Rusty and the Magic Mountain

by Ruskin Bond

  ‘You go first,’ said Popat.

  But Reema went first, lighting her lamp again, for no moonlight penetrated the dark vault. She took the limping Popat by the hand and this seemed to calm him.

  Presently the passage opened out and in the lamplight the boys were amazed to see that the walls on either side were made of silver. They were stunned into silence. For five, ten minutes they trudged through a tunnel of silver.

  More than once they stumbled over skeletons lying in the dust—silver dust that lay thick on the ground.

  ‘No one has been here for a hundred years,’ said Reema. ‘These men died because they were imprisoned down here.’

  ‘And how old are you?’ asked Popat. ‘You don’t look a hundred!’

  Reema smiled but said nothing.

  ‘Will you open these mines again?’ asked Rusty.

  ‘They are closed forever. After you leave, they will not be seen again.’

  The passage narrowed and then they emerged on to the moonlit hillside. They looked up at the magic mountain. Ribbons of crimson lava slipped over the ruin of the crater and moved slowly down the mountain slope.

  ‘Go to the village of the dwarves,’ she said. ‘They will put you on the road to the river.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming with us?’ asked Popat.

  ‘Come with us,’ insisted Rusty. ‘We will keep you like a princess!’

  ‘Yes, come!’ said Pitamber.

  But she smiled and backed away.

  Rusty followed her to the opening in the hillside.

  ‘Dawn is breaking,’ said Reema. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Forget that crazy old rani and come with us.’

  Rusty stepped forward and took Reema in his arms. She did not resist. The least she could do was to give him a last token of affection. She gave him a long, lingering kiss and ruffled his hair. He would not let her go. Then she looked over his shoulder and sighed.

  ‘The sky grows lighter. The sun will soon be up.’

  ‘Forget the sun and come with us.’

  ‘Look!’ she exclaimed and pointed towards the east.

  Rusty turned his head to look at the rosy glow in the early morning sky. When he turned to look at her again she had changed.

  As the first ray of sunlight fell across her face, she cried out. But it was not her voice; it was the voice of the old rani! The girl’s face had aged in seconds. The skin had coarsened, become almost reptilian. Her eyes were now yellow; her hair had changed from black to white and straggled untidily about her shoulders. Her nose protruded like the beak of a crow. Talons grew from her twisted hands. She clawed at Rusty, dragging him towards her.

  ‘I can’t help it!’ she cried out. ‘It’s the curse of Time! We thought we had cheated Time with our spells and potions. You can stay young for ever, she promised, but only after sunset. By day you’ll grow old and ugly like me.’

  ‘No,’ protested Rusty. ‘You can’t be two people! Not at the same time.’

  ‘We are all two people—all the time.’

  ‘Where’s Reema?’

  ‘Gone—gone with the moonlight! Gone with the stars!’

  As he wrenched himself from her embrace, she gave a desperate cry, lunged after him, but lost her footing and fell to the ground.

  Rusty did not linger there even for a minute. Horrified, he fled from the strange, enchanted place, ran downhill, followed by his friends, stumbling and afraid.

  When they had gone some way downhill, they stopped and looked back at the palace, now ringed by a belt of molten silver. There was no sign of the old rani, but he thought he heard her cry out, ‘My stone, my stone! You did not bring my musical stone!’

  People in a Dream

  Once they had left the restless trembling mountain behind, everything went quite smoothly for the boys. Some of the dwarf people saw them across the river. They had to cross it by means of a swaying rope bridge, which looked rather precarious.

  ‘You go first,’ said Popat, offering Pitamber the privilege of taking the risk.

  ‘The lightest go first,’ said Rusty.

  But Pitamber did not hesitate. The bridge held firm and he was across it in a few bounds.

  The little people left them there and returned to their homes, which had escaped the worst of the earthquake. Small timbered houses survive shocks better than tall brick buildings. And in any case, they had nowhere else to go.

  The boys trekked down the valley for seven or eight miles before coming to an army outpost, where they were given food and shelter. The officer in charge of the outpost then put them on a jeep and sent them to Ambala, a road journey of six to seven hours. They spent the night in an army barrack, recounting their experience to all who would listen and believe them. But the quake had been felt all across the range; Witch Mountain had been rumbling for many years.

  The commanding officer took one look at Pitamber and suggested he join the force and Pitamber said he’d think about it after he got home.

  ‘What about me?’ asked Popat. ‘Don’t you want me in the army?’

  The colonel looked him up and down. ‘Can you cook?’ he asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Popat. ‘But I can make up a good menu.’

  ‘I’m afraid our menus don’t offer much scope for creativity,’ said the colonel good-humouredly. ‘But good luck in the restaurant business. And what about you, young man?’ he asked, turning to Rusty.

  ‘I’m going to be a writer,’ said Rusty.

  ‘No time for writing, once you’re in the army. You’ll have to wait until you retire. And then you can write your memoirs. All successful generals write their memoirs.’

  ‘And the unsuccessful ones?’

  ‘We don’t have unsuccessful generals. Now be off to the jawans’ canteen and try our menu. And I hope you have strong teeth.’

  The next day they were put in a train for Dehradun, the colonel having paid for their fares home. Nothing very untoward happened on the journey, except at a little station called Rohana, where the train stopped for a few minutes. One of the carriage windows was open. In flew a crow and perched on one of the seats.

  ‘It’s probably hungry,’ said Rusty. ‘Give it something to eat.’

  ‘Look!’ exclaimed Popat. ‘It’s wearing a funny hat! And it has only one good eye!’

  True enough, the glossy black jungle crow appeared to be wearing a small round bowler hat.

  ‘It’s Black Hat!’ shouted Pitamber, and made a grab for the bird.

  But the crow was too quick for him. It hopped on to the windowsill, opened its wings and went flapping away across the railway platform. The train started, the station was left behind, and the mad rani, Princess Reema, Black Hat and the others, all seemed to diminish and fade away, as people in a dream—a dream shared by Rusty and his friends.

  *

  A week later, Popat was absorbed in his school books, preparing for an exam.

  ‘Do we come into this world simply to take exams all the time?’ he asked querulously.

  ‘Well, you can join the army like Pitamber,’ replied Rusty.

  ‘They have exams too.’

  ‘Not all the time. Sometimes there’s a war and then there isn’t time for exams!’

  Pitamber had gone to the nearest recruiting centre and joined one of the mountain regiments. One day he would be an army wrestling champion, if not a general.

  And Rusty wandered about here and there, unable to make up his mind regarding what to do with himself now that his schooldays were over.

  One day, when he was clearing out his backpack, a little mirror fell out.

  It was the mirror Princess Reema had given him.

  He sat down at his desk and looked into the mirror. Nothing there.

  ‘Don’t look by day,’ he reminded himself.

  That evening he picked it up again and looked into it. He thought he saw someone in it—a figure walking into the distance, walking away from him. He waited for some time, hoping the person would turn around so that h
e could see her face.

  But she did not show her face. Instead, he caught a brief glimpse of a leopard loping away into the forest.

  And perhaps it was just as well that he did not see anyone. For they were as people in a dream, changing from one moment to the next.

  Rusty pulled a battered old typewriter towards him, slipped in a blank sheet of typing paper and began writing this story.

  He did not get very far with it. There was a tap on the window and Popat poked his head in.

  ‘What are you doing, Rusty?’

  ‘Trying to describe you. Put you into words.’

  ‘Why bother, when I’m here right next to you. Stop dreaming about that mountain and your violet-eyed princess—I know of something better to do.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘In half an hour the chaat shop opens. Are you coming with me?’

  ‘I haven’t any money.’

  ‘I’ve got some. We are friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes, Popat. Friends forever.’

  They mounted the same bicycle, Rusty pedalling, and rode off towards the Clock Tower and the chaat shop and a different kind of adventure.

  *

  Sometimes Rusty couldn’t be certain if their adventure had been real or just a crazy dream. But whenever he examined his armpit in the mirror, he saw the scar where the strange black cat had drawn blood from his flesh—and the scar was shaped like the tongue of a cat.

  Some Things to Think About

  Have you ever had a short story by Ruskin Bond in your school curriculum? If yes, what do you think are the common elements in Ruskin Bond’s works? Do you feel as if there are certain recurring tropes in all his works? For example, The Himalayas.

  Ruskin Bond wrote his first novel The Room on the Roof at the age of seventeen! It was partly based on his real-life experiences as an Anglo-Indian. Do you have any real-life experiences that you would like to put to words, like young Ruskin did?

  Literary Criticism has often pointed out similarities between Ruskin Bond’s works and the works by Romantic poets such as Wordsworth and Coleridge. Try researching the Romantic Movement. What common tropes do you find? For example, a supernatural element, a love for nature, and so on.

  Ruskin Bond acted in a movie that was based on one of his stories. Can you guess which movie this is? Hint: It has Priyanka Chopra!

  Ruskin Bond started writing about children in his forties. Why do you think that is? Who would have a greater insight into childhood—a child or a grown-up who’s had time to reflect on his childhood?

  Indian writing in English has a relatively recent history, starting only one and a half centuries back. English as a language was brought into India via our colonial experience with the British. In its earlier stages, Indian writing in English fell back upon literary traditions of England and the form of the Western Novel. However, it has now developed a style unique to the Indian subcontinent. Ruskin Bond is one of the early proponents of this form of writing. Have you heard of any other Indian writers who write in English? How is their writing different from a writer who is based in, say, the USA?

  Ruskin Bond received the Sahitya Akademi Award for a collection of short stories in 1992. Find out which one it is and try reading it.

  The Room on The Roof, The Flight of Pigeons, The Blue Umbrella and various other short stories by Ruskin Bond have been adapted into movies and TV series. The Rusty series has been converted into the Ek Tha Rusty series that aired on Doordarshan. Have you ever watched it? If yes, what do you prefer—the books or the TV series?

  Have you ever wanted to meet Ruskin Bond? He meets children every week in Mussoorie’s famous Cambridge Book Stall. Now you know what to put in your bucket list for your next trip to Mussoorie!

  Read more in Puffin by Ruskin Bond

  The Room on the Roof

  The very best of Ruskin!

  Rusty, a sixteen-year-old Angle-Indian boy, is orphaned, and has to live with his English guardian in the claustrophobic European part of Dehra Dun. Unhappy with the strict ways of his guardian, Rusty runs away from home to live with his Indian friends. Plunging for the first time into the dream-bright world of the bazaar, Hindu festivals and other aspects of Indian life, Rusty is enchanted . . . and is lost forever to the prim proprieties of the European community.

  Written when the author was himself seventeen, this timeless story of love and friendship, with a new introduction and illustrations, will be enjoyed by a whole new generation of readers.

  Read more in Puffin by Ruskin Bond

  Rusty the Boy from the Hills

  Charming tales of Rusty’s growing-up years from India’s best-loved children’s writer

  Quiet, imaginative and sensitive, Rusty may not be the most adventurous boy around. Nevertheless, he finds himself in the most extraordinary situations!

  Rusty has to deal with everything from his grandfather’s pet python to the ever-inventive Uncle Ken. Visiting his father in wartime Java, Rusty now narrowly escapes enemy bombardment, and survives a plane crash in the Arabian Sea. Back in India, he encounters a ghost in the garden and recreates his grandmother’s youthful days from an old photograph. Then, something totally unexpected happens and Rusty is forced to leave Dehra, his future uncertain…

  Read more in Puffin by Ruskin Bond

  Rusty Runs Away

  A fantastic collection of Rusty’s teenage escapades!

  Rusty’s world is turned topsy-turvy when his father and grandmother pass away in quick succession. The twelve-year-old is sent away to boarding school by his guardian, Mr Harrison. Restlessness, coupled with an ambition to travel the world, compels him to run away from his rather humdrum life at school. But the plan fails, and he is soon back in Dehra, with his strict guardian. Rusty is now seventeen. He rebels and leaves home again, this time for good.

  This gorgeous re-illustrated edition of Rusty Runs Away lends a fresh lease of life to Bond’s classic story about adolescence.

  Read more in Puffin by Ruskin Bond

  Rusty and the Leopard

  A chronicle of Rusty’s rebellious, eventful progression into manhood

  Rusty, having run away from his guardian’s home, is now trying to define his identity as he lives with the Kapoor family, tutoring their son Kishen and occupying the room on the roof.

  Soon, he becomes close to Kishen and, in the company of Meena Kapoor, begins to come into his own as an individual. Then tragedy strikes-Meena’s death devastates Rusty, and he leaves Dehra. Rusty and Kishen take to the open road, and their adventures accumulate as they tramp through the Doon valley and the Garhwal hills.

  Read more in Puffin by Ruskin Bond

  Rusty Goes to London

  Rusty’s fantastic adventures in London!

  In his early twenties now, Rusty leaves Dehra and travels to England, dreaming of publishing his novel abroad.

  First in Jersey, and then in London, he works as a clerk by day and writes at night.

  But London has many adventures in store for Rusty. Strolling down Baker Street, he runs into Sherlock Holmes, is accosted by Rudyard Kipling and has an escapade in the Chinese quarter! After three years abroad, however, Rusty realizes that he wants to make India his permanent home. Returning to Dehra, he renews some acquaintances and makes a few new ones, and settles into his role as full-time author.

  Full of interesting stories and memorable characters, Rusty Goes to London will delight all of Ruskin Bond’s fans.

  Read more in Puffin by Ruskin Bond

  Rusty Comes Home

  Rusty returns to his beloved hills, never to leave again

  After his return from London, Rusty explores Delhi, Dehra and Shahganj before settling down in Mussoorie, making his living as a writer.

  This collection contains some captivating stories about Rusty’s friends and fleeting acquaintances, including Suresh, a disabled child, with whom he strikes up a close bond; Uncle Bill, who habitually poisons people with arsenic; and the incredible Jimmy, a jinn who
can extend his arms to infinite lengths.

  Full of charming and eccentric characters, these stories of love, loss and adventure will appeal to readers of all ages.

  THE BEGINNING

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  PUFFIN BOOKS

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  Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  This collection published 2015

  Copyright © Ruskin Bond, 2015

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Jacket images © Aparajita Ninan

  ISBN: 978-0-143-33357-9

  This digital edition published in 2015.

  e-ISBN: 978-9-352-14033-6

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, 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.