Mountain of Fire (11 page)

Fitri heard a slight sound behind her and spun around to see Pak Eko standing at the door, his face entirely covered by a mask.

“Welcome. I know your brother has been in many times, but this is the first time for you in my home. Yes?”

Fitri nodded, not sure whether she was in trouble or not.

Pak Eko paused. His face was hidden but she could see that his brow was creased with worry. She could see that he was trying to tell her something.

“What is it, Pak? Is something wrong?”

“Taufan has escaped,” Pak Eko said quietly.

“What! How?” Fitri exclaimed.

“His leg was badly infected when he was caught by the
polisi,
because he had been walking around in the forest with it bleeding. So he had to be taken to a hospital.”

“And then?”

“The guard was careless. He fell asleep and Taufan escaped. They don't know where he is, and whether he is even alive after the eruption,” Pak Eko said.

This was it,
Fitri thought. This was the constant nagging feeling at the bottom of her stomach. Taufan had escaped. He was now roaming the countryside once again, free to create trouble.

“What do we do now, Pak Eko?”

“Nothing for now. There is too much activity here. He won't dare show up at the village. I'm off to the entrance of the cave. They are waiting for me to perform a ceremony. But you can stay and look around if you like.”

The old man nodded and disappeared. Fitri stepped out of the hut. The view of the volcano was magnificent from where she was standing. There was only a small wisp of smoke coming out of the crater and it looked like the great Mountain of Fire was their friend again. A gentle breeze started up and the leaves around her moved along with it.

She thought,
Maybe I can learn a little more about the Merapi. About being a Spirit Keeper. It might be fun.

Pak Eko strode steadily to the entrance of the cave. He had not been entirely honest with the girl. Taufan was alive. He could feel that. But the children had been through enough.

There is no point in worrying them now,
he thought.

He crossed the stream towards the cave entrance. The water was no longer clear and sparkly. It was now gritty with the ash flowing through it. Remnants of the eruption lay everywhere. A broken branch, the ash on the leaves and the one thing that would stay for a long, long time: the smell.

Agus was of course oblivious to all of this. His thoughts had been focused entirely on finding the cave entrance. Hoping and praying that the tremors had not blocked it again. He ran up the familiar path towards the cave and yelled in triumph when he recognised the spot.

“Here it is!” he yelled, jumping up and down in excitement.

Although covered with leaves and ash, the cave entrance was still noticeable. Pak Eko arrived just in time to find the group waiting anxiously, including the archaeologists who were eager to get in.

Agus ran to the old man excitely and grabbed his hand. “Pak Eko! Hurry! Everyone is waiting!”

The villagers were shocked. Such informality with the Spirit Keeper of the Merapi! What was the boy thinking? But Pak Eko did not seem to be the least bit bothered and started the ceremony.

As soon as it was done, the archaeologists started clearing the debris and went down with torches. The villagers waited anxiously for them to come out again. Finally, the woman came out, coughing, removed her mask and announced, “It's fine. Everything is still intact.”

A loud cheer went around the group. The kingdom was okay!

But the woman – her name was Jacqueline – was holding something in her hand, brown and very dusty. She tapped Agus on the shoulder. “Is this yours?” she asked.

Agus looked at what she was holding. It looked like a book, with lots of handwriting in it.

He shook his head. “No, I've never seen it before. What is it?”

Jacqueline said, “I'm not sure. It's not Bahasa. It looks like German to me. But I can't be sure.”

German? What would a book in German be doing in the lost kingdom? But just then the Merapi rumbled a little and the group froze.

“It's nothing,” Agus said nonchalantly. “It's just normal rumbling.”

Behind his mask, Pak Eko smiled and thought,
Yes, the boy is ready to learn. But the book has many stories and it has been found. I will need to pay a visit to the Priestess.

A great distance away in the Sacred Grove, Priestess Aini sat quietly on the damp forest floor, watching the leaves twirl around the banyan tree.

The young priest in white came up to her and said softly, “The children are safe, Priestess. The Merapi is not angry anymore. But Taufan got away.”

The priestess nodded quietly. “Yes, I know.”

The young priest wrapped his white scarf around his neck against the evening chill, and said, “They are good children. Pak Eko will soon start teaching them about the Merapi. The boy will have surgery soon to fix his lip. And now they know all about you. Perhaps if you want to see them... it may not be impossible. We could ask the council for special permission. We could try.”

Priestess Aini lowered her head, and although the young priest could not see her face, he knew it would be sad.

But when she spoke, her voice was strong and steady. “Perhaps one day. Perhaps one day, the time will be right.”

GLOSSARY

Author's Note

Dear Readers,

There are many things about this story that you have read that are true.

Did you know that Indonesia is an archipelago of over 18,000 islands? One of the largest is called Java, where the capital city Jakarta is located.

Did you also know that, by one count, there are 129 volcanoes in Indonesia? Volcanoes are very important in Indonesia mainly because there are so many of them. Java is home to one of the world's most dangerous volcanoes, Mount Merapi, or Mountain of Fire, the main character in this story.

Here's the thing about a live volcano: it is always dangerous. There is always something going on deep inside it, but things get really dangerous when it becomes too active. Then it kills.

In fact, the Merapi erupted with such tremendous force in 1006 (11th century) that some people believe it destroyed an entire kingdom, the Hindu Mataram kingdom. Since then, some parts of the kingdom have been found. In 1966, the Sambisari temple was accidentally located by a farmer working on his land. The temple had been lost thousands of years ago, buried under volcanic ash.

Years ago when I was living in this beautiful country, a small news item caught my eye. It was about an old man, called Mbah Marijan, who was the “spiritual guardian” of the Merapi. What does that mean? I thought to myself. Mbah, which means grandfather, was refusing to leave his village near the volcano even though the government and the volcano experts were telling him that it was too dangerous to stay.

Mbah Marijan did not listen and, unfortunately, died in 2010 when the Merapi erupted again. Some villagers also died. The character of Pak Eko is based on the real Mbah Marijan.

On a visit to the National Museum of Indonesia in Jakarta, I came across the Hindu Mataram kingdom and the first sketch of a story began to form in my mind.

Isn't it fascinating that people would live around a volcano even though they know it is dangerous?

Here's another fact: The Petuluk tribe in this story is based on an isolated tribe in Indonesia called the Baduy. They seem to be a lovely, gentle people, happy to live with what they have. You will find many such people in other parts of the world, who prefer to remain isolated and choose to stay away from modern technology such as televisions and electricity. The Amish in the United States is another example of such a culture.

I hope you enjoyed the story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Radhika Puri is a former business journalist. While working in India, she won the World Press Institute Media Fellowship. This gave her the chance to explore the United States alongside other international journalists, and better understand the country. In 2002, she won the Polestar award, an Indian award for excellence in journalism, for her coverage of the Internet phenomenon that year.

Radhika moved to Indonesia with her husband in 2005. There, she dabbled in some writing, but spent more time enjoying the country's beauty. In 2007, she moved to Singapore and nowworks at the Institute of Water Policy at the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy as a research associate.

She first started writing stories for her daughter and now hopes to write many more.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Although I have lived in Jakarta and travelled a bit around the country, I never actually visited the volcano Merapi. Therefore, I have relied on many excellent travel and news blogs, and other online sources for my information about the Merapi and the most recent 2010 explosion.

• In particular, I would like to mention here an excellent article in the New Dawn Magazine by Australian spiritual writer Victoria Lepage titled Magic and Mysticism in Java. This piece provided me with my first insights into the Baduy and the prominence of mysticism in Javanese life.
  
• My parents. My mother who has been nothing but loving and supportive and is the most gracious person I know. My father, who instilled in me a constant curiosity about the world and taught me to acknowledge “The Other” without judging it. Without that upbringing, all that is in this story would have never crept into my consciousness.
  
• To Vineet, who works very hard, which allows me to sit on the couch and dream up this stuff.
  
• Thanks to Eliza Teoh who took a chance on this odd little story about two kids and a volcano. Her advice and input was invaluable in getting it to its current form.
  
• Thank you to Aneesha, who saw this book in me before I did and then harangued me till I wrote it.
  
• Thank you to my daughter, who is the joy of my life and the reason I really do anything.