You know how parents can be. You tell them, for instance, that you’d love to explore the cave systems in Meghalaya and they say, “The other end of the country? No way!” Then, two years later, when you’ve lost interest in caves and are fascinated with marine life, they’ll announce, “We have a treat for you! We’re taking you to meet our uncle and aunt in the hills — maybe there are caves around there for you to explore…”
You think, “Hello! I’m not nine any more!” But you don’t say anything because they’re your parents and you go where they take you.
That’s how I, Nandan, 11 years old, dreaming of crashing waves, was heading far, far away from the sea towards Uncle Fram and Aunt Geetu’s home.
“You’ll have a great holiday and you won’t miss us at all,”said Pa from the front seat of the car.
I was horrified. “You’re not going to be there? Where are you going?”
“Pa and I are going to a health farm to de-toxify,”said Ma.
“Why couldn’t I stay on at home?” I protested. “I’m old enough to look after myself!” My voice rose with each sentence until I was yelling.
But you know how parents can be.
They choose the very last moment to announce their intentions … and I couldn’t yell any more because we had reached Uncle Fram and Aunt Geetu’s ancient-looking house nestling against the hillside, and were ushered into the weirdest home I’ve ever seen.
Quirky household
The rooms were big and airy but the furniture was all rough and half done: the dining table, for example, had only three legs and in place of the fourth was a pile of empty jars, books and pieces of wood — and each chair was a different shape and size. When we sat down, however, we were comfortable. There were cushions in all the right places, covered in the same flowered material of Aunt Geetu’s apron.
Uncle Fram felt my arms and murmured, “Good! You’re strong enough to do the heavy lifting for my new do-it-yourself project…”
I stared at him aghast, wondering what he had in store for me and why he couldn’t ‘do-it-himself’ and how Ma and Pa could actually think this was going to be a great holiday for me.
Soon, Ma and Pa left and Uncle Fram said, “Work time, Nandu!” And believe it or not, he actually set me to work, helping him build a porch at the side of the house! I held on to logs as he drove them into the ground. I dragged metal sheets as he measured them. I did everything he directed me to for the next three days.
Then, late on the fourth afternoon, I heard a deep rumbling. It sounded like the mountain growling, but soon I realised it was thunder. The sky became overcast and I wondered nervously whether we could withstand a thunderstorm, exposed as we were on the hillside.
Uncle Fram kept on whistling and working, however. “We haven’t had any rain for years,” he said. “It pours everywhere, but leaves us high and dry — literally.”
Those words had barely left his lips when the rain came pouring down — and we abandoned the porch-in-progress and raced into the house.
Wreaking havoc
The storm continued through the evening and night and the next morning we awoke to utter devastation. Not only had the porch collapsed, but a large part of the hillside had fallen down over it. We were fortunate that the main house — and we — were untouched.
I climbed up the hill behind us — how I don’t know — to make sure it wouldn’t suddenly bury us alive.
That’s when I saw the entrance to a cave. All those old spelunking yearnings surfaced again and I entered. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t what I found: a skeleton with its skull half-smashed under a large rock.
I yelled involuntarily — and suddenly Uncle Fram and Aunt Geetu were beside me as we stared at the macabre sight.
Aunt Geetu recovered first. She went up to the skeleton and pulled an oilskin bag out of its hand. “So this is how it ended,” she said, opening the bag and peering in. “Long ago, my grandfather was robbed of his fortune in gold and precious stones. Obviously, the thief didn’t get far…that earthquake decades ago must have killed him and blocked the cave...”
Uncle Fram made his way to the back of the cave — and disappeared behind some rocks. I scampered behind him and the two of us realised there was much more to the cave in the rear, may be even another outlet.
“We’ll have to tell the authorities — and give the man a proper burial,” said Uncle Fram. “Then we’ll come back with a torch — don’t you think we should forget about the porch and explore this place instead?”
* * *
So, I stayed on with Uncle Fram for the rest of the holidays.
And as Ma and Pa — done with their ‘retreat’ — left for home with me, all of us grinning from ear-to-ear, I had to acknowledge that sometimes parents know you better than you know yourself.
