Mountain of Fire Read online

  MOUNTAIN OF FIRE

  BY RADHIKA PURI

  ILLUSTRATED BY NUO

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Glossary

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  For Naila, who will have

  her own adventures.

  Stay happy. Stay blessed

  ONE: THE SILENT WALK THROUGH THE FOREST

  The forest has many sounds, loud in the quiet of the night.

  Yet on this full moon night, the insects ceased to buzz and the trees seemed to stand still, almost at attention. They seemed to know what was at stake for these 20 men and women walking through the forest in complete silence.

  Eleven-year-old Fitri and her brother, nine-year-old Agus, had been following this group for almost an hour. But it seemed like forever. They were desperate to somehow slip ahead. But it had to be done quietly, without anyone spotting them. So far they had been lucky; the two kids knew just how to blend behind every rock, tree and boulder, and become invisible in the forest.

  Cold, prickly branches reached out, scratching against their skin. But the children did not notice much other than the outline of the mountain looming in the distance. Gunung Merapi was not just any mountain. Merapi meant Fire Mountain. It was one of the most dangerous volcanoes in Indonesia – and the world.

  Fitri and Agus were born in the village Machuchak on the southern slopes of Mount Merapi.

  The Merapi had been a friend to Fitri’s village, and to the others around the mountainside, for hundreds of years. The volcanic ash was good for the soil. Many families could grow their crops and live off the land.

  Fitri and Agus had lived next to the volcano all their lives, and had never been scared of it. The volcano sometimes thundered and rumbled, but never like this. A week ago something had changed. Deep, deep inside the volcano, something was happening. The Merapi was awake and angry.

  Both their parents were a part of the group walking through the forest that night. They were on the Tapak Bisu, the Silent Walk. It was a ceremony to calm down the Merapi, and it had to be done in total silence at midnight on a full moon night. Absolutely no children were allowed! Fitri and Agus were breaking at least a dozen rules simply by being there.

  I’m going to get it if Ayah finds out I’m running around here in the middle of the night, Fitri thought nervously. She knew she would be in a hundred different kinds of trouble.

  This would not be the first time. Just last month there had been the “disaster” at school.

  Fitri was often in trouble and most of her escapades had to do with her brother. She had spent her life protecting Agus from the village bullies. Agus was a shy, quiet boy who kept to himself because he had been born with a funny face. It was not funny in a good way, but funny in a bad way. His upper lip looked like a knife had cut into it and carved out an entire piece. It made his face look odd and even ugly. But worse because his lip was only half there, he covered his mouth constantly with his hand, and he mumbled instead of speaking.

  Just last month, Aditya, an older boy from the village, had yelled out, “Raksasa!” – meaning demon or monster – to Agus and tripped him at school. The school yard burst out laughing and Agus looked like he wanted to just disappear into nothing.

  Fitri had felt a hot rage boiling up inside her and she went crazy. She grabbed Aditya’s hand and dunked it into an anthill. Aditya’s yells brought out the entire school, including the principal. His hand ballooned into the size of a small ball and Fitri landed up in detention for a month at school. She still cringed when she remembered how angry her father had been.

  Fitri tripped on a stone, stubbing her toe, and snapped her attention back to the mountain. Their mother had told them many stories about the last major eruption, which occurred before Fitri was born. The story was the stuff of nightmares: fascinating, dreadful, and deadly. Hot mud came down the slopes of the mountain with such speed that it snapped trees like thin twigs, destroyed buildings, houses and everything that lay in its way. Hundreds of people were killed.

  Every child in the village had heard these stories. Everyone had someone – a parent, a grandparent, an uncle or aunt – who had seen the last eruption and lost someone. Growing up on these tales, Fitri and her friends played a game called “The Zombies are Coming”. The children pretended that the volcano had erupted and the lava was chasing them and had burnt off their skins.

  But these games had stopped; they did not seem funny anymore. Now the nightmare seemed real.

  Agus and Fitri had NEVER seen so much smoke coming out of the volcano. “What do you think is wrong with it?” asked Agus, staring at the smoking crater. “Is it sick?”

  “Not sick, just very angry. Ibu says the Merapi was angry once like this many years ago,” said Fitri.

  “What happened then?” asked Agus, wide-eyed.

  “The wedus gembel came down from the mountain and killed some people.” Wedus meant sheep and gembel meant thick, curly hair in Javanese. She parroted her mother’s words, “Don’t worry. It’s not time to worry yet.” But did she even believe it herself? Fitri’s village was just 10 kilometres from the crater. If the thick, curly, wool-like smoke started coming out of the mountain, that meant trouble for sure!

  The Merapi rumbled loudly in the distance and Fitri paused to listen. Someone in the group tripped and fell. Everyone froze and Fitri, 20 feet behind, ducked behind a tree, grabbed her brother, and stayed very still.

  “Silence,” said a voice in the darkness.

  The girl knew that voice well. It was Bapak Eko, the Spiritual Guardian of the Merapi, the most important person in the group that night. Fitri could not see who had stumbled, but the ceremonial plate and its contents were scattered all over the forest floor.

  Fitri and Agus crouched, waiting for the group to start walking again. She took Agus’ hands, rubbed them together with hers to warm them in the cold mountain air, and thought of the past two weeks.

  So much had happened. It had all started with the dreams.

  TWO: THE TREE IN THE DREAM

  Nine days before the Tapak Bisu

  A girl twirled under a tree. Round and round. Faster and faster.

  As she twirled, her skirt twirled around with her. The colours of autumn – orange, brown, red, yellow and gold – fell on the girl, on her face and on her hair. Her face was turned up towards the sky and her eyes were closed.

  A gentle wind picked up and the leaves moved with the girl. Faster and faster, until the girl was lost in a whirling mass of colours.

  Still Fitri twirled. And the leaves fell around her.

  But now, slowly, light was trying to get into her eyes. She shut her eyes tight to escape the light. She wasn’t done twirling and she didn’t want to open her eyes. But light cannot be stopped and it gets where it wants to go. She opened her eyes and stopped twirling.

  Through the moving leaves she could see something on the ground, something shining, yellow and glinting. She started to go near it, to try and touch it, but just as she came near the thing on the ground, someone held her hand and shook her.

  Fitri opened her eyes and found Ibu by her bed, shaking her gently. “Time to get up for school,” said her mother.

  Fitri rubbed her eyes and slowly rose up from her bed. What a strange dream! The girl in the dream seemed to be her. The tree, the leaves falling, and the shiny item on the ground. What did it all mean? A
small shiver ran up her spine.

  Her little brother was still fast asleep next to her. Fitri’s wooden bed lay next to an open window. Agus’ was on the other side of the room. Her family was relatively better off than the other families in the village. They lived in a brick house with two rooms and a tiny area, which served as a living room. Her father was the village handyman, fixing televisions and water pumps.

  She looked out of the window in her room and expected to see the Merapi looking the same as it did every morning. Instead, she jolted awake and ran to her mother.

  “Ibu, look at that!” said Fitri, pointing to the volcano.

  “Yes, I know. It’s probably nothing.”

  “How can you say that, Ibu! There is so much smoke coming out of the volcano!”

  “Yes, Fitri, your father has gone up the mountain with some men to have a look. Tidak apa masalah. There is no problem. Now get ready for school and be quiet. Don’t wake up your brother,” Ibu said.

  Fitri knew instantly her mother was lying. She could make out from the way she was hiding her face and the way she never turned around to look at Fitri. Grown-ups think that kids don’t know when they are hiding something, but kids always do.

  Ibu caught Fitri looking at her and said, “Are you listening, Fitri? Go straight to school. Do NOT go up the mountain.” Ibu’s warning was well placed. She knew her daughter would often do the exact opposite of what was expected of her.

  And she was right.

  The school was about half a kilometre outside the village. Most mornings she and Agus got a ride to school on her father’s motorcycle. But today, Agus was not well and her father had gone up the mountain to check on the Merapi. She would have to walk to school. That suited her plan just fine.

  Knowing her mother would be watching her, Fitri set out in the right direction.

  At this time of the morning, there were barely any people on the road. Just a few motorcycles sputtering by. Fitri waited at the village entrance where a large signpost read: Selamat Datang di Kampong Machuchak. Welcome to the village Machuchak. She waited till the last motorcycle had passed by her and then quickly ducked into the fields. She picked her way carefully through the strip of land between the rice fields and started doubling back towards the village.

  At that time of the morning, there were a few farmers tending to their crops and they ignored the girl running through their land. Fitri ran for 20 minutes straight through the fields and when she was absolutely sure she had left the village houses far behind, she went back to the road and started running towards the crater.

  She was making her way to a watchtower. The watchtower was a popular spot for tourists who came to see the Merapi. She often went there to get away from people, most recently after the disaster with Aditya’s hand. Ayah had taken away her books; there was no bigger punishment for Fitri. She had been furious with her father and sulked off to her quiet place, the watchtower.

  After a bit, the tar road turned into a dirt track that went further up the mountain. Even though it was a cool morning, Fitri was now sweating and breathing hard. Her plan was to get to the watchtower and make it back to school, just in time for morning classes.

  Fitri stopped a few feet away from the watchtower, crouching behind a rock to make sure no one was around. There were not many trees in this part of the mountain, just scanty bushes and large boulders. She certainly did not want to run into her father and the other men from the village.

  I’ll be in detention for a year if Ayah catches me here when I’m supposed to be at school, she thought to herself. She needed to know what was going on with the Merapi. Ibu had been lying to her – something was definitely wrong.

  Absolutely sure that no one else was around, Fitri tentatively went up to the watchtower. It was a white and blue structure with a flight of stairs leading up to a platform, which was covered with a roof. It was built next to a huge tree. The watchtower was open on all sides with a view of the volcano and the village around it. Fitri climbed up and looked around: in the early morning light, she could see the green rice fields and a gentle mist beginning to roll off the ground. The village looked beautiful, but on the other side the smoking volcano looked dangerous.

  “Hey, you stupid girl!” a voice yelled out at her from the bottom of the stairs and broke the silence.

  Fitri ducked and slapped her head. Aditya! He had followed her! How did she not hear him?

  “I know you are up there. What are you doing? Did the school finally expel you?” Aditya yelled out.

  Another boy laughed with him. Fitri recognised the voice: it was Reza, Aditya’s best friend who followed him all over the village like a puppy dog. Of course, he had to have a friend along! The stupid bully was too scared to follow her on his own.

  “Yup! They must have found out you had Petuluk blood in you!” yelled out Reza.

  Fitri’s face became hot and red and she clenched her hands till the nails left marks on her palms. The boys had touched a raw nerve.

  The Petuluk were a tribe that lived in the deepest part of the mountain, far from Fitri’s village. They were almost never seen by outsiders and had many strange customs: they did not interact with any outsiders, they were forbidden to use any money, kill anything, and use electricity. They ate what they grew on the land. But the most fascinating and frightening thing about the Petuluk was that they were rumoured to have unimaginable magical powers. And because they kept these powers to themselves, and never really left their village, they were called “Those Who Are Never Seen”.

  Her grandmother had left the tribe to marry her grandfather, but then returned to her family when Fitri’s mother was just a little girl. She was never seen again. Everyone in the village knew this scandalous story and people still spoke of it sometimes. The fact that Agus and she had Petuluk blood in them, and looked different – they had a lighter skin colour – was just one more reason for people to whisper about them behind their backs.

  “I’m going to put his whole head in the anthill the next time,” Fitri seethed. But for now, she had to think about how she was going to get out of here. She could not possibly fight both boys.

  Think. Think.

  She looked around hurriedly and a smile lit up her face. Sitting quietly on the tree next to the watchtower, unnoticed by the boys, was a monkey. Now the monkeys in the forest around the Merapi were not nice. Not at all. Gangs of them would often invade the village and sometimes even the fields to eat the crops.

  Fitri opened her school bag and took out an eraser and flung it hard at the monkey and ducked. She heard the monkey snarl. Fitri peeked over the railing and saw that the monkey had not moved. She looked inside her bag again and took out a few pencils. She flung them and hid again. This time, the monkey let out a loud yelp and started climbing down the tree towards the boys, who were still yelling out rude things to Fitri.

  A snarling monkey is a scary sight. The minute the two boys saw the monkey climbing down the tree towards them, they knew they were in trouble.

  “Aaaargh!” yelled out his friend. And the two boys pelted down the mountain as if their behinds were on fire. Behind them ran the snarling monkey, baring his teeth.

  Fitri laughed so hard she almost fell down the stairs. She ran down the path, and turned around to look at the volcano one more time. It was late and she had better go off to school.

  THREE: MBAH EKO

  Not much got done at school. Everyone was chattering away about the Merapi belching out smoke and the day seemed to whizz by. Fitri did not know that back home, things had gotten worse.

  Fitri could sense immediately something was wrong as she walked home from school that afternoon. She passed the town square and saw people huddled together, talking. It was a simple town square with a few food stalls and a solitary motel. Most tourists preferred to stay at the closest town and drive up to the village to see the Merapi. But some would brave a night in the village’s only motel, run by cranky old Pak Irlandy, who had no teeth and was almost deaf. And w
as now standing in the middle of the street shouting at the top of his voice.

  Fitri saw her mother and Agus standing with a few other women by a shop. Her mother carried a bag full of vegetables and looked almost frightened. Agus was fidgeting with his cleft lip, something he did when he was worried.

  “Ibu!” Fitri called out, running towards them. “Is something wrong? Why is Pak Irlandy shouting?”

  A small group of men, along with Ayah, were standing huddled across the road, listening intently to Pak Irlandy. Another old man stood listening and was clearly trying to calm him down. The old man, it should be explained here, was an extremely important man in the village. In fact, he was very important for all the villages around the mountainside.

  He was a thin, wizened man who wore a colourful scarf around his head. Like many Javanese men, he wore a sarong around his waist, a cloth tied like a skirt. His skin had been burnt brown under the hot Indonesian sun and was the colour of beautiful dark teakwood. His name was Bapak Eko – which meant Sir Eko – and he was a bit of a mysterious character. Not because of the way he looked, but because of who he was and what he did.

  Bapak Eko was the Spiritual Guardian of the Merapi. Everyone addressed him as Bapak – or Pak for short – out of respect for the old man. Some called him “Mbah” which meant grandfather.

  The king of Yogyakarta, the town nearest to Fitri’s village, had appointed Pak Eko’s family the “Keyholder of the Merapi” hundreds of years ago. Pak Eko had inherited this position from his father in 1982 and had been the Guardian of the Merapi ever since.

  None of this made any sense to the kids. So most moms and dads had explained all of this in the following manner: “Pak Eko is in charge of looking after the mountain and the volcano. He is responsible for making sure that it ‘breathed but never coughed’. He is a very important person, with a very important job. You must always be respectful to him, because he knows the volcano best. Gunung Merapi and he are friends. Only he can talk to the spirits in the volcano.”