Mountain of Fire by Radhika Puri Page A

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?”
    â€œNot sick, just very angry. Ibu says the Merapi was angry once like this many years ago,” said Fitri.
    â€œWhat happened then?” asked Agus, wide-eyed.
    â€œThe 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.
    â€œSilence,” 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