let’s get on with the climb.’
They were soon among the clouds, and it began to drizzle. Then Rusty felt a snowflake on his cheek. Another on the tip of his nose. Light snow drifted on to Popat’s tousled hair. Pitamber brushed some off his shoulders.
‘Where’s this coming from?’ he asked.
‘It’s snowing,’ said Rusty, who had experienced snowfall in Simla. Dehra wasn’t cold enough for snow. But at this altitude it could snow, even in the summer.
‘Snow!’ exclaimed Popat. ‘I always wanted to see snow!’
‘Your wish is granted,’ said Rusty.
And the clouds and the magic mountain obliged. It came down quite heavily and soon the hillside was covered with a mantle of white. They were above the treeline now, but small bushes and stunted juniper trees stood out like ghostly sentinels.
‘Don’t stop now,’ said Rusty, ‘or we might never reach the summit.’
They struggled on manfully, their feet crunching on the fresh snow. Popat made a snowball, flung it at Rusty, missed, and caught Pitamber on the nose. In return, he received a volley on his behind that sent him sprawling.
‘Snow fights later,’ said Rusty. ‘Let’s get to the top first.’
One final effort more and they were there.
It’s an exhilarating feeling to get to the top of a mountain after a strenuous climb. You’re on top of the world, almost literally, and the valleys and mountain ranges are spread out before you, and for a short while you are the master of it all. The earth, as far as the horizon, belongs to you.
‘Look!’ exclaimed Popat. ‘A playing field!’
It was actually a flat, round stretch of open grassland, oval-shaped, rather like a cricket field. They could see fresh grass under the snow.
‘It’s a crater,’ said Rusty. ‘But over the years it must have filled up with earth and rocks. Deep down inside it must be boiling.’
‘Will it erupt?’ asked Popat.
‘Well, yesterday you felt a tremor.’
‘And now it’s rumbling,’ said Pitamber.
There was indeed a rumbling sound, emanating from the depths of the mountain. It was like the sound of approaching thunder. A pair of foxes sprang out from a bush and fled the scene. ‘Maybe the snow will keep it cool!’ said Popat hopefully. He stepped on to the grassy oval; it was soft and springy. And it had stopped snowing. The cloud moved on, and the sun came out.
‘There’s a big rock out in the middle,’ said Popat, running towards it. ‘And there’s a round stone resting upon it. I can hear music!’
In spite of the continuous rumbling from the mountain, the sound of strange music came to them across the flat stretch of land. It was like the sound of many violins but muted by the wind whistling. A plaintive melody, part oriental, part occidental. As the wind ran through the little grottoes in the stone, the music rose and fell in tune with the elements. And from the apertures in the stone, tiny clouds issued forth, floating away into the sky.
It was truly a beautiful stone—lovely to behold, lovely to listen to, lovely to touch. A wonderful stone from heaven—but where was it destined to go?
Before the boys could cross the open space between them and the stone, a figure appeared from behind the rock, picked up the stone and held it high above his head, as though in supplication to the gods.
‘It’s Black Hat!’ cried Popat, stepping backwards in surprise and alarm.
He was the last person they had expected to see. But he had come for the Fei Tsui stone, either of his own volition or on behalf of someone else.
‘What do you want with the stone?’ called Rusty.
Black Hat held it aloft. ‘There is only one of its kind and I intend to have it! I’ve always wanted it. That’s why I followed you here. It will fetch a fortune in Hong Kong.’
Pitamber stepped forward, as though he would tackle Black Hat, but Rusty pulled him back. The ground beneath them was shaking violently.
Suddenly the centre of the crater gave way. Yellowish vapours rose from the surface as it melted and disappeared into the void, taking with it the rock, Black Hat and the musical stone.
Black Hat cried out in fear and the stone cried out in anguish. It was as though a hundred violins cried out together.
The open crater yawned before them and Black Hat went screaming into the boiling cauldron.
Gone With the Moonlight
‘I want to go home,’ said Popat, on the verge of tears.
‘A good idea,’ said Rusty. ‘Don’t worry, Popat. We’ll see you get home.’
They were standing close to the edge of the open crater. It looked as though it would erupt at any moment. The earth around them was still trembling.
The boys began their descent down the mountain. There was nothing they could do about Black Hat or the stone. Their thoughts, their actions were directed towards getting down to the palace in safety and then setting out on the trail for home and loved ones.
Popat was limping. He had twisted his ankle while retreating from the edge of the crater. Pitamber picked him up and carried him on his shoulder. But now the path was strewn with rocks and fallen debris and they found the going difficult. The tremors had subsided but the mountain had been given such a shaking that landslides were occurring at a number of places, trees were crashing down, and cracks and fissures had opened up on the hillside. Also, the animals were on the move.
Driven from their lairs and burrows by the shock of the earthquake, they emerged into the open, confused and panic-stricken. A spotted deer made a wild dash across the path. No beast of prey pursued it. Smaller creatures ran about aimlessly. Jackals ran downhill, a bear ran uphill. Rabbits scurried all over the place. A large green snake emerged from under a rock and slithered across the path. Rusty jumped over it.
After some time Pitamber had to put Popat down.
‘My turn to carry you,’ said Rusty.
‘No, I’ll hop along with a little help,’ said Popat. The two bigger boys supported him and they made some progress. But then the path disappeared. An avalanche had swept it away. They had to retrace their steps and look for an alternative route above the point where the landslide had begun.
‘You have to go up before you can come down,’ said Popat philosophically. ‘Is that physics or mathematics?’
‘It’s life,’ said Rusty. ‘Happens to the best of us. Kings, queens, dictators, air balloons. Up, up, up and then down, down, down.’
‘Law of gravity,’ said Popat.
The moonlight made a path for them and they descended with greater confidence. Far below, a light shone like a beacon.
‘The princess and her lamp,’ said Rusty.
‘She likes you,’ said Popat mischievously. ‘Why don’t you marry her, Rusty? Then you’ll become a prince!’
‘Real princes are self-made,’ said Pitamber, who had become the prince of the wrestling arena only after many hard-fought bouts.
It was after midnight when they reached the palace—or what remained of it. Old walls had given way; roofs had fallen in; doors and windows lay shattered. The old rani and her crows were missing. Bright moonlight softened nature’s fury, covering everything with a silver sheen. ‘We think we can do as we like with nature,’ thought Rusty, ‘but nature always has the last laugh.’
Princess Reema was waiting for them. Her intimate knowledge of corridors and passageways had enabled her to find shelter from the crumbling walls.
‘We must leave,’ said Rusty. ‘Will you come with us, Reema?’ he asked tenderly.
‘Only for a little way,’ she said. ‘I will take you to safety. Then I must return.’
Because of Popat’s injured foot they could not move very fast. The regular path that led down from the palace had disappeared in a landslide, but instead of leading the boys into the open, Reema took them down a narrow passage which ended in what appeared to be a dead end—a blank wall without doors or windows. But set into the floor was a trapdoor.
‘It hasn’t been opened for years,’ she said. ‘It will need some strength.’
Pitamber stepped forward, took hold of a rusted handle and pulled up the lid. Steps ran down into the depths of this underground tunnel.
‘This is a secret tunnel into the old silver mines,’ said Reema. ‘But it will take you out on to the other side of the mountain.’
‘If it hasn’t already collapsed,’ said Rusty. ‘But let’s give it a try.’
